Treating

26 Wednesday Mar 2025

Tags

diplomatic language, Gandalf, lotr, Mouth of Sauron, Tolkien

Welcome, dear readers, as always.

It’s a grim moment, late in The Lord of the Rings. Although Sauron’s forces have failed in their attempt to take Minas Tirith,

(John Howe)

they are still active and numerous, but concealed behind the barrier of the Ephel Duath, the “Mountains of Shadow”, to the east, in Mordor.

(a much-redrawn map, beginning with JRRT. For more details, see: https://tolkiengateway.net/w/index.php?title=Map_of_Rohan,_Gondor,_and_Mordor&section=2 )

Gondor’s pretend embassy rides out, hoping to keep Sauron’s eye upon them.

(from the Jackson film)

As they approach the Black Gate,

(the Hildebrandts)

they ride through the effects of the Industrial Revolution which JRRT so disliked:

“North amid their noisome pits lay the first of the great heaps and hills of slag and broken rock and blasted earth, the vomit of the maggot-folk of Mordor…” (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 10, “The Black Gate Opens”)

If we hadn’t known previously about Tolkien’s opinion of such, language choices like “vomit” and “maggot-folk”, would have told us all we needed to know and, in this posting, I want to talk a little about a particular form of language, that of diplomacy, in the scene which follows.

The embassy waits before the Black Gate in “a great mire of reeking mud and foul-smelling pools” until, in a carefully-prepared entry, Sauron’s emissary appears:

“There came a long rolling of great drums like thunder in the mountains, and then the braying of horns that shook the very stones and stunned men’s ears. And thereupon the door of the Black Gate [that is to say a wicket gate: a smaller gate within a larger one, like this—

although clearly larger than this one] was thrown open with a great clang, and out of it there came an embassy from the Dark Tower.

At its head there rode a tall and evil shape…”

(Douglas Beekman—you can read more about this extremely productive sf/fantasy illustrator here: https://www.askart.com/artist/Doug_L_Beekman/122294/Doug_L_Beekman.aspx )

The emissary—“the Mouth of Sauron”—speaks first and we see already the approach he takes:

“Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?”

Already he has turned representatives of Gondor into nothing more than an armed mob—a “rout”.

He continues:

“Or indeed with wit to understand me?”

Not only a mob, then, but a stupid one.

Then, turning to Aragorn—

“It needs more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following.”

And you can see the general idea—

1. this isn’t an army, but a collection of nobodies—and a small one, at that

2. they are nothing but oafs

3. their leader is nothing more than a bandit chief who has appointed himself king

Gandalf then upbraids him:

“It is also the custom for ambassadors to use less insolence. But no one has threatened you.”

To which the Mouth replies:

“So…Then thou arr the spokesman, old graybeard? Have we not heard of thee at whiles, and of thy wanderings, ever hatching plots and mischief at a safe distance?”

First, there’s the implication that Gandalf is a doddering old man, then that he’s a plotter and of no certain abode, and then that he’s a coward. It’s also important to notice the linguistic difference in his and Gandalf’s speech. Unlike certain other Indo-European languages, including German, French and Italian, Modern English has abandoned the second person singular of verbs—no “thou/thy/thee”. It’s “you” for everything. The use of the second person singular is still preserved in those other languages and, at least in traditional French, is reserved for speaking to children, pets, loved ones, and close friends, (and, in older days, servants), there even being verbs, tutoyer, “to use thou” and vouvoyer, “ to use you”, to indicate which you might employ. When uncertain, a person might ask, “On peut tutoyer?”—“Can we use thou?” The advantage it provides, as we can see here, is that, whereas Gandalf is being polite, or at least neutral, the Mouth of Sauron is being intentionally insulting—the old expression being “too familiar”—or at least downgrading Gandalf from an equal to someone of lower status, or even a child, which goes along with his earlier question as to whether anyone had the understanding (“wit”) to have a discussion with him.

The Mouth then shows Frodo’s gear, taken from him in Minas Morgul, and Pippin, recognizing it, “sprang forward with a cry of grief”, even as Gandalf tries to stop him, which gives the Mouth another opportunity:

“So you have yet another of these imps with you!…What use you find in them I cannot guess; but to send them as spies into Mordor is beyond even your accustomed folly. Still, I thank him, for it is plain that this brat at least has seen these tokens before, and it would be vain for you to deny them now.”

Not content with downgrading the Gondorians, Aragorn, and Gandalf, hobbits are now either “imps”—that is, small demons, as in “imps of Satan” in our Middle-earth, or children, “brats”. He then goes on to call the Shire “the little rat-land” as he builds what he claims the so-far successful resistance to Sauron actually is:

“Dwarf-coat, elf-cloak, blade of the downfallen West, and spy from the little rat-land of the Shire—nay, do not start! We know it well—here are the marks of a conspiracy.”

Now we see where all of this is leading: to Sauron’s terms—which are not about a cease-fire or a deal between equals, but simply a form of surrender:

“The rabble of Gondor and its deluded allies shall withdraw at once beyond the Anduin, first taking oaths never again to assail Sauron the Great in arms, open or secret.”

This repeats the Mouth’s earlier characterizing of the emissaries from Gondor as a mob—and the suggestion that they are nothing more than a group of plotters against Sauron’s (legitimate) authority.

“All lands east of the Anduin shall be Sauron’s for ever solely.”

His earlier struggles with the West had led to his defeat and loss of control of those lands, so here Sauron is attempting to guarantee that they stay in his hands this time.

“West of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan shall be tributaries to Mordor, and men there shall bear no weapons, but shall have leave to govern their affairs.”

Here we see the Rohirrim being:

a. disarmed

b. forced to pay tribute

“But they shall help to rebuild Isengard which they have wantonly destroyed…”

“wantonly” suggests, of course, that it was done without purpose—and, remembering what Saruman was actually up to, this is actually laughable, but it’s also a piece with the general tone: we are the legitimate authorities, you have plotted against us and rebelled and with no good reason.

And then we see what the Mouth has in mind for himself:

“…and that shall be Sauron’s and there his lieutenant shall dwell: not Saruman, but one more worthy of trust.”

(“Looking in the Messenger’s eyes they read his thought: He was to be that lieutenant, and gather all that remained of the West under his sway; he would be their tyrant and they his slaves.”)

So far, all of this has been demands on Sauron’s part, but what will he give in return?

“It seemed then to Gandalf, intent, watching him as a man engaged in fencing with a deadly foe, that for the taking of a breath, the Messenger was at a loss; yet swiftly he laughed again,

‘Do not bandy words in your insolence with the Mouth of Sauron!…Surety you crave! Sauron gives none. If you sue for his clemency, you must first do his bidding. These are his terms. Take them or leave them.’ “

Putting all of this together, we see that, unlike the “custom of ambassadors” of Gandalf, this is a carefully-planned verbal attack, first denigrating the other side’s position for negotiating, then suggesting that, unlike an opposing state, the Gondorians are nothing more than illegimate plotters, then making a series of demands for which they are offered nothing in return except possible “clemency”.

This, then, is not a treaty—none is offered—but the treatment of rebellious slaves and well deserves Gandalf’s rebuke which, you’ll notice, returns some of the Mouth’s medicine to him, even if not using “thou”:

“But as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves. Begone!”

Is the Mouth’s reaction surprising, then?

“Then the Messenger of Mordor laughed no more. His face was twisted with amazement and anger to the likeness of some wild beast that, as it crouches on its prey, is smitten on the muzzle with a stinging rod. [How appropriate for the Mouth!] Rage filled him and his mouth slavered, and shapeless sounds of fury came strangling from his throat. But he looked at the fell faces of the Captains and their deadly eyes, and fear overcame his wrath. He gave a great cry, and turned, leaped upon his steed, and with his company galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor.”

A fitting end—wordless, he flees—undoubtedly with Gandlaf’s last words in his ears: “…slave. Begone!”

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Avoid evil emissaries with their own agendas,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

Doom

19 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by Ollamh in Uncategorized

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anglo-saxons, Dialogus, Domesday Book, Errantry, Gothic, History, janissaries, Janissary, literature, lotr, Mazarbul, Normans, Tolkien, William Duke of Normandy

As ever, dear readers, welcome.

If nothing else would tell us that Tolkien had a fine ear for rhythm and rhyme, just take this stanza from “Errantry”, first published in The Oxford Magazine, Vol.52, No.5–

“Of crystal was his habergeon,
His scabbard of chalcedony;
With silver tipped at plenilune
His spear was hewn of ebony.
His javelins were of malachite
And stalactite – he brandished them
And went and fought the dragon flies
Of Paradise, and vanquished them.”

In his rhyming, JRRT has used some rather specialized words:

habergeon an (often-half-sleeved) chain mail shirt—usually made of steel, not something as fragile as crystal might be

chalcedony a kind of silica which comes in a number of varieties and colors—here’s one—

plenilune full moon—the idea being that his spear was given its tip/blade at the full moon, suggesting perhaps a magical making?

ebony a dark hardwood which can be turned into a glossy black

malachite another stone, which is copper-bearing

stalactite this isn’t a stone, but a stone deposit which hangs down in caves

and is probably there for the internal rhyme with malachite, although malachite can be discovered in stalactites, so possibly JRRT is using two different possibilities at once

brandish to wave—something heroic warriors sometimes do with their weapons, in a boasting or threatening manner

(I haven’t been able to find an artist for this one, alas.)

For the “dragon flies of Paradise”, you’re on your own—although–

So, when it came to the soundscape of The Lord of the Rings (a subject which could use a lot of exploring—there are cues everywhere), I wasn’t surprised to see him play a little game with an unlikely toy, a drum.

(a traditional Turkish drum—with two sticks, the larger for the top, the smaller for the underside, which gives it a distinctive double sound—you can hear—and see—some here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2eaxzv6obf8 These musicians are dressed as Janissaries, members of the Sultan’s elite troops

and you can see why such bands then influenced later 18^th-century-early-19^th-century composers like Mozart and Beethoven—and frightened defenders when they heard this music coming. Here’s Beethoven’s impression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nd0OjCO9x5Y )

Here’s a passage of that scape which recently caught my eye:

“Gandalf had hardly spoken these words, when there came a great noise: a rolling Boom that seemed to come from depths far below, and to tremble in the stone at their feet. They sprang towards the door in alarm. Doom, doom it rolled again, as if huge hands were turning the very caverns of Moria into a vast drum. Then there came an echoing blast: a great horn was blown in the hall, and answering horns and harsh cries were heard further off. There was a hurrying sound of many feet.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 5, “The Bridge of Khazad-dum”)

You see what I mean about soundscape: everything described, except the movement of the Fellowship, is a sound—and notice that even the place name in the chapter title, which has, in the original, a circumflex over the –u- in “dum” , lengthening the sound of the word, echoes that drum and its message: doom!

And “doom” is an interesting word.

A quick look at its past can take us as far back as Gothic, the ancestral cousin of the Germanic languages and our oldest surviving sample of such ancestors. Etymonline has “Gothic doms, ‘discernment, distinction’”– https://www.etymonline.com/word/doom but, using my on-line Gothic dictionary, we find domjan and afdomjan, where the basic sense seems to be “to establish”, from which comes the meaning “to judge” and possibly even “to condemn”. (Here’s the page: http://www.wulfila.be/gothic/browse/search/?find=domjan&mode=1 at the very helpful “Wulfila” site—Wulfila was the 4^th-century AD translator of the Judeo-Christian Bible from Greek into Gothic. It’s interesting that, often the original Greek word is a form of krino, which probably original meant to “separate”, but came, in time to be used to mean “to judge, decide”, and even “to condemn”—see the Perseus page here: https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=kri%2Fnw&la=greek&can=kri%2Fnw0#lexicon )

This brings us to what, I imagine, was a strong influence on Tolkien whenever he wrote that word: that oppressor of the conquered Anglo-Saxons, the so-called “Domesday Book”.

After the defeat of Harold Godwinson and his army at Hastings, in October, 1066,

Duke William of Normandy drove a ruthless campaign of conquest throughout England, giving out land to his chief followers, who then built early castles, which we call “motte and bailey”, to protect themselves and to dominate the landscape.

As well, perhaps helped by previous Anglo-Saxon tax records (easily accessible to the Norman officials because both they and their predecessors would have written in Latin), the Normans created a massive census, both of people and places, detailed practically down to the last chicken, asking, basically, “who is the owner? what does he own? what’s it worth? how much tax does he pay?” It had no name, originally, as such, being called Liber de Wintonia—“the Winchester Book”—because that’s where the manuscript was originally stored. (There were originally two volumes and you can read much more about them here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domesday_Book And you can see the work itself here: https://opendomesday.org/

The name by which we know it seems to have been a grim local joke, first known reference being in the 12^th-century Dialogus de Scaccario, “Dialogue Concerning the Exchequer” (“scaccarium” being a chess board, because the table used for accounting was gridded like one—it’s explained, in fact, in the “Dialogue”, but you can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exchequer ).

In the text, the author (thought to have been Richard FitzNeal, the bishop of Ely, c.1130-1198), wrote:

“Hic liber ab indigenis ‘Domesdei’ nuncupatur id est dies iudicii per metaphoram.”

“This book is called by the locals ‘Doomsday’” : that is, as a metaphor, the Day of Judgment.”

(Dialogus de Scaccario, Book 1, Section 16B, which you can read here: https://archive.org/details/cu31924021674365/page/n119/mode/2up in Latin, or here, in English: https://avalon.law.yale.edu/medieval/excheq.asp#b1p16 This is a wonderfully practical text, explaining in enormous detail things like the vocabulary of the exchequer. As is so often the case with medieval Latin, it’s a very pleasant read, written in plain, straightforward language and being just what it says it is, a dialogue between a “magister” and a “discipulus” .)

Considering the choice of phrase, it isn’t surprising that that it was the choice of the “indigeni” . One part of William’s master plan of conquest was to take the land away from its original Anglo-Saxon (indigenous) land-holders

and hand it over to his own followers, thus dispossessing most of the former—and, because those owners had no recourse, it must have seemed very like the Last Judgment—the original Doomsday.

Thus, when the members of the Fellowship hear “boom” turn into “doom”, it can suggest not only a play with sound, but the same kind of catastrophic event, trapped, as they seem to be, in the record room of Mazarbul—

(Angus McBride)

And we can take this one step farther. As Tolkien’s income grew from the sale of his books, his frustration at the amount which disappeared into tax-paying grew, as he writes:

“A Socialist government will pretty well reduce me to penury on retirement! As it is socialist legislation is robbing me of probably ¾ of the fruits of my labors, and my ‘royalties’ are merely waiting in the bank until the Tax Collectors walk in and bag them. Do you wonder that anyone who can gets out of this island? Though soon there will be nowhere to go to escape the rising tide of ‘orquerie’.” (letter to Michael Tolkien, 6 November, 1956, Letters, 367)

So, when JRRT thought of “doom”, as a medievalist, might he also have been equating himself with those Anglo-Saxons, not only losing their homes, but forced to hand over their hard-earned cash

to those grim Normans, as well?

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

We’re only a month away, here in the US, from 15 April, our own “Domesday” for taxes owed,

And remember that, as ever, there’s

MTCIDC

Tea Time

12 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by Ollamh in Uncategorized

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Alice, camellias, Dwarves, Tea, The Hobbit

This is camellia sinensis

and, without it, two literary moments might never have appeared: one zany (or weird, depending upon your taste for such things) scene, and one scene crucial to the whole fabric of the piece.

The genus is clearly very talented, producing, on the one hand, camellias, with their beautiful flowers, like this—

(this is by Clara Maria Pope and comes from Samuel Curtis’ A Monograph on the Genus Camellia, 1819)

and, on the other, this—

The history of drinking the latter stretches back farther in Chinese history than is probably ever datable (you can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_tea ), but we’ll join it when it arrives as a popular beverage in England. That early history begins, in fact, with coffee.

In 1652, the valet of an English Levant (Middle-Eastern) merchant, Pascua Rosee, opened what is thought to be the first coffee house in London. It was a success and soon coffee houses became popular hangouts for those with the time and money for the then-exotic drink.

Rosee even advertized it as a kind of health-drink.

(Note the “scientific” tone of this handbill.)

In 1657, Thomas Garway (also spelled “Garraway”) began selling tea at his coffee house, later producing his own handbill on his new product.

How it spread from a London venue and eventually became a “national institution” is really about society and its influence, beginning with the wife of Charles II, Catherine of Branganza, 1638-1705,

who was already drinking tea, probably because the Portuguese had, from the early 16^th century, been trading in China. As tea was initially expensive, it remained in the hands (and mouths) of the upper classes, in part because it was taxed, almost from its beginnings. As happened here in colonial America, this led to smuggling, but, in contrast to American violent protests,

this, in turn, led to pressure by British tea merchants upon Parliament and the tax was lowered and lowered and, in time, tea became a common (non-alcoholic) drink, even becoming part of the Temperance (anti-alcohol) Movement. (for a good survey of all this, see: http://www.tea.co.uk/page.php?id=98 )

As for “tea” as a kind of meal, there is a rather comic story of its invention by Anna Maria Russell, the 7^th Duchess of Bedford, which you can read here: https://www.britishmuseum.org/blog/tea-rific-history-victorian-afternoon-tea She claimed to have created afternoon tea about 1840, but, in fact, “tea” as a meal stretches back into the 18^th century, as you can read here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tea_(meal) Afternoon tea, as practiced by the wealthier classes, could be quite a spread, as you’ll read,

but it could also be simply a sort of late afternoon break, about 4, and I wonder if that must be the time of our first literary moment.

(Arthur Rackham)

“THERE was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. ‘Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice; ‘only as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.’ “ (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter VII, “A Mad Tea-Party”)

(A dormouse is a kind of mouse, as the name suggests, but I suspect that Carroll, with his keen ear for language, was also hearing “dormeuse”—French for a feminine “sleeper”)

The oddness of it is that, with a long, set table, there are only three participants, until Alice arrives and the Hatter and Hare then both shout “No room! No room!”

“Mad as a hatter” and “mad as a March hare” are old expressions for being less-than-sane, but there is an odd sane answer for the long, set table. It seems that, for a rather complex reason, local time has stopped, as the Hatter explains, adding:

“‘It’s always six o’clock now.’

A bright idea came into Alice’s head. ‘Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ said the Hatter with a sigh: ‘it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.’

‘Then you keep moving round, I suppose?’ said Alice.

‘Exactly so,’ said the Hatter: ‘as the things get used up.’

‘But what happens when you come to the beginning again?’ Alice ventured to ask.”

But, like so many questions in Wonderland, this is never answered.

Afternoon tea is, customarily, at 4pm, suggesting that, in fact, the Hatter and Hare really don’t dirty the dishes because, if it’s always 6pm, tea is long over and therefore they may never actually have it, which is a very Carrollian way of thinking. (Alice, however, helps herself to tea and bread and butter, but perhaps this is because, of the three (or four, counting the dormouse), she is the only sane—and perhaps real?—one.)

Our second literary moment begins with an actual invitation to tea—after all, Alice simply sat down, which the March Hare suggests was very rude. But was it really meant?

“ ‘Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea-any time you like! Why not come tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good bye!’

With that the hobbit turned and scuttled inside his round green door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, not to seem rude.” (The Hobbit, Chapter 1, “An Unexpected Party”)

(the Hildebrandts)

We know what happens next, of course: the next day, not only Gandalf, but a whole troop of dwarves arrive and the quiet tea for two quickly becomes a boisterous—not afternoon tea (as we know from Chapter 18 that Bilbo sees tea as the traditional 4pm and serves cake)–but what’s called “high tea” or “meat tea” , and which, in older days, might have been dinner for working class people.

(the Hildebrandts again)

Meat tea, as its name suggests, is more than bread and butter or cake (you can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tea_(meal)#High_tea )—and that’s exactly what the dwarves—and Gandalf– demand, from “mince-pies and cheese” to “cold chicken and pickles”, but, interestingly, tea itself quickly disappears as coffee, red wine, and ale are called for, so what began as a simple invitation—and one meant to avoid adventure—itself becomes a culinary adventure, but, for that tea originally offered, would there ever have been any adventure at all?

And, remembering where tea came from in our Middle-earth, where do you suppose Bilbo’s may have come from?

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Enjoy this pixilated version of the tea party from Disney’s Alice , 1951: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KDwE6MjfmQ (warning: if you’re a purist, this will not be—dare I say it?—your cup of tea)

And remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

Riddle Me Ree

05 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by Ollamh in Uncategorized

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Alice, Bilbo, Gollum, hatter, Poe, Riddle, riddles, Sphinx, Tolkien

“Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree,

Perhaps you can tell what this riddle may be:

As deep as a house, as round as a cup,

And all the king’s horses can’t draw it up.”

I sometimes think that the world could be divided between those who love puzzles and can do them and those, like me, to whom puzzles don’t appeal—possibly because we can’t. For instance, can you guess the answer to the riddle above? I’ll give you a minute…

For that One Half of the world, the answer was probably embarrassingly easy: “a well”.

You got it, didn’t you? I got it—but only afterwards when I reread “draw it up”, which looks like it was planted as an obvious clue, as one “draws water from a…well”.

Riddle culture is clearly very old. Trying to go as far back in time as I could, suddenly there was Oedipus and the Sphinx sitting outside Thebes—

with her:

“What goes on four legs at dawn,

What goes on two legs at midday,

What goes on three legs at sunset?”

If you belong to the Other Half—my half—and you don’t know the play (and the footnotes), you might think for a while, then shrug. If you’ve read the footnotes, or are a member of the One Half, you’ll smile and say, “Easy. A baby–at the dawn of life, a grownup– in midlife, an old person leaning on a stick–in the ‘Sunset Years’, so, in short, Man.”

Having read the footnotes, you know the fate of that riddler—seemingly instant death—although I can imagine her flapping off, muttering to herself about finding suckers somewhere else, like Corinth.

And a little research produces—and this is just for western Europe—the following collections:

1. Symphosius (4^th-5^th century AD)

2. Aldhelm (c.609-739)

3. Tatwine (c.670-734)

4. Boniface (c.675-754)

5. Eusebius (8^th century)

6. The Bern Riddles (early 8^th century)

7. The Lorsch Riddles (8^th-9^th century)

8. The Exeter Book Riddles (10^th century)

I’ve gotten this list (which I’ve rewritten slightly) from a very good site on the subject: “The Riddle Ages”, here: https://theriddleages.com/riddles/collection/ A rich site and a good read, if medieval literature appeals.

I think that my first riddle came from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,1865/6,

which generally has always been considered a children’s book, but, as a child, I really didn’t like it, mostly because I didn’t understand it. I now enjoy it, but still find it almost as weird as I thought it the first time I read it.

The riddle is in Chapter VII, “A Mad Tea-party” , which begins:

(In case you’re wondering, that’s supposed to be straw on the Hare’s head, a stagey sign of madness. The very useful site Word Histories (https://wordhistories.net/2018/06/01/straws-hair-origin/ ), points us to a Victorian source—Punch, January, 1842, 34, “Extemporaneous Dramas No.1 Hamlet”—where a stage direction says “Ophelia discovered with straws in her hair”, but this looks to be a misunderstanding of Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5, where a Gentleman says of Ophelia that “[she] spurns enviously at straws”—that is, “she reacts spitefully to trifles”, not that she’s wearing straw. You can read the Punch excerpt here: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=iau.31858029795295&seq=339&q1=extemporaneous )

It’s immediately clear that Alice isn’t welcome, as the Mad Hatter and March Hare, sitting at a large and nearly empty table, begin shouting “No room! No room!”, and out of nowhere the Mad Hatter remarks:

“ ‘Your hair wants cutting…’ “

To which Alice replies:

“ ‘You should learn not to make personal remarks…it’s very rude,’

The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’ “

Alice puzzles over this throughout most of the scene until, pressed, she confesses that she doesn’t know the answer—and the Hatter replies that he has no idea either!

(For the 1866 Alice, see: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Alice%27s_Adventures_in_Wonderland_(1866) for the 1907 edition, with illustrations by Arthur Rackham, see: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/28885/28885-h/28885-h.htm )

And, reading that then, and rereading it now, I agree with the Mad Hatter—although there are numerous modern answers, including my favorite: “Poe wrote on both.”—that is, Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849,

wrote a poem about a raven,

and could have done so at a desk.

There are more possible answers, including a surprisingly limp one by Lewis Carroll himself, here: https://gizmodo.com/the-answer-to-the-most-famous-unanswerable-fantasy-ridd-5872014

Knowing, then, on which side of the aisle I stand (or should I say, sit?) on the subject of riddles, I am brought to a scene which all Tolkien readers know well—

(Alan Lee)

It is, of course, The Hobbit, Chapter 5, “Riddles in the Dark”, and includes brain-teasers like Bilbo’s:

“No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three legs, four-legs got some”.

Without blinking, Gollum replies:

“ ‘Fish on a little table, man at table sitting on a stool, the cat has the bones.’ “

As one on the Other Side, however, I might have to rely upon Sting

and what I might find in my pocket!

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

Solve: “The more you take, the more you leave behind”,

And remember that there is always

MTCIDC

In case you’ve a voracious appetite for riddles, try this site, which says that it has 10,337 riddles: https://www.riddles.com/archives

doubtfulsea

~ adventure fantasy

Monthly Archives: March 2025

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Doom

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