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By Ear (3)

21 Wednesday May 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

In the closing of the second part of this little series, I quoted Marcus Antonius in his funeral oration upon Julius Caesar in Shakespeare’s play of the same name.

It is a masterpiece, both in its design and in its deception:  saying one thing for the assassins, led by Brutus, to hear, and, on the other, poisoning the common people against the assassins, originally seen as liberators of the Republic.  You probably remember its opening:

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears:

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him:

The euill that men do, liues after them,

The good is oft enterred with their bones,

So let it be with Caesar. The Noble Brutus,

Hath told you Caesar was Ambitious:

If it were so, it was a greeuous Fault,

And greeuously hath Caesar answer’d it.

Heere, vnder leaue of Brutus, and the rest

(For Brutus is an Honourable man,

So are they all; all Honourable men)

Come I to speake in Caesars Funerall.”

(Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2, from the First Folio, 1623, in the original spelling.  You can see it at my favorite site for the plays:  https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/JC_F1/scene/3.2/index.html )

Speech with a deceptive goal is a theme of this series, as, in the first part, were poison–and ears.

In the scene in Shakespeare’s play, Marcus Antonius plays a dangerous game.  In order to be able to speak, he has made a deal with the assassins of Caesar not to say anything inflammatory against them, and so we see those words “Honourable men” repeated, as if Antonius is going to praise them—while only burying Caesar, as he says—just the sort of thing which we can imagine the assassins wanted to hear.  And yet, as he continues, “Honourable men” gradually becomes ironic and, by the end of his speech, he controls the mob and it’s clear that the assassins are no longer considered liberators, but murderers, Antonius having successfully poisoned those lent ears against the very men who foolishly gave him leave to speak.

We began the series with poison—and Shakespeare:  literal poison (possibly henbane)

which, as Hamlet’s ghostly father tells Hamlet, had been administered to him through his ear by his own brother, Claudius, while he was napping in his garden

But, as we progressed, we moved from that chemical murder to a different kind of destruction, spiritual, in the case of Saruman in the second installment, and now, in the third and final installment, we move to the instrument of that poisoning, include a second poisoning victim, and find the mind behind it all and that mind’s method of persuasion, which, I would suggest, must be very like Antonius’ initial remarks, seeming to praise the assassins, but, just like his, with another motive underneath.

(JRRT)

When Saruman, failing to succeed with Theoden, has turned to Gandalf, Gandalf has alluded to his previous visit with Saruman, saying:

“What have you to say that you did not say at our last meeting?…Or, perhaps, you have things to unsay?”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 10, “The Voice of Saruman”)

That last meeting had ended with Gandalf’s imprisonment in the tower of Orthanc,

(the Hildebrandts)

but, before that, Saruman had tried to persuade Gandalf to become an ally, and not only of Saruman, but of someone else, his speech including these words:

“We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose:  Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things we have so far striven in vain to accomplish…”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

Gandalf’s reply then suggests that what Saruman is saying is not really his own argument:

“ ‘I have heard speeches of this kind before, but only in the mouths of emissaries sent from Mordor to deceive the ignorant.’ “

What is it in those words which betrays their original authorship?

In the draft of a letter to Peter Hastings, Tolkien wrote:

“Sauron was of course not ‘evil’ in origin.  He was a ‘spirit’ corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord…Morgoth.  …at the beginning of the Second Age he was still beautiful to look at, or could still assume a beautiful visible shape—and was not indeed wholly evil, not unless all ‘reformers’ who want to hurry up with ‘reconstruction’ and ‘reorganization’ are wholly evil, even before pride and the lust to exert their will eat them up.”  (draft of a letter to Peter Hastings, September, 1954, Letters, 284)

What Gandalf is actually hearing then is the thinking of Sauron and his “high and ultimate purpose”, but wrapped in words which will sound familiar to Saruman and appeal to his increasing arrogance—those words “high and ultimate purpose” echo Saruman’s depiction later in the story of just who the Istari are:

“Are we not both members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-earth?”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 10, “The Voice of Saruman”)

That “order” was not sent to Middle-earth for “Knowledge, Rule, Order”, however, as this entry in the Appendices to The Lord of the Rings tells us:

“When maybe a thousand years had passed, and the first shadow had fallen on Greenwood the Great, the Istari, or Wizards appeared in Middle-earth.  It was afterwards said that they came out of the Far West and were messengers sent to contest the power of Sauron, and to unite all those who had the will to resist him; but they were forbidden to match his power with power, or to seek to dominate Elves or Men by force and fear.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix B: “The Third Age”)

Marcus Antonius has spoken indirectly to the assassins and directly to the mob, both through their ears, but Sauron’s words have reached Saruman through this—

(the Hildebrandts)

which we know that Saruman has had as it is flung through the doorway of Orthanc by Grima and almost brains Gandalf—

“With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away.  At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above.  It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, passing close to Gandalf’s head, it smote the stair on which he stood.”

I never think of a palantir without thinking of another device used for conning unsuspecting victims—

Staring into the ball might have a kind of hypnotic effect, but it clearly also has the effect of focusing the will of another upon the victim—as Pippin found out to his grief:

“In a low hesitating voice Pippin began again, and his words grew clearer and stronger.  ‘I saw a dark sky, and tall battlements…And tiny stars.  It seemed very far away and long ago, yet hard and clear…Then he came.  He did not speak so that I could hear words.  He just looked and I understood…He said:  “Who are you?’  I still did not answer, but it hurt me horribly; and he pressed me, so I said:  ‘A hobbit.’  Then suddenly he seemed to see me, and he laughed at me.  It was cruel.  It was like being stabbed with knives…Then he gloated over me.  I felt I was falling to pieces.’ “  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 11, “The Palantir”)

This isn’t Sauron’s only use of such a device for his poisoning—another palantir lies in Minas Tirith and it’s clear from its possessor, Denethor’s, speech how Sauron has reached him:

“Do I not know thee, Mithrandir?  Thy hope is to rule in my stead, to stand behind every throne, north, south, or west.  I have read thy mind and its policies…So!  With the left hand thou wouldst use me for a little while as a shield against Mordor, and with the right bring up this Ranger of the North to supplant me.”

And here we see how Sauron has distorted the original Istari goals, which Tolkien had described to Naomi Mitchison:

“They were thought to be Emissaries (in the terms of this tale from the Far West beyond the Sea), and their proper function, maintained by Gandalf and perverted by Saruman, was to encourage and bring out the native powers of the Enemies of Sauron.”  (letter to Naomi Mitchison, 25 April, 1954, Letters 269-270)

Denethor is correct in understanding that Gandalf—and supposedly all of the Istari—are meant to stand behind thrones—but to encourage their possessors to oppose Sauron, not to gain power for themselves, as Saruman deceived himself into thinking.  Denethor has not read Gandalf’s mind, but Sauron has definitely read Denethor’s—when Gandalf asks him what he wants, he replies:

“ ‘I would have things as they were in all the days of my life…and in the days of my longfathers before me:  to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil.”

The Stewards are not the kings of Gondor.  Although they have ruled for centuries, they are merely the lieutenants of the Numenorean kings, holding Gondor until a rightful king should appear, but it’s clear that Denethor has forgotten that, seeming to assume that he is the king—something surely in which Sauron has encouraged him .  And we see here another sore point:  Faramir.

In the midst of a complex scene in which Faramir reports that he had met Frodo, Denethor turns to him sharply:

“Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long since you turned from your own way at my counsel.  See, you have spoken skillfully, as ever; but I, have I not seen your eyes fixed on Mithrandir, seeking whether you said well or too much?  He has long had your heart in his keeping.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 4, “The Siege of Gondor”)

So Sauron has spotted two weak points in Denethor:  a mistaken idea about his role in the governing of Gondor and his jealous attitude towards his younger son.  This almost leads to Faramir’s death by burning and certainly does his father’s.

(Robert Chronister—about whom I have so far found nothing, although it’s clear that he’s illustrated more than one scene from The Lord of the Rings.)

Marcus Antonius, one of Julius Caesar’s right-hand men, has tricked Caesar’s assassins into letting him speak,

initially using language which they want to hear, but, just below the surface, and increasingly, as he proceeds, his word choice turns the mob listening to those same words into a force which will help to drive the assassins from Rome and, eventually, in the case of two of the main assassins, Brutus,

(This is a very famous coin pattern.  On the obverse—the “heads”—we see what we presume is an image of Brutus, with the caption “Brut[us]” and his assertion that he has the state’s authority:  “Imp[erator]”, along with the name of the mint master, “L[ucius] Plaet[orius] Cest[ianus]”.  On the reverse—the “tails”—we see a shorthand version of the claim of the assassins:  “Eid[ibus] Mar[tis]”—“on the ides of March”, plus two Roman “pugiones”—military daggers—bracketing a “liberty cap”—used in the ceremony of freeing a slave—hence:  “On the Ides of March, I/we, by the use of these daggers, freed Rome from its slavery (to Caesar)” )

and Cassius,

(Unfortunately, we have no definite image of Cassius—this is a coin minted on his authority by his deputy, Marcus Servilius.  The obverse has an image of “Libertas”, along with an abbreviated form of his name, “C[aius] Cassi[us]”, and that claim to have the authority of the state:  “Imp[erator]”.  The reverse has the name of his lieutenant, “M[arcus] Servilius”, his deputy rank “Leg[atus]” and what’s called an “aplustre”, which is the decorative stern of a Roman warship, thought to commemorate Cassius’ defeat of the navy of Rhodes.)

to defeat and suicide—Marcus Antonius’ ear-poison working very effectively.

For Middle-earth, there is a happier ending.  The real goal of sending the Istari succeeds, even with the treachery of Saruman, brought about through the poison introduced and spread by Sauron through the palantiri, which affects Denethor, as well, teaching us that toxicity is just as deadly in word as it is in deed.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Lend no one your ears unless you’re clear what he/she wants,

And remember that, as ever, there’s

MTCIDC

O

By Ear (2)

14 Wednesday May 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

In Part 1 of this posting, I began talking about ear poisons, beginning with the actual poisoning of Hamlet’s father by Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius, who, according to Hamlet’s father’s ghost:

“Sleeping within my orchard,

My custom always of the afternoon,

Upon my secure hour, thy uncle stole

With juice of cursèd hebona in a vial,

And in the porches of my ears did pour

The lep’rous distilment…” (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)

But there are poisons just as potent which come in the form of poisonous words, as we began to see in Saruman’s attempts to win over Theoden,

(Francesco Amadio)

and, failing that, with Gandalf:

“Gandalf stirred, and looked up.  ‘What have you to say that you did not say at our last meeting?’ he asked.  ‘Or, perhaps, you have things to unsay?’ “

In their last meeting, Gandalf became Saruman’s prisoner in Orthanc—

(the Hildebrandts)

but the words which Saruman employed then were revealing, as Gandalf says, having listened to Saruman’s plea:

“A new Power is rising…We may join with that Power.  It would be wise, Gandalf.  There is hope that way.  Its victory is at hand; and there will be rich reward for those that aid it.  As the Power grows, its proved friends will also grow; and the Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come at last to direct its courses, to control it.  We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose:  Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends.  There need not be, there would not be, any real change in our designs, only in our means.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Counsel of Elrond”)

When attempting to win over Theoden, Saruman had chosen words which suggested how much Saruman honored and respected him, defending himself from his own aggressive actions by saying that, if he had used violence against Rohan, so had Rohan used violence in the past, and now, together, he and Theoden could make peace—and therefore avoid what Saruman calls “the ruin that draws nigh inevitably”, even implying a bond between them, changing his former address from “you” to “we” and “our”—

“Shall we make our counsels together against evil days, and repair our injuries with such good will that our estates shall both come to fairer flower than ever before?”

When that hadn’t worked, Saruman had turned to Gandalf, at whom he had sneered only moments before, saying now that Gandalf had “a noble mind and eyes that look both deep and far”—in other words, attempting the same flattery which had failed with Theoden.  And he tried the same kind of shift from “you” to “we” here:

“I fear that in my eagerness to persuade you, I lost patience.  And indeed I regret it.  For I bore you no ill-will; and even now I bear none, though you return to me in the company of the violent and the ignorant.  How should I?  Are we not both members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-earth?”

That word “order” reminds us of something which Gandalf had said to Frodo long before about Saruman:

“He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council…The lore of the Elven-rings, great and small, is his province.”

(Alan Lee)

And yet:

“I might perhaps have consulted [him], but something always held me back.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 2, “The Shadow of the Past”)

Gandalf has, then, long had doubts about Saruman, even though Saruman was head of that “order”. 

But what, actually, was that “order”?

“When maybe a thousand years had passed, and the first shadow had fallen on Greenwood the Great, the Istari, or Wizards appeared in Middle-earth.  It was afterwards said that they came out of the Far West and were messengers sent to contest the power of Sauron, and to unite all those who had the will to resist him; but they were forbidden to match his power with power, or to seek to dominate Elves or Men by force and fear.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix B: “The Third Age”)

Recall, then, what Saruman has so far done:

1. he has turned Isengard into a miniature version of Mordor, ravaging the surrounding landscape

2. roused the Dunlendings to attack Rohan

3. created his own army of orcs—and perhaps done something worse to them than simply create them, if Treebeard’s thoughts are true (“Worse than that:  he has been doing something to them; something dangerous…For these Isengarders are more like wicked men.”  The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 4, “Treebeard”)

4. attacked Rohan and, in the process, Theoden’s son, Theodred, has been killed

5. not to mention that, when Gandalf has resisted his proposals, Saruman has imprisoned him

And so, how believable could anything Saruman says be?  And yet he persists:

“Our friendship would profit us both alike.  Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world.  Let us understand one another, and dismiss from thought these lesser folk!  Let them wait on our decisions!  For the common good I am willing to redress the past, and to receive you.  Will you not consult with me?  Will you not come up?”

In other words, of everything which Saruman, as one of the Istari, has been sent to do, he has done the opposite—and persists, even when he has failed in his plans and is now a prisoner in his own domain.

(Carl Lundgren–you can read about him here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Lundgren_(illustrator) )

Yet his tone, for the moment, still has the remains of its ability to charm:

“So great was the power that Saruman exerted in this last effort that none that stood within hearing were unmoved.  But now the spell was wholly different.  They heard the gentle remonstrance of a kindly king with an erring but much-loved minister.  But they were shut out, listening at a door to words not meant for them…”

Until—

“Then Gandalf laughed.  The fantasy vanished like a puff of smoke.”

And what follows reveals not only why Gandalf declines the offer, but who Gandalf believes lies behind all of those empty words about “heal[ing] the disorders of the world” and “the common good” and, earlier, “knowledge, rule, order”—poisonous words when coming from the mouth of Saruman:

“I keep a clearer memory of your arguments, [says Gandalf] and deeds, than you suppose.  When last I visited you, you were the jailor of Mordor, and there I was to be sent.”

Saruman’s reaction is predictable:  each time he finds that his magic tones do not lull the listener, he falls into a rage, but, this time, there is something else mixed with it:

“A shadow passed over Saruman’s face; then it went deadly white.  Before he could conceal it, they saw through the mask the anguish of a mind in doubt, loathing to stay and dreading to leave its refuge.  For a second he hesitated, and no one breathed.  Then he spoke, and his voice was shrill and cold.  Pride and hate were conquering him.”

Pride and hate, but there is something more, as Gandalf warns him:

“ ‘Reasons for leaving you can see from your windows…

(Ted Nasmith)

Others will occur to your thought.  Your servants are destroyed and scattered; your neighbors you have made your enemies; and you have cheated your new master, or tried to do so.  When his eye turns hither, it will be the red eye of wrath.’ “

Gandalf snaps Saruman’s staff and, as if on-cue:

“With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away.  At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above.  It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, passing close to Gandalf’s head, it smote the stair on which he stood.”

What this can be and how it figures in all of this poison will appear in the final part of this short series—

(the Hildebrandts)

As ever, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Remember what Marcus Antonius says to the mob in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, “The evil that men do lives after them…” when he is supposedly only burying Caesar, not praising him…

And remember, as well, that there’s

MTCIDC,

O

By Ear (1)

07 Wednesday May 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

No matter how often I read or see the play, I’m always struck by how multifacted Hamlet is—a revenge tragedy, a murder mystery, a psychological study, a ghost story, all in one (and probably more than this list besides).  Tolkien was not a big fan of reading Shakespeare, but, seeing a performance in 1944, he wrote to his son, Christopher:   “Plain news is on the airgraph [a form of letter photographed onto microfilm, shipped, then printed out at its destination—called “V-Mail” in the US—a useful background:  https://rarehistoricalphotos.com/v-mail-photos/ ]; but the only event worth of talk was the performance of Hamlet which I had been to just before I wrote last.  I was full of it then…It was a very good performance, with a young rather fierce Hamlet; it was played fast without cuts; and it came out as a very exciting play.” (letter to Christopher Tolkien, 28 July, 1944, Letters, 126)

That ghost story is the explanation for the murder mystery, the victim being Hamlet’s father, Hamlet Senior, and the murderer being his brother, Claudius, the ghost telling Hamlet:

“Sleeping within my orchard,

My custom always of the afternoon,

Upon my secure hour, thy uncle stole

With juice of cursèd hebona in a vial,

And in the porches of my ears did pour

The lep’rous distillment, whose effect

Holds such an enmity with blood of man

That swift as quicksilver it courses through

The natural gates and alleys of the body,

And with a sudden vigor it doth possess

And curd like eager droppings into milk

The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine,

And a most instant tetter barked about

Most lazarlike with vile and loathsome crust

All my smooth body.”  (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5 from the 2nd Quarto, 1604—this is from my go-to Shakespeare internet site, which you can visit here:  https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/Ham_Q2/scene/index.html )

“Hebona” has been argued about for years, some scholars, seeing what appears to be a linguistic similarity with “henbane”,

have suggested that, as the poison, and, seeing its effects, I’m not surprised:

“As a result of this distinct chemical and pharmacological profile, overdoses can result not only in delirium, but also severe anticholinergic syndrome, coma, respiratory paralysis, and death.” (see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toxidrome#Anticholinergic for lots more distressing symptoms on the way to the end—although some of the above description doesn’t appear to be present in such poisoning—“tetter” means a kind of skin eruption, which is why Hamlet Sr. uses“lazarlike”, meaning “leprous”.  For more on other possible poisons, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebenon And for more on Shakespeare’s drugs, see:  https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20140416-do-shakespeares-poisons-work ) 

One can see why Uncle Claudius uses the method he does:  he’s assuming that, if all the poison is absorbed, there will be no outside traces, which is why Hamlet Senior says, “’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard/A serpent stung me” (although, given the usual nature of bites, one might have thought that someone would have checked for a snake bite wound, suggesting that Claudius was already prepared with a quick explanation for what had happened to his brother—“it is given out” sounds like palace propaganda, doesn’t it?).

Hamlet’s father is poisoned through the ear with an actual toxic substance, whatever it was, and that supposedly left no trace of the crime, but, in Tolkien’s own work, we see another ear poison, which also leaves no obvious physical trace, being administered by this—

(the Hildebrandts)

but which is just as deadly—spiritually.

We know from Gandalf (and the chapter title) that Saruman has an unusual weapon:

“ ‘What’s the danger?’ asked Pippin.  ‘Will he shoot at us, and pour fire out of the windows; or can he put a spell on us from a distance?’

‘The last is most likely, if you ride to his door with a light heart,’ said Gandalf…. ‘And Saruman has powers you do not guess:  Beware of his voice!’ “  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 10, “The Voice of Saruman”)

We then see that voice in operation:

“ ‘But come now,’ said the soft voice.  ‘Two at least of you I know by name.  Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here.  But you, Theoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, are declared by your noble devices, and still more by the fair countenance of the House of Eorl.  O worthy son of Thengel the Thrice-renowned!  Why have you not come before, and as a friend?  Much have I desired to see you, mightiest king of western lands, and especially in these latter years, to save you from the unwise and evil counsels that beset you!  Is it yet too late?  Despite the injuries that have been done to me, in which the men of Rohan, alas! have had some part, still I would save you, and deliver you from the ruin that draws nigh inevitably, if you ride upon this road which you have taken.  Indeed I alone can aid you now.’ “

The effect of this upon the Rohirrim is just what Saruman must have hoped for—and it underlines his method of address:

“The Riders stirred at first, murmuring with approval of the words of Saruman; and then they too were silent, as men spell-bound.  It seemed to them that Gandalf had never spoken so fair and fittingly to their lord.  Rough and proud now seemed all his dealings with Theoden.  And over their hearts crept a shadow, the fear of a great danger:  the end of the Mark in a darkness to which Gandalf was driving them, while Saruman stood beside a door of escape, holding it half open so that a ray of light came through…” 

Saruman has, by:

1. addressing Theoden in a stately way, almost overdoing it with his “Lord”, “noble”, “fair”, “worthy”, “mightiest”, suggesting that he has only the greatest respect for him

2. mentioning the defeat of his ravaging army and the destruction of his mini-Mordor as if they were “wrongs” done to him, rather than the treasonous behavior they actually represented

3. threatening doom awaiting the Mark

4. offering himself as the only savior,

turns himself from the Sauron he aspires to be into the gentle, admiring friend, who, though he has been harmed, is still willing to be that friend—and, in fact, the only friend for Theoden.  And, as the Rohirrim are meant to understand, this is all designed to be in contrast to Gandalf, that false savior.

(It’s clear that Saruman has been working to undercut Gandalf’s position in Rohan for some time previously:  see Theoden’s original greeting to Gandalf—prompted—and poisoned—by Grima in The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 6, “The King of the Golden Hall”.)

(Alan Lee)

Eomer, seeing Theoden silent, hesitating, tries to intervene, only to have that Voice—angered, but quickly controlled, turn everything rightly said against him into the “you do it, too” argument:

“ ‘But my lord of Rohan, am I to be called a murderer, because valiant men have fallen in battle?  If you go to war, needlessly, for I did not desire it, then men will be slain.  But if I am a murderer on that account, then all the House of Eorl is stained with murder; for they have fought many wars, and assailed many who defied them.’ “

It’s not just Saruman’s voice that one should be wary of–he is so skilled in deception—or so he thinks–that he can try to use such a cheap argument, then turn it around into what is intended to sound like a reasonable proposal:

“ ‘Yet with some they have afterwards made peace, none the worse for being politic.  I say, Theoden King:  shall we have peace and friendship, you and I?  It is ours to command.’ “

And notice how it’s now not “you”, but “we” and “ours”—any attack is being turned into “being politic” and not “you do it, too”, but “we all do it sometimes” and then we make peace and everything is fine.

Theoden’s response is not what Saruman expected, although, because Theoden had remained silent, we can imagine that Saruman was smiling quietly to himself in admiration of his own powers:

“ ‘We will have peace,’ said Theoden at last thickly and with an effort…’Yes, we will have peace,’ he said, now in a clear voice, ‘we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished—and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us.  You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men’s hearts…When you hang from a gibbet at your own window for the sport of your own crows, I will have peace with you and Orthanc…Turn elsewhither.  But I fear your voice has lost its charm.”

(Ted Nasmith—another side of this excellent artist)

The magic of that voice still lingers for a moment:

“The Riders gazed up at Theoden like men startled out of dream.  Harsh as an old raven’s their master’s voice sounded in their ears after the music of Saruman.”

But there is then a change in that music:

“But Saruman for a while was beside himself with wrath.  He leaned over the rail as if he would simite the King with his staff.  To some suddenly it seemed that they saw a snake coiling itself to strike.”

And Saruman becomes even more serpentine:

“ ‘Gibbets and crows!’ he hissed and they shuddered at the hideous change.’ “

Thwarted, we see him basically reverse his address to Theoden.  Where before Theoden was “Lord”, “noble”, “fair”, “worthy”, “mightiest”, now he is “dotard” and his “noble”, “fair” family becomes “the house of Eorl…but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs”.

He isn’t quite finished, however—

“ ‘But you, Gandalf!  For you at least I am grieved, feeling for your shame.  How comes it that you can endure such company?  For you are proud, Gandalf—and not without reason, having a noble mind and eyes that look both deep and far.  Even now will you not listen to my counsel?’ “

Theoden’s eventual reply was bitter—and biting—but Gandalf’s reaction is of a different sort altogether—though it still has a sting:

“Gandalf stirred, and looked up.  ‘What have you to say that you did not say at our last meeting?’ he asked.  ‘Or, perhaps, you have things to unsay?’ “

That last meeting saw Gandalf Saruman’s prisoner on the top of Orthanc–

(the Hildebrandts)

but what was it which Saruman said, how was it put, and what or who might lie behind it, will be the subject of Part 2 of this posting.

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Remember that line from another Shakespeare play, “All that glisters is not gold”,

And also remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Hair Today

30 Wednesday Apr 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

I often pass by a very unusual house, one which I would find hard to describe—perhaps something the Munchkins might build,

combined with a gingerbread house,

in the spotty colors and patterns of a Seurat pointillismist painting.

(Seurat, “La Tour Eiffel” , 1889—if you like the look of this, see:  https://www.georgesseurat.net/  for lots more—and, for more about this painting:  https://artincontext.org/the-eiffel-tower-by-georges-seurat/ )

All of that might make you slam on the brakes and drive as slowly as possible past, but there’s an added detail—for the past year, there has been a ladder propped from the ground to a closed window on the second floor.  It’s not anything exotic, just a plain aluminum extension ladder.

When I first spotted it, I probably thought:  fixing a storm window or painting trim and didn’t think about it again. 

But, after seeing it for a year, and remembering what the house looks like, I began to consider other possibilities—and I’m sure that, with that combination, you’re considering them, too. 

Dismissing fire drills, it struck me that, as the house has a fairy tale look, it must have something to do with such stories,

First, ir could be something Romeo and Julietesque—but, instead of standing under her balcony

and then scaling it,

Romeo stopped by the local hardware store and properly equipped himself.    (They eloped, as planned, this time, without the tragic ending, where everyone’s been stabbed or poisoned.)

Or—not Romeo and Juliet, but Rapunzel and her (fill in name here—“Charming” being a common place-holder) Prince, who is, for a change, a little more considerate than the usual prince in the story..

After all, have you ever had your hair pulled?  Granted, if you’ve got fifteen feet or more of it—but wait—let’s go back a bit.

(Although, in an interesting variant of this theme, from Ferdowsi’s  10th/11th-century epic poem “Shahnameh”, a prince, Zal, when offered a princess, Rudaba’s,, hair as a means of escalade, takes a lariat from a retainer, instead.  See:  https://archive.org/details/shahnama01firduoft/page/270/mode/2up  )

It all seems to begin with a late Renaissance story collection, Giambattista Basile’s (1583-1632 )

 Pentamerone.

(so far the earliest printing I can find—as you can see, it’s dated 1749—but it gives away a secret:  Giambattista Basile was actually Gian Alesio Abbattutis—although “abbattuto” in modern Italian means “depressed”—so was his work, like Thomas d’Urfey’s subtitle to his “Wit and Mirth”—“ or Pills to Purge Melancholy”,  an eventual 6-volume collection of poems and songs, published between 1698 and 1720, an attempt to relieve despair?  You can see all six of d’Urfey’s volumes here:  https://archive.org/details/imslp-and-mirth-or-pills-to-purge-melancholy-durfey-thomas/PMLP144559-Vol._1/page/n5/mode/2up  Don’t be confused by the spelling of the subtitle of the Basile, by the way:  this is the southern Italian/Sicilian spelling of “conto”—“story”, so it means “the story of stories”, meaning “the very best of stories” .)

published posthumously by his sister, Adriana, in two volumes, in 1634 and 1636.

Its title means something like “Five Days” and the title comes from the framing story—which you can read about here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pentamerone  In sum, ten story-tellers are hired each to tell one story a day for five days, making a total of fifty stories.

The first story on the second day is “Petrosinella”—“Parsley”, the title coming from the name of the main character.  (The modern Italian word is “prezzemolo” so I’m assuming that this is dialectal/archaic or both.  Pliny, in his Natural History, Book XX, Chapter 47, mentions “petroselinon”—the Latin form being “petroselinum”—“rock (petra) parsley”, so I’m guessing that “Petrosinella” is what is called a metathetic form, where part of the word has been transposed with another, like “calvary” for “cavalry”.  Maybe also confused with the Italian diminutive ending “-ella”, as if the meaning is “Little Parsley”.  If you’d like to read what Pliny has to say about it—including being useful for snake bite, see:   https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0137%3Abook%3D20%3Achapter%3D47 )

A brief summary of the plot:

A pregnant woman repeatedly visits the garden of an orca (ogress—now, however, a killer whale—not what Basile had in mind, I’m sure)) to steal parsley,   The ogress catches her, but lets her go on condition that the ogress  gets the child.  Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  Eventually, she gets the child, whom she puts into a tower with only one high window and visits her by using the girl’s hair.

And, if you know “Rapunzel”, you know what happens next—prince, etc—but then the story becomes quite different, with Petrosinella and the prince escaping and the ogress eventually being killed.  (Here’s the whole story for you in  J.E. Taylor’s  1847 translation in a 1911 illustrated reprinting:  https://archive.org/details/31383047427094/page/82/mode/2up )

Well, until the later part of the story, this looks more or less familiar, but, if this is the Rapunzel story, why is the main character called “Parsley”?

For that, we need to move to its next incarnation, “Persinette”, by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de la Force, who published her version of the story, which she claimed was original, in a volume the title of which suggests that she had, in fact, read Basile:  Les Contes des Contes (1698), making a slight change by pluralizing that first story in Basile’s subtitle, not to mention the fact that her heroine is named “Little Parsley” (“Persinette”—although one might expect “Persilette”, as the French word for parsley is “persil”).

A major difference between this and Basile’s text is that de Caumont’s is much more elaborate—including the detail that parsley was not available at that time and that the Fairy (no longer an ogress) has had to have it imported from India!  Much of the basic story we read in Basile is there—the hair, the tower, but more has been added, beginning with it being Persinette’s father-to-be who steals the parsley, rather than her mother, the fact that the Fairy causes the tower to appear by magic, that, finding Persinette to be pregnant, the Fairy isolates her in a cottage by the sea, that Persinette has twins there, that the Fairy tricks the prince, who leaps from the tower and is blinded—so much more of which fits in with the familiar Rapunzel story.  (Here’s a summary:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persinette  but, for the complete story, so far I’ve only managed to find a 1785 French version, which, if you have some French—with 18th-century spelling conventions—you can read here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persinette )

But, although there are lots more familiar details here, we’re still in the land of parsley—how did we move  to “rapunzel”—which isn’t parsley, but something called “rampion”?

This is an edible plant, once commonly grown and eaten, but now seems to have lost its popularity (for more, see here:  https://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/r/rampio03.html  And a more scientific description here:  https://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/PlantFinder/PlantFinderDetails.aspx?taxonid=278824 )

The answer to the question of name change is:  we move from Italian to French to German, as rampion replaces parsley in Friedrich Schulz’ 1790 collection Kleine Romane, “Little Novels”, in which he included his translation of de Caumont (available here in a transcription from the Fraktur (old German script) of the original:  https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/ssd?id=chi.81388905;page=ssd;view=plaintext;seq=281;num=271#seq281  and pages beyond–I’ve done a quick survey of the text, which sticks  pretty closely to the French—except for that “rapunzel”, which is noted to be a rare plant, just as the parsley is in de Caumont, although the Fairy doesn’t get it from India.) 

This, in turn, was used by the Grimm brothers in the first edition of Kinder und Hausmaerchen (something like “Children’s and Domestic Wonder-tales”) in 1812.

But one more but—how does the story come into English?

The first “translation” of the Grimm brothers’ work is the two volumes by Edgar Taylor, published in 1823 and 1826.

This is, in fact, only a selection, and doesn’t include “Rapunzel”, possibly because of Rapunzel’s pregnancy out of wedlock.  As far as I can currently determine, the first English translation to include the story is the Edward H. Wehnert Household Stories, 1853, in two volumes, “Rapunzel” being in the first, and you can read it here:  https://archive.org/details/householdstorie01grimgoog/page/n6/mode/2up?view=theater

From there we can move to  Margaret Hunt’s 1884 translation in 2 volumes (here:  https://archive.org/details/grimmshouseholdt01grim/page/n3/mode/2up?view=theater  for volume 1 and here:  https://archive.org/details/grimmshouseholdt2grim/page/n7/mode/2up for volume 2.  This translation is noted in particular as it includes the Grimms’ editiorial notes, the first edition to do so.)

And, interesting–this edition had an introduction by Andrew Lang, who then included it in his 1890 The Red Fairy Book (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/540/540-h/540-h.htm ), where JRRT probably read it, as we know he knew other stories from the volume.

So, why is that ladder there?  An updated fairy tale?   Or just an absent-minded repairman?  I’d prefer to think the former, although, in comparison with that long column of golden hair in the old stories

an aluminum extension ladder seems awfully drab.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

If you’re acrophobic, best to seek adventure among dwarves,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

The change from “parsley” to “rampion”—and even which plant is “rampion”—has been the subject of scholarly discussion.  See:   https://writinginmargins.weebly.com/home/what-is-the-plant-in-rapunzel  .Edward Taylor, in his 1846 collection, The Fairy Ring, even decided that either name was inappropriate for his British readers and changed her name to “Violet”!  You can read his version here:  https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/ssd?id=uc1.31158001207546;page=ssd;view=plaintext;seq=367;num=321#seq367  

PPS

If you would like to compare various English translations, from 1823 to 1927, see:  https://archive.org/details/householdstorie01grimgoog/page/n6/mode/2up?view=theate

Alternatives

23 Wednesday Apr 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

I’ve written before about “What Ifs”—that is, alternative views of things, be they historical,

(and interesting here to see an introduction by Harry Turtledove, who has written a raft of “what ifs” himself)

or based upon fantasy.

Recently, I wrote about Sauron’s terms, as stated by the Mouth of Sauron in “The Black Gate Opens”,

(Douglas Beekman—prolific sci-fi/fantasy artist—you can read a little about him here:  https://www.askart.com/artist/Doug_L_Beekman/122294/Doug_L_Beekman.aspx )

 to Gandalf and the others, taking apart the terms, as well as the behavior of the Mouth (see “Treating”, 26 March, 2025)), but the thought has occurred to me–a what if—what if the leaders of the West had agreed, if only to buy time?  After all, they had had no news of Frodo until the Mouth had produced his garments and, seeing them, mightn’t they have assumed that the Ring had gone back to its master?  And, if Sauron once more had the Ring, what next?

Here are the terms once more:

“ ‘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.  All lands east of the Anduin shall be Sauron’s for ever, solely.  West of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan shall be tributary to Mordor, and men there shall bear no weapons, but shall have leave to govern their own affairs.  But they shall help to rebuild Isengard which they have wantonly destroyed, and that shall be Sauron’s, and there his lieutenant shall dwell:  not Saruman, but one more worthy of trust.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 10, “The Black Gate Opens”)

At first glance, as insulting as the tone is, the terms are fairly mild, coming down to:

1. Sauron keeps Ithilien and beyond—which he mostly already holds, in fact

2. Rohan and, although it’s not named directly, we can presume Gondor:

 a. will pay tribute to Mordor

 b. but, although disarmed, will be allowed their own government

 c. although, with Isengard rebuilt, one presumes that Sauron’s lieutenant (the Mouth assumes that it will be he) will keep a close eye on Rohan and Gondor in the future

What this would mean, perhaps, is that Eomer would rule Rohan, but who would rule Gondor is uncertain—we would doubt highly that it would be Aragorn, considering that he’s already, using the Palantir, threatened Sauron—so possibly the Stewardship would continue, under Faramir?  If Sauron has a sense of irony, that would be fitting as, under his rule, there would never be a return of the King.

But was any of this real?  Would Sauron ever back down, even for a moment?  He did, many many years ago after the defeat of Morgoth, and again, when defeated by Tar-Calion, so we might see here another wavering of his purpose—after all, his minion (although he apparently isn’t aware of the fact that the Palantir has turned him into Sauron’s puppet) Saruman, has been defeated, his orc army destroyed, and his stronghold breached, and Sauron’s plan to attack Minas Tirith by land and sea has also failed, including the end of the chief of the Nazgul, Sauron’s general.  So far, things haven’t been going his way.

We’ll never know about what might have happened, however, if any of these terms were agreed to, because, upon Gandalf’s refusing them and threatening the Mouth, as in the chapter title, the Black Gate opens and the hordes of Mordor roar out to surround and nearly defeat the Westerners until eagles and the destruction of the Ring bring the whole thing to a crashing halt, literally.

(Ted Nasmith—and hasn’t he outdone himself with this painting?)

But could any of this ever have been a possibility?  To begin with, it would have meant that Aragorn would have been on the run and Gandalf, too, for that matter, as it’s doubtful that Sauron would have let either of the two escape alive.  We can presume, as well, that he would have attacked both Lorien and Rivendell and the forest elves’ kingdom, and probably even stretched that long, threatening arm

(JRRT)

beyond Rivendell to Bree and the Shire, although, if “Sharkey” was already busy industrializing the Shire, it might have amused Sauron to let him survive there, both as a puppet and as vengeance on the Shire for having been the hiding place of the Ring for so long.

(Alan Lee)

And can we doubt that he would have ordered his new lieutenant at Isengard to deal with Fangorn and the Ents?

But would this even be the end of things?  One has only to remember Sauron’s behavior in the Second Age:

“He denies the existence of God, saying that the One is a mere invention of the jealous Valar of the West, the oracle of their own wishes.  The chief of the gods is he that dwells in the Void, who will conquer in the end, and in the void make endless realms for his servants….

A new religion, and worship of the Dark, with its temple under Sauron arises.  The Faithful are persecuted and sacrificed…”  (from a letter to Milton Waldman, late 1951, Letters, 216)

(Aztec sacrifice—as even Ted Nasmith and Denis Gordeev have yet to tackle this part of the story!)

So, might we also see new buildings and sinister ones at that?

And, when Sauron speaks of Morgoth (“chief of the gods is he that dwells in the Void”), does he have a plan to bring him back? 

As far as I know, only Ted Nasmith has tried to represent Morgoth–

even JRRT himself doesn’t appear to have done so, so perhaps this is a “what if” taken a bit too far!

Thanks, for reading, as ever.

Stay well,

Be thankful that, for all that combating evil in Middle-earth is “the long defeat”, it hasn’t won yet,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Lingua Orca

16 Wednesday Apr 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

I begin this posting with a riddle:  how are Tolkien and Sauron alike? 

But we’ll come back to that.

Before that, I want to talk about the title of this posting. 

When Boromir is killed by the Orcs.

(Ted Nasmith)

Merry and Pippin are captured and carried off across country,

(Denis Gordeev)

Pippin waking eventually to this—

“He struggled a little, quite uselessly.  One of the Orcs sitting near laughed and said something to a companion in their abominable language..  ‘Rest while you can, little fool!’ he then said to Pippin, in the Common Speech, which he made almost as hideous as his own language.”

But what does that “abominable language” sound like?  Another Orc, equally gentle, gives us an example.

“ ‘If I had my way, you’d wish that you were dead now,’ said the other….’Don’t draw attention to yourself, or I may forget my orders,’ he hissed.  Curse the Isengarders!  Ugluk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob bubhosh skai’:  he passed into a long angry speech in his own tongue that slowly died away into muttering and snarling.”

One word is easy to pick out, of course—Saruman—but the rest calls for translating, something which Tolkien doesn’t provide in The Lord of the Rings, but there are, in fact, at least three translations:

1. “Ugluk to the cesspool, sha!  the dungfilth; the great Saruman-fool, skai!”  which comes from a draft of Appendix F of The Peoples of Middle-earth

2. “Ugluk to the dung-pit with stinking Saruman-filth—pig-guts, gah!”  which is a translation by Carl Hostetter in Vinyar Tengwar 26

3. “Ugluk to torture(chamber) with stinking Saruman-filth.  Dung-heap.  Skai!”  which is from Parma Eldalamberon XVII

(You can see the whole reference here:  https://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Ugl%C3%BAk_u_bagronk_sha_pushdug_Saruman-glob_b%C3%BAbhosh_skai   For a bit more, including JRRT’s comment on Orkish, suggesting that he has bowdlerized this a bit in that 3rd translation, see:  https://glaemscrafu.jrrvf.com/english/ugluk.html )

Pippin can’t understand a word of this—

“Terrified Pippin lay still, though the pain at his wrists and ankles was growing, and the stones beneath him were boring into his back.  To take his mind off himself he listened intently to all that he could hear.  There were many voices round about, and though orc-speech sounded at all times full of hate and anger, it seemed plain that something like a quarrel had begun, and was getting hotter.” 

but still senses that there is strong emotion behind the Orcs’ words and part of how that “hate and anger” was conveyed to Pippin probably from the very sounds of the language—full of the hissing SH—sha, push-dug, bub-hosh—and words of only one or two syllables—Ug-luk, ba-gronk, sha, push-dug, bub-hosh, skai, making it sound abrupt.  And you can then see that 3-syllable “Saruman” was clearly a foreign word, which was then turned into an Orkish compound with that final single-syllable “glob”.

And yet:

“To Pippin’s surprise he found that much of the talk was intelligible; many of the Orcs were using ordinary language.”

“ordinary language” here is Pippin’s tongue—the Common Speech of Middle-earth (“Westron”)—which is also the language in which The Lord of the Rings was supposed  originally to have been written.

Dazed as he might be (“I suppose I was knocked on the head” he says to himself when he first wakes), Pippin, listening, comes to a clever conclusion as to why the Common Speech is employed by the Orcs who, after all, appear to have their own language:

“Apparently the members of two or three quite different tribes were present, and they could not understand one another’s orc-speech.”  (all of the above quotations from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 3, “The Uruk-hai”)

It’s interesting to see what the Orcs are doing here:  finding a way to converse because their own languages—or at least their dialects—are not mutually intelligible.

This has been a problem throughout history, wherever one people meets another with which it doesn’t share a language.

Several different approaches have been created.

On the Great Plains of the US West, for example,

Native Americans produced a kind of universal sign language, which employed standardized gestures for common concepts and ideas.  Here’s a chart of a few of those gestures—

and here’s a possible extension—although I must say that it strikes me that it would take two very linguistically talented people, with a wide gesture vocabulary, to convey all of this.

(You can read about it here, which includes a wonderful piece of film in which various Native Americans and a seemingly-fluent US Government representative converse in gesture:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plains_Indian_Sign_Language )

Besides gesture, people have constructed what’s called a “lingua franca”—literally “French tongue”—that is, a kind of trade tongue, which might have a base in one language, but which then borrows words from other regional languages to build its working vocabulary.  The term comes from such a language employed from the early medieval period up into the 19th century in the Mediterranean, “franca” being used really to mean not “French” so much as “foreign”.    (You can read more about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingua_franca )

In contemporary Papua/New Guinea,

there is the English-based Tok Pisin, which has become so useful that it has become the first language of some groups.  (For more, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tok_Pisin , which includes a demonstration of TP as spoken, although the background noise makes it a little difficult to hear.  Fortunately, there are a fair number of YouTube videos, should you want to hear more—and I hope you do.  YouTube is full of languages, both living and now no longer in use—I won’t say “dead”, because, if any language is still comprehensible, even if the last speakers are gone, I wouldn’t write an epitaph for it, myself– and we’re so lucky to be given so much to learn and understand.)

The Orcs, however, have simply resorted to employing another language entirely—although it would be interesting to see whether, had we more of their speech, we might find elements from other languages—there’s a clue in that “Saruman-glob”, where the speaker takes a word from another language and simply attaches an Orc word to it.

What was that “orc-speech”, which Pippin couldn’t understand?

“The Orcs were first bred by the Dark Power of the North in the Elder Days.  It is said that they had no language of their own, but took what they could of other languages and perverted it to their own liking, yet they made only brutal jargons, scarcely sufficient even for their own needs, unless it were for curses and abuse.  And these creatures, being filled with malice, hating even their own kind, quickly developed as many barbarous dialects as there were groups or settlements of their race, so that their Orkish speech was of little use to them in intercourse between different tribes.”

And so what we’re seeing is that the Orcs were actually developing a series of languages rather like linguae francae—basing them on whatever other language was locally available, then adding the odd curse or form of abuse which appealed to them, all of which turned their speech, even if once based upon a common borrowed language, into something incomprehensible to others from the same race.

It’s clear that Sauron, from whom Saruman got his definition of what Saruman claimed was always the goal of the Istari:  “Knowledge, Rule, Order”, wished Rule and Order to be at the heart of his dominion and therefore:

“It is said that the Black Speech was devised by Sauron in the Dark Years, and that he desired to make it the language of all those who served him…”

but the power of the Linguae Orcae, as we can call them, won out:

“…but [Sauron] failed in that purpose.  From the Black Speech, however, were derived many of the words that were in the Third Age wide-spread among the Orcs, such as ghash, ‘fire’, but after the first overthrow of Sauron this language in its ancient form was forgotten by all but the Nazgul.” 

And so even their master’s invention became nothing more than a vocab pool, from which to draw that which the Orcs fancied—and we know their preferences.

It’s no wonder, then, that

“So it was that in the Third Age Orcs used for communication between breed and breed the Westron tongue; and many indeed of the older tribes, such as those that still lingered in the North and in the Misty Mountains, had long used the Westron as their native language…”—just like those for whom Tok Pisin had moved from a trade tongue to a first tongue—but here’s an Orkish difference:  “though in such a fashion as to make it hardly less lovely than Orkish.” (all quotations from “The Orcs were first bred…” on from The Lord of the Rings, Appendix F)

And the answer to the riddle—I think that you’ve guessed it already:  “How are Tolkien and Sauron alike?”  Both were creators of languages, the difference being that it seems that virtually everyone in Middle-earth, from Elves to Dwarves to Ents to Orcs, speaks Westron, while no one speaks the Black Speech but Sauron’s last and soon to be lost, enslaved kings, the Nazgul.

(Denis Gordeev)

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Consider the endless borrowings which English has made from world languages,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Two Fingers

09 Wednesday Apr 2025

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

From the title of this posting, you, imaginative readers, might create any number of topic subjects.  It could be the name of a pirate,

his other fingers lost to a cutlass.

It could be the order by that pirate for whiskey,

since the barkeep has run out of rum–

or perhaps the pirate is an elegant gentleman, like James Hook,

(William Nicholson’s costume design for the original captain, 1904, in the V&M–Victoria and Albert Museum—collection)

a graduate of Eton College,

who knows his malts and knows that “two fingers” is a standard measure.

In Philip Pullman’s The Subtle Knife,

one of the protagonists, Will Parry, has lost two fingers in gaining the knife of the title—could this be the topic?

In the US, poison ivy

has the colloquial name “Three-fingered Jack”—perhaps this is a variant so deadly that it only needs two fingers? 

Or is this the title for one of Sherlock Holmes’

cases that Watson is so desperate to see—but never will:  “The Adventure of the Two Fingers”?

As you’re imaginative, I’ll let you go on from there, and I hope that you won’t be disappointed to learn that it’s none of the above, but, instead, it’s about typing.

The history of typewriters is a complex one (you can read all about it here:  https://historycooperative.org/who-invented-the-typewriter/  but, if the history of technology interests you as it does me, be sure to veer over to the article on the Hansen “writing ball”, which you can find here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansen_Writing_Ball )

but Christopher Latham Sholes (along with Samuel Soule , Carlos Glidden, and James Densmore) is credited with producing the first commercially viable machine in 1868, the “Remington No.1”,

which employed the QWERTY pattern still seen today.

(For a wonderfully-detailed and enlighteningly-illustrated article on this, see:   https://readmultiplex.com/2022/10/21/the-actual-reasons-the-qwerty-keyboard-layout-was-invented-and-how-it-changed-us/   And yes, that “Remington” was the firearms company, which was diversifying.)

In the later 19th century, the Industrial Revolution seemed  to begin to find a second wind and offices were increasingly full of typewriters and typists (one of the ways in which young women came into the workforce).

You can really see this in 1897’s Dracula,

where a major character, Mina Harker, uses her typing and other secretarial skills to help to defeat the vampire.  (And, if you’ve never read it, here’s an American first edition for you:    https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/45839/pg45839-images.html  For more on using the office to defeat Dracula, see “Take a Letter”, 30 December, 2020 on this blog)

But the machine which is the focus of this posting—and appears above, just after that Sidney Paget image of Holmes, wasn’t a Remington, but a Hammond, first put on the market in 1884.

(for more on early Hammonds, see:  https://www.antikeychop.com/hammondno1typewriter )

A much later version of one of these was owned by a Professor JRR Tolkien and, as he tells us, on which “I typed nearly all of The Lord of the Rings” (letter to Rayner Unwin, 22 June, 1952, Letters, 236).

The Hammond was a very different machine from the Remingtons in their various iterations, including, in time, the ability to shift typefaces (JRRT mentions in an airmail letter to Christopher during the war that he’s using a “midget” typeface to cram in more writing in the limited space of an airmail letter—see the letter of 7 July, 1944, Letters, 124.  For a very good article on Tolkien’s writing habits, see:  https://tonyriches.blogspot.com/2014/06/j-r-r-tolkiens-writing-habits.html )

With 1200 pages of manuscript, and only Tolkien to do the typing (or most of it, from his various accounts it’s unclear if he did every page himself—he had earlier typed out The Hobbit—see the letter to Christopher Bretherton, 16 July, 1964, Letters,  257), it’s not surprising that it took him so long to do a readable draft (and he only had one, as he tells Hugh Brogan –from a letter to Hugh Brogan, 4 September, 1950, Letters, 199-200), especially as he was not a trained typist.  “Touch typing” appeared as early as the 1880s, but it was a specialized skill (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Touch_typing )and we can only presume that JRRT was self-taught. 

And that he typed everything with only two fingers (see Philip Norman, “The Prevalence of Hobbits” in the New York Times Book Review, 15 January, 1967, which you can find here:   https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/books/01/02/11/specials/tolkien-mag67.html ).

And that’s where the two fingers of the title meet Tolkien’s Hammond typewriter.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Imagine what JRRT could have done with a laptop,

And remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

Rad Aghast

02 Wednesday Apr 2025

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

I was very pleased when the new, expanded edition of The Letters of JRR Tolkien appeared in 2023,

not only for what new information might be contained in that word “expanded”, but also as, having used my paperback copy of the first edition to the point where, although the pages were still intact, the whole book seemed a little tired, as if it had been employed a little more often than it would have preferred.

When I first opened this new edition, I immediately paged through to what I had hoped was among the expanded letters:  “From a Letter to Forrest J. Ackerman” (“Not dated; June 1958”, Letters, 389-397).

This, as Humphrey Carpenter’s note tells us, was “Tolkien’s comments on the film ‘treatment’ of The Lord of the Rings”.

Ackerman doesn’t appear in Carpenter’s Tolkien biography, but he does appear in several letters, including the long excerpt, and Carpenter makes reference to him, as “agent for the film company” (Letters, 628).  In fact, he was a major figure in the American world of fantasy/science fiction/horror in the 1950s and 1960s, including being the editor of an early fan magazine, Famous Monsters of Filmland, 1958-1983, which provided an impressionable young man with this particularly haunting image—

(This is Lon Chaney, Sr., in the missing London After Midnight, 1927, which you can read about here:   https://silentology.wordpress.com/2022/10/31/everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know-about-london-after-midnight-practically/  If, like me, you love silent film, this is a good site to learn from.  You can read about the rather tangled history  of Famous Monsters  here:   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_J_Ackerman and about Ackerman here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_J_Ackerman )

From the additional material available in the new edition, we can see that Tolkien liked the visual samples with which he was presented, but—there’s no other word for it—appalled by the “treatment”, of which he wrote:

“If Z. [Zimmerman, the writer of the treatment] and/or others do so [that is, read Tolkien’s comments], they may be irritated or aggrieved by the tone of many of my criticisms.  If so, I am sorry (though not surprised).  But I would ask them to make an effort of imagination sufficient to understand the irritation (and on occasion resentment) of an author, who finds, increasingly as he proceeds, his work treated as it would seem carelessly in general, in places recklessly, and with no evident signs of any appreciation of what it is all about…”   (From a Letter…,389)

What I had hoped for was the complete letter, as, from what has actually been printed, Tolkien tells us, in his criticism, just what he might have wanted in a film of The Lord of the Rings and, in the process, provides us with a different perspective on his perspective.  Certainly, what is included  underscores what he wrote in the beginning of the letter, and something I take from it is that the writer has imagined much of the book as being downright clownish—as in Tolkien’s comments on the presentation of Tom Bombadil:

“7. The first paragraph misrepresents Tom Bombadil.  He is not the owner of the woods; and he would never make any such threat. 

‘Old scamp!’ This is a good example of the general tendency that I find in Z to reduce and lower the tone towards that of a more childish fairy-tale. “  (Letters, 391)

Add to this Tolkien’s later comment on the appearance of Merry and Pippin as Saruman’s “door-keepers”:

“14. Why on earth should Z say that the hobbits ‘were munching ridiculously long sandwiches’?” (Letters, 396)

(Michael Herring—you can see more of his work here:  https://www.artnet.com/artists/michael-herring/ )

Of himself, Tolkien once wrote:

“[I] have a very simple sense of humour (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome)” (from a letter to Deborah Webster, 25 October, 1958, Letters, 412)

So he was not against comedy in general:

“I return Rayner’s [Rayner Unwin, the son of Sir Stanley, Tolkien’s publisher] remarks with thanks to you both.  I am sorry he felt overpowered, and I particularly miss any reference to the comedy, with which I imagined the first ‘book’ [that is, The Fellowship] was well supplied.  It may have misfired.  I cannot bear funny books or plays myself, I mean those that set out to be all comic; but it seems to me that in real life, as here, it is precisely against the darkness of the world that comedy arises…” (letter to Sir Stanley Unwin, 31 July, 1947, Letters, 172)

Tolkien could even be a practical joker—see Humphrey Carpenter, JRR Tolkien:  A Biography, 134, for more on this.

And yet we can see, from his Ackerman comments, that, when it came to his creative work, he was not only serious, but expected others to take it seriously—to treat it seriously—as well.

So what are we to make of the portrayal of Radagast the Brown in The Hobbit of P. Jackson and Co.?

Well, we might begin by saying that he is only mentioned in Tolkien’s Hobbit, (Chapter 7, “Queer Lodgings”) and appears, but only briefly, as a messenger from Saruman in The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”. 

He is one of the 5 Istari, sent to Middle-earth as a counter-balance to Sauron.  (On the Istari, see Unfinished Tales, 405-412).  It may be that Tolkien himself thought that he had become a little too acclimatized:

“Indeed, of all the Istari, one only remained faithful, and he was the last-comer.  For Radagast, the fourth, became enamoured of the many beasts and birds that dwelt in Middle-earth, and forsook Elves and Men, and spent his days among the wild creatures.”  (JRR Tolkien, The Lost Tales, 407)

But this doesn’t mean that he’s become what Saruman sneeringly calls him:  “Radagast the Bird-tamer!  Radagast the Simple!  Radagast the fool!” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)—although he could easily be taken for that in Jackson’s Hobbit, for all that he’s had invented for him a role that seems to want to combine the clownish with the heroic, but, for me,  as JRRT did not create this role and would certainly have been upset by the clownish aspects of it–

see his comment  on illustrations for a German translation of The Hobbit sent him by Horus Engels:

“He has sent me some illustrations (of the Trolls and Gollum) which despite certain merits, such as one would expect of a German, are I fear too ‘Disnified’ for my taste:  Bilbo with a dribbling nose, and Gandalf as a figure of vulgar fun rather than the Odinic wanderer that I think of…” (letter to Sir Stanley Unwin, 7 December, 1946, Letters 171-172)

he seems not only unnecessary, but exactly what disturbed Tolkien about the Zimmerman “treatment” of The Lord of the Rings, the reaction of an author who finds:

“…increasingly as he proceeds, his work treated as it would seem carelessly , in places recklessly, and with no evident signs  of any appreciation of what it is all about…”

Hence the title of this posting—not  the fear generated by the Old English gaest , of the original word, but certainly a sense of disturbance of the sort JRRT felt in that “treatment” and I’m sure would have felt even more strongly seeing what had happened to his character in the hands of those who, at best, are reckless.

Thanks, as always, for reading,

Stay well,

Believe that the author means what she/he says,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

For me, this illustration, by Lucas Graciano, seems a better depiction—

(you can see more of his imaginative art here:  https://www.lucasgraciano.com/ )

Treating

26 Wednesday Mar 2025

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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

O

Doom

19 Wednesday Mar 2025

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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 18th-century-early-19th-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 4th-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 12th-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

O