The Fifth Desk · Evaluation
Act I · The Map
T. S. Eliot · a verse play in two parts with a prose Interlude · first performed in the Chapter House of Canterbury Cathedral, 15 June 1935 · Faber and Faber, 1935 · scored as a text for performance, on the text as Eliot settled it in the later editions, read from knowledge; no text in hand, and lines quoted only where their words are certain
Mode
Verse drama as liturgy; morality play and Greek chorus revived for a cathedral, with two passages of prose
Mythos
The Passion: a return to the city, temptation in four forms, a sermon at the Nativity, a death at the altar at Christmastide, a community changed by the blood
Phase
From 2 December 1170, the day of Thomas’s return, through the sermon on Christmas morning, to the murder on 29 December and its sequel in the present
Presentation
Play; Part I, a prose Interlude, Part II opened by three Introits; the Chorus of the Women of Canterbury, three Priests, a Herald, Thomas, four Tempters and four Knights
Register
The Chorus’s long free lines, the Tempters’ rhymed stress lines after Everyman, Thomas’s loose accentual line, the sermon’s measured prose and the Knights’ committee English
Scale
One archbishop, one week of one December, one city and its poor, and the Church against the Crown
Governing Proposition
An archbishop comes home to Canterbury after seven years’ exile, is tempted four times, preaches on Christmas morning, and is killed by four knights at the altar four days later, while the poor women of the city, who wanted nothing to happen, watch and are changed. The wager of the play is that a death can be shown as a rite rather than a choice, that the last temptation of a good man is to want his own goodness, and that the reasonable voice of the modern world, given prose and turned to the audience, is the murderer’s alibi.
Act II · The Essay
Movement I
The play opens on the women. The Chorus of the Women of Canterbury, the poor of the city, come to the cathedral and say why: “Here let us stand, close by the cathedral. Here let us wait.” They do not know what they are waiting for, and they do not want it. Their lives are seasons, harvest, weather and the hearth, and their wish is to be let alone; their own word for that life is “Living and partly living”. Their long free lines are built for many voices, and from the first they carry a dread the action has not yet earned.
It is 2 December 1170. Three Priests of the cathedral wait with them, and a Herald brings word that Thomas, the Archbishop, has landed in England after seven years’ exile and is coming to Canterbury. The Priests are anxious and scarcely told apart. The women’s dread deepens as Part I goes on, restated in catalogues of season and smell, and the play spends some of its length there that the action does not ask for.
The play was written for the Canterbury Festival at the commission of George Bell, Bishop of Chichester, and first performed in the Chapter House of Canterbury Cathedral on 15 June 1935, directed by E. Martin Browne, with Robert Speaight as Thomas. Faber and Faber published it the same year. The text scored here is the one Eliot settled in the later editions, in which the opening of Part II is given to three Introits; the acting text of 1935 is the play’s first state, and stands as context.
Movement II
Thomas arrives, and the Tempters come to him one after another. The first three he has foreseen. They speak in clipped, rhymed lines of stress taken from the old morality play Everyman, and each offers the will an object it might want. They are allegory to the bone, and Thomas puts each aside.
The fourth he has not foreseen. The Fourth Tempter offers him martyrdom itself, for its glory. He turns Thomas’s own words on acting and suffering back on him, so that the Archbishop hears his own wisdom as the voice of the temptation. This is the conflict of the play, and it is real. Its answer is the play’s hinge: “The last temptation is the greatest treason: / To do the right deed for the wrong reason.”
When the temptation has passed Thomas says, “Now is my way clear, now is the meaning plain.” The way out is not a better motive but the end of willing. Whether the final Thomas is free of the wish he renounced the play does not say, and that question is the one it has never closed. The turn is announced rather than shown, and the cost of a hero who does not change on stage is paid here.
Movement III
Between the two parts stands the Interlude: Thomas’s sermon in the Cathedral on Christmas morning 1170, in prose. Its text is the angels’ song from Luke 2:14, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will.” It is the one moment in the play when Thomas speaks to the congregation as their priest.
The sermon is on the joy of martyrdom, set at the feast of the Nativity. It says what a martyr is before the play shows one: a martyr is made by God and not by himself. The play’s argument, which the Fourth Tempter tested in Part I, is here stated plainly.
The prose is measured, plain and quiet, and it is elevated in a different key from the Chorus. It is also where the play states what it might have found: part of its disclosure about the will is doctrine given from the pulpit rather than knowledge reached by the action. The sermon is necessary to the design, and it is the clearest place to see what that design costs.
Movement IV
Part II opens on three Introits, for the feasts of St Stephen, St John and the Holy Innocents, the days after Christmas. The first martyr, the beloved disciple and the slaughtered children set the murder in the calendar, so that the death to come is placed among the Church’s feasts before it happens. The calendar is the frame of the play.
Four Knights come from the King. The women’s dread, which the first part restated at length, now reaches terror, in the passages of the smell of death and of the animal world. The doors are barred against them, and Thomas will not have it: “Unbar the doors! throw open the doors!”
On 29 December 1170 the Knights kill Thomas by the altar. The death is shaped as the women’s worship and not as a climax of suspense: what a history play would make its crisis this play makes an offering. Thomas does not rise in the scene; the Chorus does, and the play’s height, here as almost everywhere, is in their voice.
Movement V
After the murder the women cry out: “Clean the air! clean the sky!” It is one of the strongest choral cries in English drama, the dread of the whole play turned into horror at what it has seen, and the stain of the deed spread over the natural world the women live in.
Then the Knights step out of the action and speak to the audience, in prose, in the English of a committee room. They argue that they gained nothing by the deed, that it served the reconciliation of Church and State, and that Thomas, having courted his death, should be found guilty of “Suicide while of Unsound Mind”. The anachronism breaks the frame of the medieval play on purpose, and the audience, hearing its own reasonable language, finds itself accused. Without the scene the play would be a liturgy with no one in the dock.
The women close the play against a Te Deum, the community changed by the death it watched. The play has been performed without a break since 1935, in cathedrals, churches, schools and theatres; George Hoellering filmed it in 1951 and Ildebrando Pizzetti made it an opera, Assassinio nella cattedrale, in 1958. The verse drama it began in English lapsed after the 1950s, and the play stands as that revival’s first and lasting work: a poet’s play, beside a poet’s greater poem, The Waste Land, at 9.1.
Act III · The Twelve
The subtractive test mostly fails to find slack. Remove the Tempters and Thomas’s last choice has nothing to be chosen against; remove the sermon and the play never says what a martyr is before it shows one; remove the Knights’ prose and the play ends in liturgy with no world left to accuse. The fourfold design is exact: three Tempters Thomas has foreseen, then a fourth he has not, who offers him martyrdom for its glory. What holds the axis is the choral writing of Part I and the opening of Part II, where the women’s dread is restated in catalogues of season and smell longer than the action asks, and the Priests, who are scarcely told apart and could be two.
Score: 8.2 / 10
Two things come into the open. The first is the problem of a pure will: the wish to be a saint is itself a temptation, the right act can be made wrong by the self that wants it, and the only escape is to cease to will. This holds outside Christianity. The second is sharper and more modern: the Knights turn to the audience in the prose of a committee room, argue that the murder was disinterested and served the reconciliation of Church and State, and ask for a verdict on Thomas of “Suicide while of Unsound Mind”. The audience hears its own reasonableness as the murderer’s alibi. Held below the gate because the first disclosure is partly doctrine stated by the sermon, and Thomas’s inner turn is announced rather than shown.
Score: 8.3 / 10
The play rises often, and nearly always through the Chorus. The opening, “Here let us stand, close by the cathedral. Here let us wait”, sets a dread that the women’s long lines carry to real terror before the murder, in the passages of the smell of death and the animal world; after it, “Clean the air! clean the sky!” is one of the strongest choral cries in English drama. Thomas’s “Unbar the doors! throw open the doors!” and the closing Te Deum lift the action to its end, and the sermon is elevated in a quieter key. Held at its figure because Thomas himself rarely rises, by design, the Priests’ scenes are flat, and the height, though frequent, is carried by one voice.
Score: 8.6 / 10
Myth built, not evoked. The structure of the play is the structure of a Passion: a return to the city, temptation in four forms, a sermon at the Nativity on the joy of martyrdom, a death by the altar at Christmastide, the community changed by the blood. The three Introits that open Part II set the murder among the feasts of the first martyr, the beloved disciple and the slaughtered children, so that the calendar itself is the frame. The archetype is load-bearing: the play’s argument, that the martyr is made by God and not by himself, needs a pattern Thomas enters rather than one he writes. It stays particular through the women: “Living and partly living”. Held at the gate because the archetype is borrowed whole from the liturgy and the history.
Score: 8.5 / 10
The departure was real and was a wager. In 1935 the English stage had no living tradition of serious verse drama, and Eliot reached past it to the morality play, the Greek chorus and the liturgy, writing for a cathedral rather than a theatre. The rhymed stress lines of the Tempters, taken from Everyman, and the choral writing were new on the modern English stage. The bravest stroke is the Knights’ turn to prose and to the audience, an anachronism that breaks the frame of the medieval play to put the twentieth century in the dock; it could have been a gimmick and is not. Held below the gate because the forms it revived were inherited, and the swerve is a return as much as a departure.
Score: 8.3 / 10
Change the form and the play loses what it knows. It is cast as a liturgy, and its knowledge is that an act can be a rite rather than a choice: Thomas’s death is shaped as the women’s worship, not as a drama of suspense, so the action that would be climax in a history play is an offering. The two passages of prose are the formal argument. The sermon is prose because it is the one moment Thomas speaks to the congregation as their priest; the Knights speak prose because their reason is the reason of the secular world, which has no verse. The Fourth Tempter turns Thomas’s own words on acting and suffering back on him: form doing the work of meaning. Held at its figure because the static centre also limits what the play can know about its hero.
Score: 8.5 / 10
Ninety years of reading and performance, with returns real but bounded. The Fourth Tempter and the Knights’ apology yield on every return: the first because the question of motive cannot be closed, since the play does not say whether the final Thomas is free of the wish he renounced; the second because each audience hears its own political language in it. The Chorus repays the ear. Much of the rest is spent on a first reading: the first three Tempters are allegory to the bone, the Priests are functions, and Thomas’s interior is given as a resolution, not a mystery. Criticism has returned to the play mostly to place it in Eliot’s turn toward the theatre and toward the Four Quartets, which is evidence of its position more than of its depth.
Score: 7.9 / 10
The field is English drama and poetry of the twentieth century. The intrinsic force is the reopening of a possibility thought closed: a modern poet could write serious verse drama that held an audience, and the chorus could speak again in English. Achieved reach is scored with intrinsic force: the play began the revival of English verse drama, in Eliot’s own later plays, in Christopher Fry and in Ronald Duncan, and a long tradition of drama in churches and of festival commissions; and one of its lines passed into Burnt Norton (1936). But the revival did not last past the 1950s, the theatre that followed went another way, and the play is admired more than it is followed. Its pressure is real, and local.
Score: 8.0 / 10
Ninety-one years, from 1935 to 2026. Form: the text is whole, settled by its author and continuously in print. Presence: performed without a break since 1935 in cathedrals, churches, schools and theatres, set for examination for generations, filmed by George Hoellering (1951) and made an opera by Ildebrando Pizzetti, Assassinio nella cattedrale (1958). Fabric: the surface is not fixed to its moment; the medieval matter dates nothing, and the Knights’ modern prose, topical in 1935, has stayed legible because the reasoning it parodies has not gone away. It stands at the foot of what its span usually shows rather than above, because its presence is now narrower than it was, more school and church than general stage.
Score: 9.0 / 10
Judged on Eliot’s English, with no translation between. The command of verse for the voice is high and varied. Eliot writes at least four instruments and keeps them distinct: the Chorus’s long, accumulating lines, built for many voices; the Tempters’ clipped, rhymed stress lines; Thomas’s plain accentual line; and two kinds of prose, the sermon’s measured periods and the Knights’ committee English, which is exact pastiche. The hinge couplet on the right deed and the wrong reason is made to be remembered. A text for performance, and it plays. Held below 9 because the Priests’ verse is flat, some choral catalogues slacken into inventory, and Thomas’s speeches sometimes state where they should enact: the craft is a poet’s more than a dramatist’s.
Score: 8.6 / 10
Take the two most distant elements: the women’s first chorus, dreading any event, and the Fourth Knight’s brisk prose asking for a verdict of suicide. They obey one law. The play is governed by the distinction between the timeless pattern and the temporal will, and every register is placed by its distance from it: the women who wish nothing to happen, the Tempters who offer the will its objects, Thomas who gives up his will, the Knights who have only will and reasons. The anachronism of the Knights is not a breach of that law but its sharpest application. Held at its figure because the range, though real, is narrow, one action in one week in one place, and narrowness is not coherence.
Score: 8.5 / 10
Weighed at the play’s own scale, it holds more than its length suggests: the sacred; the state, in the struggle of Church and Crown; the poor and their labour and seasons, in the women’s world of harvest, weather and hearth; history and its afterlife, in the Knights’ modern apology; and one consciousness under trial. These are integrated, not listed: the women’s lives are the ground the martyrdom is for. What holds the axis at the foot of the twelve is the form: a single action, Priests and Knights who are types, the family absent, and every order held at the scale of a rite. The figure describes the form; it is not a charge against the play’s size.
Score: 7.6 / 10
Act IV · The Reckoning
8.3 / 10 · Final Average
Placement: Tier IV · Canonical
Strongest Dimensions
The Imperishable at 9.0, then The Sublime and The Made at 8.6. Ninety-one years of continuous performance in cathedrals, churches, schools and theatres, on a text whole and settled by its author; a height reached again and again through the Chorus, before and after the murder; and a command of verse for the voice that keeps four instruments and two kinds of prose distinct, from the women’s long lines to the Knights’ committee English.
Limiting Dimension
The Encompassed at 7.6: the sacred, the state, the poor and their seasons, history and one consciousness under trial are integrated, but held at the scale of a single action and a rite, with the family absent and the Priests and Knights as types. Next above it, The Bottomless Well at 7.9: the Fourth Tempter and the Knights’ apology yield on every return, but the first three Tempters, the Priests and a resolved Thomas are spent on a first reading. Then Pressure on Tradition at 8.0: a revival of verse drama that the theatre after the 1950s did not keep.
The Necessity Cap clears at 8.2 against a threshold of 7.5. The Coherence Floor clears with room: The Made at 8.6, The Living Form at 8.5, The Inner Law at 8.5, each against 7.0. The Epochal Gate is unmet: The Imperishable at 9.0 clears the bar of 8.5 and The Archetypal Deep meets it exactly at 8.5, but The Unconcealment and The Swerve at 8.3 and Pressure on Tradition at 8.0 fall short. The Universal Minimum is met (no axis but The Encompassed falls below 7.9, against 7.5) and The Encompassed, which is exempted, clears its own floor of 6.0 at 7.6. The work stands below the summit on its aggregate, 8.3, and on three conditions of the Epochal Gate.
Basis · a reading from knowledge of T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral, scored as a text for performance: a verse play in two parts with a prose Interlude, written for the Canterbury Festival at the commission of George Bell, Bishop of Chichester, first performed in the Chapter House of Canterbury Cathedral on 15 June 1935 (directed by E. Martin Browne, with Robert Speaight as Thomas) and published by Faber and Faber in 1935. The text scored is the one Eliot settled in the later editions, with the three Introits at the opening of Part II; the acting text of 1935 is named as context and not scored. The play is in English, and no translation intervenes. No text was in hand and none was measured; lines are not counted or cited by number, lines are quoted only where their words are certain, and events and other lines are paraphrased. Facts that could not be verified, among them the edition and year in which the text was settled, the running time in performance, the exact words of the closing chorus, the closeness of the Fourth Tempter’s echo of Thomas, and the history of lines cut in rehearsal, are not given.