'Smyrna's Coinage: 1922'

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Smyrna, the ‘least Turkish of the cities of Asia Minor’, an article in The Times reported on 16 September 1922, had been for the last three thousand years a vibrant multicultural community including Greeks, ‘Gregorian and Uniat Armenians, Jews of the
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  Konstantina Georganta: Smyrna’s Coinage   IV. Channel Tunnel  In  1988, Elizabeth II and François Mitterand built the tunnel that would eventually keep the water away. They guessed the iconic image of Tom Cruise on a runaway helicopter, they dreamed of his six-pack, they hid their faces behind latex masks in their dreams, Mitterand and Liz did – the bastards. Others sit in a boring train as a charm for European unity, thinking unconsciously: ‘Maybe the next time he’ll be here.’ And they don’t see that he is here, posing, that his six-pack hides the dreams of the Entente Cordiale. V. The Atlantic Ocean In 130,000,000  the Atlantic Ocean built the shores that would eventually divide the waters from the waters. It guessed the iconic imageof Jaws in semi-temperate currents, it dreamed of the shark’s teeth, it saw the fin carving the water in its dreams, the Atlantic Ocean did – the bastard. Others swim as a charm for saving an arm or a leg, thinking unconsciously. ‘Maybe the next time it’ll be here.’ And they don’t see that it is here, biting, that its teeth cut the dreams of Amity, New England. KONSTANTINA GEORGANTA Smyrna’s Coinage: 1922 ‘Smyrna in Flames – Vivid accounts have reached this country of theterrible plight of the 100,000 inhabitants of fire-swept Smyrna, which, itis reported, can hardly escape destruction. A view of the ancient seaport,which was captured from the Greeks last Saturday by Turkish Nationalistforces under Kemal. Warships of the Powers are standing by to help takeaway refugees’, The Times , 16 September 1922 Smyrna, the ‘least Turkish of the cities of Asia Minor’, anarticle in The Times reported on 16 September 1922, hadbeen for the last three thousand years a vibrant multiculturalcommunity including Greeks, ‘Gregorian and UniatArmenians, Jews of the Sephardim, Circassians, Persians,and other peoples of Asia’, as well as Europeans andAmericans. 1 By 16 September, however, Smyrna’s historyhad already melted down into one night – ‘The fire that israging in Smyrna has practically destroyed the town’,‘Smyrna has virtually ceased to exist’, ‘Smyrna has beenturned into a charnel-house’. 2 G. Ward Price, British news-paper correspondent in Smyrna, provided a vividdescription of the night of 13 September, when, as the warbetween Greece and Turkey reached its climax, ‘the entirecity of Smyrna, with 350,000 inhabitants, the greatest porton the coast of Asia Minor, was devoured by fire’, inter-spersed with various patterns reminiscent of a waste landimagery: ‘As with most places that are in the grip of fear,Smyrna on that September morning [8 September] lookedlike a dead city.’ 3 The Greeks ‘of the wealthier sort’, Price remembered,crowded the only hotel still open and talked only of massacre, while ‘the closely-shuttered streets were full of homeless peasants from the interior, huddled in familygroups among their bedding and cooking-utensils, waitingfor death’. On the morning of 9 September, Greeks andArmenians crowded the courtyard of the British Consulate-General ‘yelping with terror’, and at night ‘looting andmurder broke out in various parts of the city’. WhenMustapha Kemal arrived the next day, he had to pass ‘thebodies of several dead men in the gutter on the way’, whilethe Armenians, ‘hereditary victims and enemies of theTurks, had barricaded themselves in their church and werefiring from the roof at any Turkish soldiers they saw’. Thebodies of three murdered girls were reported floating in thesea on Wednesday, while the waterfront was already ‘close-packed with wailing crowds of Greeks, Jews and Armenians,old and young, crippled and whole, rich and poor, stum-bling along under heavy bundles of their household goods’ – ‘By the time darkness fell the whole of the inland quarters of the city were a roaring furnace.’Price remembered standing‘among the shouting, weeping, whimpering mob that filledthe quay’ and feeling the heat of the flames upon his face:‘Fortunately the sea-breeze, which always springs up atsunset, had checked their advance towards the sea-front,but red-hot sparks, caught up by eddies in the heated air,were constantly falling amongst the frantic multitude.’ Inthe meantime, the British residents embarked in boatswhich were ‘the only hope of safety’ for the ‘swarms’gathered in the town. At that point, ‘the wailing of thepeople [had] mingled with the crackling of the flames’, butPrice remembered one little boy pleading quietly ‘in a sortof reasoned terror that was more pathetic than any hystericalappeal’ and one Armenian whose body ‘floated grimly awayon the crimson-coloured water’ after an unsuccessful effortto escape by water. ‘It seemed likely then,’ Price supposed,  that ‘these refugees might be penned in between the flamesand the deep sea when the fire reached the quayside.Fortunately the buildings along the sea-front remainedintact until next morning, and so served them as a screen.’From the security of the Iron Duke , anchored a mile off shore, Price saw that ‘terrific spectacle whose proportionscould only be measured from a distance’ as Smyrna was a‘continuous blaze’ from one end to the other: ‘Waterhouses,shops, banks, hotels, schools, churches, hospitals and housesformed one gigantic brazier’ while the red-hot sky wascovered in a ‘murky mist’. As the whole city surrendered tothe flames, the shapes of the buildings still standing ‘rose inblack silhouette’ and ‘the steeple of the Greek cathedral wasconspicuous by reason of its cross, sharply outlined upon afiery background’ while the long quay ‘thronged withrefugees, lay in darkness, only illuminated by the search-lights of the battleships vividly picking out glimpses of blackshapes outlined against the flames, like souls in torment’.The refugees refused to move from the sea-front fearing thedangers awaiting them ‘in the darkness beyond’ and on deckof the British battleship Price could hear the seamenmurmuring ‘Why don’t we go in and save some of the poorblighters?’ When people, or what appeared to be bundles of clothing set on fire by sparks, were seen burning, the BritishAdmiral decided to load the boats with ‘cargoes of humanity’ – ‘In twenty-four hours the richest city of Asia Minor hadceased to exist.’Smyrna, the greatest port and the richest city in AsiaMinor, fallen. The description of the catastrophe echoes thefalling towers of T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land as Smyrnabecomes one of the poem’s ‘unreal cities’. In the days leadingto 13 September, class divisions disappear and the ‘wealthiersort’ become one with the homeless peasants, all ‘stumblingalong under heavy bundles of their household goods’ – ‘Theriver bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, / Silk hand-kerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends / Or othertestimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed’ (ll.176–9). Greeks, Jews and Armenians become one wailingcrowd, a ‘whimpering mob’, a ‘frantic multitude’, the‘swarms of towns’ caught between the blazing city and thewater – ‘Gentile or Jew / O you who turn the wheel and lookto windward, / Consider Phlebas, who was once handsomeand tall as you’ (ll. 319–21). The ‘wailing of the people’mingles with the ‘crackling of the flames’. Darkness is terrorpresent and the fear of ‘the darkness beyond’ as the refugeeswait on the quay, ‘like souls in torment’, illuminated only bysearchlights – ‘After the torchlight red on sweaty faces’, ‘Hewho was living is now dead / We who were living are nowdying / With a little patience’ (ll. 321–30). The sea-breeze atsunset does not bring salvation – ‘dry sterile thunderwithout rain’ (l. 342) – and the sea, which keeps the ‘hope tosafety’, bears also the signs of debased death and is ‘crimson-coloured’: the bodies in the gutter, the three murdered girlsfloating in the sea and one Armenian – a ‘hereditary’ victimand enemy, as Price suggests, and thus in this case thegeneric other, much like Eliot’s Jew – floating grimly away – ‘I think we are in rats’ alley / Where the dead men lost theirbones’ (ll. 115–16). The only glimpse of hope in this pande-monium comes from one little boy whose ‘reasoned terror’is, however, unsustainable in the ‘roaring furnace’ of the cityand thus frightens the spectator. The city which served therefugees ‘as a screen’ is the last to fall but it follows the fateof its citizens. Its ‘waterhouses, shops, banks, hotels,schools, churches, hospitals and houses’ form ‘one giganticbrazier’ and the buildings, dead and immediately ghostly,rise ‘in black silhouette’ – ‘London Bridge is falling downfalling down falling down’ (l. 426). Under the murky sky, acathedral is outlined ‘upon a fiery background’, and thespectator wonders if salvation is reached in this ‘UnrealCity’ – ‘Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, / A crowdflowed over London Bridge, so many, / I had not thoughtdeath had undone so many’ (ll. 60–3). ‘Evacuating the Smyrna Refugees’, The Times , 3 October 1922 The multinational populace that comprised the swarm of refugees after Smyrna’s downfall was dispersed all overEurope as well as in Canada and America, while theexchange of minority populations between Greece andTurkey, set as a precedent by the Treaty of Lausanne (23 July 1923), was another movement, compulsory this time,informing mobility among frontiers. As movements ‘acrossborders and between cultures’ were influenced since 1900, James Clifford argues, by the legacies of Empire, the effectsof wars and the global consequences of industrial capitalistactivity, the ‘making and remaking of identities’ was takingplace ‘in the contact zones, along the policed and transgres-sive intercultural frontiers of nations, peoples, locales’. 4 Migration in post-war Europe included colonial subjectsmoving into the imperial centre, Europeans emigrating inthe worlds made accessible by the Empire, immigrationfrom Europe to the United States and American expatria-tion. 5 It was, however, the ‘Lausanne Principle’ – that is,Bruce Clark argues, the ‘old temptation’ of solving ‘anintractable dispute over territory by splitting up thedisputed area and forcing everybody on the “wrong side” of the newly drawn line to move, until boundaries and ethnicgroups coincided perfectly’ – that was called upon by theEuropean Initiative Stability eighty-one years after theSwiss conference, when the Kosovo riots shook the Balkans,so that ‘whether we like it or not, those of us who live inEurope or in places influenced by European ideas remain thechildren of Lausanne’. 6 In ‘post-Versailles diaspora’, RonaldSchuchard suggests, T.S. Eliot saw the ‘further disintegra-tion of European unity’ ensured by ‘hotly contested landsand ethnic-religious dislocations and antagonisms’. 7 Smyrna was for Eliot one of the ‘potential Sarajevos’created after the convention of Versailles and forming, alongwith London, Jerusalem, Athens, Alexandria and Vienna,  PN Review   the ‘Falling towers’ of The Waste Land  . The crowd thatpopulated these ‘unreal’ cities in Eliot’s long poem, such asMadame Sosostris and Mr Eugenides, represented, HarveyGross suggests, the ‘international, polyglot, cosmopolitan’traits of European culture. 8 Mr Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant, performs his ownpart in The Waste Land  . A visual character, he appears‘[u]nshaven, with a pocket full of currants’ and ‘documentsat sight’, evoking all the mannerisms destined to provokeprejudice, as in the early satiric prose dialogue ‘Eeldrop andAppleplex’ (1917), where Eliot had presented an ‘uneasyexploration of prejudice, of stereotyping and of the classi-fying of people’. 9 Eeldrop described a ‘fat Spaniard’ whowore ‘a waistcoat café au lait, and black boots with browntops’, ‘his napkin tucked into his chin’, ‘made unpleasantnoises while eating, and while not eating’ and crumbledbread ‘between fat fingers’. 10 To Eeldrop’s suggestion that aconversation with the Spaniard would help them see him asa person with a history of his own and not just a classificationstock character, Appleplex replied that ‘the majority of mankind live on paper currency: they use terms which aremerely good for so much reality, they never see actualcoinage’. Eugenides encounters the poet in the CannonStreet Hotel, located very close to Lloyds Bank, where Eliotwas learning about ‘the nature of money economy’, thesignificance of ‘paper currency’ finding an equivalent inEugenides’s ‘sight draft’. 11 In 1922, Smyrna was in flames yet the ‘vivid’ accounts ‘of the terrible plight of the 100,000 inhabitants of fire-sweptSmyrna’ could only be vaguely inferred from the view of thecity’s peaceful ‘ancient seaport’. Often depicting the protag-onists of the events as stock characters and Smyrna as a fineexample of a Levantine port – see, for example, ‘TurkishIrregulars’ (19 September 1922) capturing ‘types of menwho were the first to enter Smyrna’ or ‘A scene in Smyrna’depicting the camels used ‘by the Turks in their advance’ (21September 1922) – The Times offered a sample of the city’sturmoil, thus signifying the devaluation of the currency of language steadily progressing from the circumstances of war. 12 It comes as no surprise then that in the note to theEugenides section Eliot did not relate Eugenides to his placeof srcin but to his role as a merchant from Smyrna sellingcurrants in London: ‘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 paymentof the sight draft.’ 13 Mr Eugenides is identified as themediator between the currants and the sight draft, the firstlinking the situation in Smyrna with the ‘impending rise inthe price of sultanas’ (‘Food Prices: Shortage of SmyrnaSultanas’, The Times , 23 September 1922) and the secondaddressing the mutability of Eugenides’s persona as a fearedalien other intruding in the British metropolis. Profiteering in dried fruits was an issue frequentlydiscussed from September 1922 onwards as Smyrna becamethen synonymous with disaster and currants, as in later yearswith refugees and the carpet industry now vacillatingbetween Turkey and Greece. ‘Many Christmas delicaciescome normally from Asia Minor, through the port of Smyrna, where, a short while ago, was a flourishing colonyof English traders’, a reader wrote to The Times in December1922; ‘when disaster overtook that city,’ the letter continues,‘these unfortunate people, who numbered about a thousand,were compelled to flee at a moment’s notice, some to Malta,others to Cyprus, Mytilene, and even England. TheseBritish refugees have a very special call on the pity andgenerosity of their fellow-countrymen’: ‘Is it too much tohope that when we are buying these delicacies, in which itwas their business to deal, we may think of these strickenEnglishmen and help them?’ 14 The swarm of Smyrnarefugees is here narrowed down to ‘stricken Englishmen’relying on the generosity of their ‘fellow-countrymen’, sothat this particular caste of merchants are distinguishedfrom their Levantine colleagues to make of the currant tradea national call on London of the sultana dumpling and thecurrant roll. The satirical tone of such mundane reactions to interna-tional affairs that were also affecting British politics was notmissed by Eliot, having been himself only recentlyacquainted with the peculiarities of a new country at amoment when, as Herbert Howarth notes, ‘even Britishcookery, damp bedclothes, and the hats worn by the wives of Oxford dons, entertained’. 15 In 1928 he wrote to HerbertRead that he planned to write an essay from the point of viewof an American who was born in the South yet was not asoutherner ‘because his people were northerners in a borderstate and looked down on all southerners and Virginians’ and‘was never anything anywhere and […] therefore felthimself to be more a Frenchman than an American and morean Englishman than a Frenchman and yet felt that theU.S.A. up to a hundred years ago was a family extension’. 16 The presence of various nationalities in The Waste Land  captured that process of acculturation with the feeling of being ‘never anything anywhere’, not one of displacementbut of essential placement in different contexts. After havinglived in Britain for more than three decades and having beena British subject since 1927, Eliot signed an article in March1945 as métoikos , the Greek word for a resident alien, thussignifying that part of himself which ‘never ceased being a Jamesian American: Burbank with a Baedeker witnessingthe Decline of the West’. 17 The political climate in Britain in 1914, when Eliotmoved to Britain, incorporated two extremes. On the onehand, there were the pressures of popular demand expressedin newspapers and magazines, which cultivated the fear of the alien other and promoted the professional middleclasses, and, on the other, the fear of war, which perhapsjustified the surrounding gloom but also revealed the futilityof the human ‘power to control his own genetic future’ in aless than perfect world that sabotaged such control. 18 Eugenic warnings of ‘national disaster, the end of civiliza-tion, the prospect of a new “dark age”’ filled the press,caused by the fragility of the British Empire in the aftermathof the Boer War and the subsequent comparisons with thecollapse of the Roman Empire. 19 The ‘pursuit of the mirageof the Earthly Paradise – the illusion that we can be madehappy and perfect by the application of legislation or force of the results of scientific discovery’ –was for Eliot the falsepromise of eugenics. 20 The exaggeration of the terms ‘polyphiloprogenitive’ and‘superfetation’, along with the aggressive pollination of the‘epicene’ plant, in ‘Mr Eliot’s Sunday Morning Service’(1920), echoed the satirical hybridisation of the human plant‘Chicago Semite Viennese’ in ‘Burbank with a Baedeker: Konstantina Georganta: Smyrna’s Coinage    Bleistein with a Cigar’ (1920). There Eliot presented thedecline of Venice and Bleistein as a ‘hybrid creatureconsisting of an ordinary “savage” primitivism beneath acosmopolitan, moneyed modernity’. 21 The epigraph of thepoem presented a mixing of quotations reminiscent of thefate of Venice, the old centre of European culture, with the‘density of discontinuous allusions’ invoking, Alter suggests,European cultural traditions ‘at once universal and esoteric,impenetrable to the outsider’. 22 Bleistein existed within analien context and was presented by Eliot, Alter adds, ‘with anastiness unlike anything in Shakespeare’ as that merchantof Venice who had made his money in the characteristically Jewish fur trade, continuing even in modern times ‘ratlike,to gnaw away the underpinnings of a once resplendentEuropean city, of European society itself’. The drafts of TheWaste Land  reveal the initial presence of the drownedBleistein in the unreal city: ‘Full fathom five your Bleisteinlies / Under the flatfish and the squids.’ 23  Jewish characters provided popular images of alien othersto British society at the beginning of the twentieth century.Related to trade as the means of contact between twocultures, they were often caricatured. Cheyette suggests thatin the wake of the Boer War (1899–1902), Hilaire Belloc‘foregrounded the “cosmopolitan Jewish financier” as analien, inassimilable force which was destroying Britain’while G.K. Chesterton had constructed from before 1912‘the assimilated or “cosmopolitan Jew” as the embodimentof exactly the kind of “heretical” spiritual confusion’ whichhe needed to combat in accordance with his vocabulary of racial difference. 24 What is more, Belloc’s ‘pot-boiling comicnovels, attacking the new governing class of higher finance’and Chesterton’s writings of the Jews presumed, accordingto Empson, a ready public acceptance. 25 Anthony Julius sees in Bleisteina particular stereotype of cultural clichés of the period, a Jew presented as ‘bothinfected and liable to be contagious’ with an impairedposture. 26 For Alter, ‘Burbank with a Baedeker’ is an anti-Semitic poem presenting ‘the Jew as the interloper who hassubverted Venice, or Europe’. 27 Ronald Bush and JamesLongenbach propose that Eliot’s ‘prejudice was part andparcel of his cultural imagination’ and that part of thepoem’s power was its provocative nature as it asked thereader to feel provoked to judgement. 28 The juxtaposition of rats and Jews was such a propagandist cliché, Maud Ellmannobserves, that most of Eliot’s anti-Semitic expressionsoccurred in his writings of the early 1920s, ‘when suchremarks were fashionable.’ 29 ‘The rats are underneath thepiles. / The Jew is underneath the lot. / Money in furs. Theboatman smiles.’Eliot saw the Jewish people, David Bromwich suggests,under three almost separate aspects: as a ‘religion which herespected at a distance’, ‘as a scattering of unaffiliated indi-viduals, part of the urban human debris which he loved andfeared’ and ‘as a religion-turned-culture, an ethical climateof feeling gradually defining itself in secular language, a trib-utary of the protestant freethinking which [he] saw as theessence of the disintegrative spirit of modernity.’ 30 As amodernist construction, Eliot’s ‘Jew’ was ‘inexact and uncat-egorizable’ and therefore perceived as a threat. 31 In a letter toEzra Pound written in October 1917, Eliot referred to thepresident of the Anglo-French Society, Harry LawsonWebster Lawson, first Viscount Burnham, as ‘a Jewmerchant, named Lawson (sc. Levi-sohn?)’, an utterancethat Cheyette places in the same category as ‘Rachel née Rabinovitch’ from ‘Sweeney Among the Nightingales’,equally ‘pedantically precise but, on closer investigation,surprisingly vague’. 32 Non-racial versions of semitic figuresin the 1920 edition of Eliot’s verse included the instability of ‘Gerontion’, ‘both an “other” to the racialized “jew”’ and his‘repressed double’, Bleistein’s cigar smoke, ‘an ideal figura-tive expression of a semitic confusion which obscures thecultural significance of the past’, and Mr Eugenides, aversion of the ‘semitic’ Phlebas. 33 Products of modern exile,of which the Jewish people had become emblematic, ‘the Jew’ Bleistein and the Smyrniot Eugenides were both facingthe same fate as diaspora people travelling around Europe. Eliot’s views on burlesque and caricature as expressed inhis comments on the  Jew of Malta and his essay on Ben Jonson, where he talked about ‘the farce of the old Englishhumour, the terribly serious, even savage comic humour’,strengthen the association of his characters with farce. 34 ‘It isa great caricature, which is beautiful,’ Denis Donoghuesuggests, ‘and a great humour, which is serious.’ 35 Bleisteinand Eugenides, both distorted simplified characters of themenacing other victimised as the cause of western misce-genation, were serious caricatures of that sort. Where Juliussees the presentation of the stereotypical impaired posture of the Jew, Schuchard finds ‘stereotypical mannerisms […]captured in ferocious caricature’: ‘A saggy bending of theknees / And elbows, with the palms turned out.’And even Julius, despite his severe critique of Eliot’s provocative anti-Semitism, suggests that the poet gave a ‘comic twist’ to thefatigued cultural cliché of the wandering Jew when with‘Chicago Semite Viennese’ he alluded to ‘labels on a travel-ling salesman’s suitcase’. 36 Commenting on eastern influences on the west and on theprophecies of doom cultivated by the eugenicists, theSmyrna merchant becomes a symbol of post-war identitycrisis in a European context. The ironical connotations of Eugenides’s name (‘well-born’) did not target the Greeksspecifically, as the people idealised in the eyes of the west,but satirised the idealism of the past by juxtaposing theSmyrniot merchant with Phlebas, the Phoenician sailor, andby targeting current prejudices of the other, in the figure of ‘the Jew’ or the eugenic superman. ‘Ferocity, intensity,violence, companions to the strange, the surprising, thefantastic, something very near to parody’; this is, accordingto Lawrence Rainey, the ‘core of Eliot’s aesthetics while hewas writing The Waste Land  ’and the reason why he was atthat time so ‘responsive to caricature and music hall, modesof cultural production which thrive on wild exaggeration,hyperbolic repetitions which pivot on the play of likenessand illusion, a grotesque machinery of extremism’. 37 Themiscegenation seen by the blind prophet Tiresias in TheWaste Land  , a prophet whose fluid existence mingledgenders and ethnicities (in Greek ‘ γένος ’), thus echoing bothOvid (‘Forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago’) andDante (‘si lunga tratta di gente’), further echoed the hybridi-sation of genes, ethnicities and genders, in ‘Eugenides’ and‘Gentile’.Eugenides’s cultural roots, from a city long established asa cultural mixture of the east, were connected with Eliot’sviews of ‘social biology’. 38 The Smyrna merchant, inheritorof a prosperous trade tradition, was the unfortunate  PN Review   successor of a line at a point of crisis; debased due to hisadaptation to a growingly decadent environment, the advan-tages of his birth alone could not guarantee the improvementof his stock. The prospect of the Smyrna merchant’sprogeny would thus be undesirable because ‘dysgenic’. 39 Forthis reason, Mr Eugenides, the only character in The WasteLand  to ‘sexually proposition the narrator’, Juan Leon notes,remains ‘conveniently sterile’ in his homosexuality. 40 Hiscase is, however, not an exceptional one; like the conglomer-ation of people in the poem, he too is trapped in therecurrent cycle of ‘human incompleteness’, an idea deeplyrooted in Eliot’s poetry, exposing as ‘provisional’ any effortto prove the opposite, the ‘eugenical solution’ being one of them. 41 Rather than being futile, however, the appearance of the Smyrna merchant is beneficial for the citizens and métoikoi  of the metropolis. Along with any ‘Gentile or Jew’,a unity of culture is achieved. For Eliot, that whisperedregeneration in the unity of myth, since he viewed ‘culture’as the cross-breeding of elements from different cultures,which must remain distinct to achieve an essential ‘variety inunity’, where the web of influences following the samepattern as the trading of goods:You cannot even attempt to trade equally with everyother nation: there will be some who need the kind of goods that you produce, more than others do, and therewill be some who produce the goods you need yourselves,and others who do not. So cultures of people speakingdifferent languages can be more or less closely related:and sometimes so closely related that we can speak of their having a common culture. 42 Notes 1‘Smyrna – Prosperity and Disaster – 3,000 years of History’, The Times ,16 September 1922, p. 7.2‘Destruction of Smyrna’, The Times , 16 September 1922, p. 8; ‘TheMassacres at Smyrna’, The Times , 18 September 1922, p. 10.3G. Ward Price, ‘The Great Fire of Smyrna’, The Listener  , 10:246 (27September 1933), pp. 443–4, 463 (p. 443). By 8 September the Greekarmy had left Smyrna. 4James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late TwentiethCentury (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1997),pp. 6–7.5Michael North, Reading 1922: A Return to the Scene of the Modern (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 13.6Bruce Clark, Twice a Stranger: How Mass Expulsion Forged ModernGreece and Turkey (London: Granta Books, 2006), p. xi.7Ronald Schuchard, ‘Burbank with a Baedeker, Eliot with a Cigar:American Intellectuals, Anti-Semitism, and the Idea of Culture’,  Modernism/Modernity , 10:1 (2003), pp. 1–26(p. 8).8Harvey Gross, ‘Metoikos in London’,  Mosaic , 6:1 (Fall, 1972), pp. 143– 55 (p. 144).9Christopher Ricks, T.S. Eliot and Prejudice (London: Faber, 1988), p.115; T.S. Eliot, ‘Eeldrop and Appleplex’, Part 1, The Little Review (May, 1917), pp. 7–11 (p. 8).10Eliot (1917), pp. 8–9.11Gross (1972), p. 151.12On the currency of language being devalued at the same time as thelanguage of currency see Randall Stevenson, ‘1916, Flanders, London,Dublin: “Everything Has Gone Well”’ , in The Edinburgh Companion toTwentieth-Century Literatures in English , ed. by Brian McHale andRandall Stevenson (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006), pp.35–47.13T.S. Eliot, Collected Poems 1909–1962 (London: Faber and Faber,1974), p. 82.14‘Refugees from Smyrna’, The Times , 4 December 1922, p. 8.15Herbert Howarth, Notes on Some Figures Behind T.S. Eliot  (Boston:Houghton Mifflin Company, 1964), p. 222.16Herbert Read, ‘T. S. E. – A Memoir’, in T.S. Eliot: The Man and HisWork , ed. by Allen Tate (London: Chatto & Windus, 1967), pp. 11–37(p. 15).17Gross (1972), pp. 143–4.18For Eliot’s background knowledge on eugenics and how he regarded aknowledge of it as ‘an important furnishing in the mind of anyone whowishes to be up-to-date’ (p. 90) see Donald J. Childs,  Modernism and Eugenics: Woolf, Eliot, Yeats, and the Culture of Degeneration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 75–98.19G.R. Searle, Eugenics and Politics in Britain 1900–1914 (Leyden:Noordhoff International Publishing, 1976),p. 32.20T.S. Eliot, ‘The Modern Dilemma: The Search for Moral Sanction’, The Listener  , 7: 168 (March, 1932), pp. 445–6, 480 (p. 446).21Bryan Cheyette, Constructions of “The Jew” in English Literature and Society: Racial Representations, 1875–1945  (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press, 1993), p. 252. Cheyette adds that Burbank is himself also implicated in this semitic process of hybridisation, as Eliot was (p.254). 22Robert Alter, ‘Eliot, Lawrence & the Jews’, Commentary , 50:4 (October,1970), pp. 81–6 (p. 84).23Valerie Eliot, ed., T.S. Eliot The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts including the Annotations of Ezra Pound  (London:Faber and Faber, 1971), p. 119 (‘Dirge’). 24Cheyette (1993), p. 151. 25William Empson, Using Biography (London: Chatto & Windus, TheHogarth Press, 1984), p. 196.26Anthony Julius, T.S. Eliot, Anti-Semitism, and Literary Form (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 77, 46–7.27Alter (1970), p. 86.28Ronald Bush, ‘A Response to Ronald Schuchard’,  Modernism/ Modernity , 10:1 (January, 2003), pp. 33–6 (p. 34); James Longenbach,‘A Response to Ronald Schuchard’,  Modernism/Modernity , 10:1(January, 2003), pp. 49–50 (p. 50). On the opposite reaction seeAnthony Julius, ‘A Response to Ronald Schuchard’,  Modernism/ Modernity , 10:1 (January, 2003), pp. 41–7.29Maud Ellmann, ‘ The Imaginary Jew : T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound’, in Between ‘Race’ and Culture: Representations of ‘the Jew’ in English and  American Literature , ed. by Bryan Cheyette (Stanford, California:Stanford University Press, 1996), pp. 84–101 (pp. 85, 93); see also Ricks(1988), pp. 36–8, for the view that Eliot is satirising ‘protections,instincts, suspicions, and prejudicial names’ (p. 37).30David Bromwich, ‘A Response to Ronald Schuchard’,  Modernism/ Modernity , 10:1 (January, 2003), pp. 27–31 (p. 27).31Cheyette (1993), pp. 235, 249.32Valerie Eliot, ed., The Letters of T.S. Eliot, Vol. 1: 1898–1922 (London:Faber and Faber, 1988), p. 206; Cheyette (1993), p. 251.33Cheyette (1993), pp. 246, 252, 260.34T.S. Eliot, Selected Essays (London: Faber and Faber, 1934), pp. 123,159.35Denis Donoghue, ‘A Response to Ronald Schuchard’,  Modernism/Modernity , 10:1 (January, 2003), pp. 37–9 (p. 39).36Julius (1995), p. 48.37Lawrence Rainey, ‘Eliot Among the Typists: Writing The Waste Land  ’,  Modernism/Modernity , 12:1 (2005), pp. 27–84 (p. 62).38T.S. Eliot, ‘The Unity of European Culture’ (English text of broadcasttalks to Germany in 1946), in Notes Towards the Definition of Culture (London: Faber and Faber, 1948), p. 122. 39See Leonard Darwin’s essay in the Eugenics Review , ‘Quality Not  Quantity’ [1917], which Eliot reviewed and Childs discusses in his  Modernism and Eugenics (2001), pp. 97–8.40Juan Leon, ‘“Meeting Mr. Eugenides”: T.S. Eliot and EugenicAnxiety’, Yeats Eliot Review , 9 (1988), pp. 169–77(p. 173).41See Childs (2001), p. 88.42Eliot (1948), pp. 120–1. Konstantina Georganta: Smyrna’s Coinage  
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