Sauron Defeated (39 page)

59. In A it is Jeremy who speaks at this point, asking: 'How do you know you've been there?' And Ramer replies: 'I don't: I have seen the places, not been there. My body's never travelled. I have seen the places either indirectly through other records, as you could say you'd seen Hongkong if you'd looked at many long accurate coloured films of it; or directly by using light. But how I know what the places are is another matter.'

60. Saturn is not mentioned in A. B has: 'And Gyuruchill, Saturn, is unmistakable'. Gyuruchill was changed to Shomori, and then to old Enekol.

61. The Cronic Star (in the footnote by Guildford at this point): Saturn (in astrology the leaden planet). Cronic is derived from Kronos, the Greek god (father of Zeus) identified by the Romans with Saturn; wholly distinct etymologically from chronic, derived from Greek chronos 'time'.

62. On the 'Fluted Wave' see p. 194.

63. In A Ramer says here: 'I could tell you about Atlantis (though that's not its name to me, nor Numenor): it is connected with that Fluted Wave. And the Door TT [which is connected with the Meg(alithic) >] of the Megalithic is too.' In B he speaks as in the final text, but says again 'though that's not its name to me, nor Numenor' - the last two words being later strongly struck out, and Loudham's question (asked with 'a curious eagerness') 'What is its name?' inserted (when the peculiar association of Lowdham with Numenor had entered: see notes 38, 46). In the final text of the Papers the emergence of the name Numenor is postponed until Part Two (p. 231).

64. A has here: 'But I've seen my Marim [changed probably at once to Albarim] playing one of their Albar-plays: the drama of the Silver Tree.' In A the name En-keladim has not occurred (see note 48). With 'the Drama of the Silver Tree' cf. the citation from On Fairy-Stories given in note 43.

65. In A Ramer says: 'I don't think that's invented: not by me anyway. It seems to take place on this earth in some time or mode or [?place].' In A he goes straight on from 'Atlantis' to his final story.

In B Ramer comments on the Drama of the Silver Tree as in the final text, as far as 'something like it really happens, and I have seen it, far off perhaps or faintly.' Then follows:

I guess that the true types of my Enkeladim are invisible, unless they turn their attention to you. That is, they are Eldilic in Lewis's terms, in some lesser rank [added: or perhaps like Tolkien's Unfallen Elves, only they were embodied].

All this was struck out, and replaced on a rider by the final text, as far as 'entering as it were into their own works because of their love for them.' Then follows: 'that is, that they are of a kind other than Lewis's Eldila (even of lesser rank); and yet not the same as Tolkien's Unfallen Elves, for those were embodied.'

The original B text continues with 'I think [Emberu >] Ellor is one of their worlds ...', as in the final form. Against Ellor is a footnote:

Ramer said that it was queer how the syllable cropped up: first in Tolkien's Eldar, Eldalie, then in Lewis's Eldil, and then in his Ellor. He thought it might be an 'elvish' or Keladian word. The Enkeladim are language-makers. NG.

66. Here the fair copy manuscript C ends, and the typescript D from here on follows B (see p. 146).

67. In A the name was Tekel-Ishtar, becoming Tekel-Mirim before the manuscript was completed.

68. Thomas Huxley, Physiography, 1877, cited in the Oxford English Dictionary.

69. The Radcliffe Camera, a great circular domed building standing in Radcliffe Square, Oxford, on the south side of which stands St. Mary's church and on the north side the Bodleian Library.

Camera is used in the Latin sense 'arched or vaulted roof or chamber' (Latin camera ) French chambre, English chamber).

[PART TWO].(1)

Night 62.(2) Thursday, March 6th, 1987. [Of this meeting only half a torn sheet is preserved. The relevant part will be found in the note to Night 61, p. 195. There appears to have been further discussion of Ramer's views and adventures.]

Night 63. Thursday, March 13th, 1987. [Only the last page of the record of this meeting is preserved. The discussion seems to have proceeded to legendary voyages of discovery in general.

For the reference to the imram see Night (69).](3)

[Good] night Frankley!'

Lowdham seemed to feel a bit guilty about his ragging; and when the meeting finally broke up, he walked up the High with Ramer and myself. We turned into Radcliffe Square.(4)

'Played the ass as usual, Ramer,' said Lowdham. 'Sorry! I felt all strung up: wanted a fight, or a carouse, or something.

But really I was very interested, especially about the imram.(5) Underneath we Nordics (6) have some feelings, as long as the Dago-fanciers will only be reasonably polite.' He hesitated. 'I've had some rather odd experiences - well, perhaps we'll talk about it some other time. It's late. But in the vac. perhaps?'

'I shall be going away,' said Ramer, a trifle coldly, 'till after Easter.'

'Oh well. But do come to the meetings next term! You must have lots more to tell us. I'll try and be good.'

It was a cool clear night after a windy day. It was starry in the west, but the moon was already climbing. At B.N.C.(7) gate Lowdham turned. The Camera looked vast and dark against the moonlit sky. Wisps of long white cloud were passing on an easterly breeze. For a moment one of them seemed to take the shape of a plume of smoke issuing from the lantern of the dome.

Lowdham looked up, and his face altered. His tall powerful figure appeared taller and broader as he stood there, gazing, with his dark brows drawn down. His face seemed pale and angry, and his eyes glittered.

'Curse him! May the Darkness take him!' he said bitterly.

'May the earth open - ' The cloud passed away. He drew his hand over his brow. 'I was going to say,' he said. 'Well, I don't remember. Something about the Camera, I think. Doesn't matter. Good night, chaps!' He knocked, and passed in through the door.

We turned up along the lane. 'Very odd!' I said. 'What a queer fellow he is sometimes! A strange mixture.'

'He is,' said Ramer. 'Most of what we see is a tortoise-shell: armourplate. He doesn't talk much about what he really cares for.'

'For some reason the last two or three meetings seem to have stirred him up, unsettled him,' I said. 'I can't think why.'

'I wonder,' said Ramer. 'Well, good night, Nick. I'll see you again next term. I hope to start attending regularly again.' We parted at the Turl end of the lane.

PF. RD. AAL. MGR. WTJ. JJR. NG.

Night 64. Thursday, March 27th, 1987.(8)

There was only one meeting in the vacation. Guildford's rooms. Neither Ramer nor Lowdham were present (it was a quiet evening). Guildford read a paper on Jutland in antiquity; but there was not much discussion. [No record of the paper is found in the minutes.]

PF. WTJ. JM. RS. JJ. RD. NG.

Night 65. Thursday, May 8th, 1987.(9)

This was the first meeting of Trinity term. We met in Frankley's rooms in Queen's. Jeremy and Guildford arrived first (in time); others arrived one by one at intervals (late). There was nothing definite on for the evening, though we had hoped for some more talk from Ramer; but he seemed disinclined to say anything further. Conversation hopped about during the first hour, but was not notable.

Lowdham was restless, and would not sit down; at intervals he burst into a song (with which he had, in fact, entered at about half past nine). It began:

I've got a very Briny Notion

To drink myself to sleep.

It seldom progressed further, and never got beyond:

Bring me my bowl, my magic potion!

Tonight I'm diving deep.

down! down! down!

Down where the dream-fish go.

It was not well received, least of all by Ramer. But Lowdham subsided eventually, into a moody silence - for a while.

About ten o'clock the talk turned to neologisms; and Lowdham re-entered in their defence, chiefly because Frankley was taking the other side. (No. Pure love of truth and justice. AAL) Lowdham to Frankley: 'You say you object to panting, which all the younger people use now for desire or wish?'

'Yes, I do. And especially to having a great pant for anything;

' or worse having great pants for it.'

'Well, I don't think you've got any good grounds for your objection: nothing better than novelty or unfamiliarity. New words are always objected to, like new art.'

'Nonsense! Double nonsense, Arry!' said Ramer.(10) 'Frankley is complaining precisely because new words are not objected to.

And anyway, I personally object to lots of old words, but I have to go on using 'em, because they're current, and people won't accept my substitutes. I dislike many products of old art. I like many new things but not all. There is such a thing as merit, without reference to age or to familiarity. I took to doink at once: a very good onomatopoeia for some purposes.'

'Yes, doink has come on a lot lately,' said Lowdham. 'But it's not brand-new, of course. I think it's first recorded, in the Third Supplement to the N.E.D.,(11) in the fifties, in the form doing: seems to have started in the Air Force in the Six Years' War.'(12)

'And it's an onomatopoeia, mark you,' said Frankley. 'It's easy to appraise the merits of that kind of word, if you can call it a real word. Anyway, adopting that is not at all on all fours with misusing an established word, robbing Peter to relieve the poverty of Paul: lexicographical socialism, which would end by reducing the whole vocabulary to one flat drab Unmeaning, if there were no reactionaries.'

'And won't anybody give poor Peter his pants back?' Lowdham laughed. 'He's got some more pairs in the cupboard, you'll see. He'll just have to take to wearing modern whaffing and whooshing. And why not? Do you object to Language, root and branch, Pip? I'm surprised at you, and you a poet and all.'

'Of course I don't! But I object to ruining it.'

'But are you ruining it? Is it any worse off with panting: whaffing than with longing: panting? This is not only the way language is changed, it is how it was made. Essentially it consists in the contemplation of a relationship "sound: sense; symbol: meaning". It's not only when this is new (to you at any rate) that you can appraise it. At inspired moments you can catch it, get the thrill of it, in familiar words. I grant that an onomatopoeia is a relatively simple case: whaff. But "to pant for equals to long for" contains the same element: new phonetic form for a meaning. Only here a second thing comes in: the interest, pleasure, excitement, what you will, of the relation of old sense to new. Both are illumined, for a time, at any rate.

Language could never have come into existence without the one process, and never have extended its grasp without the other.

Both must go on! They will, too.'

'Well, I don't like this example of the activity,' said Frankley.

'And I detest it, when philologues talk about Language (with a capital L) with that peculiarly odious unction usually reserved for capitalized Life. That we are told "must go on" - if we complain of any debased manifestations, such as Arry in his cups. He talks about Language as if it was not only a Jungle but a Sacred Jungle, a beastly grove dedicated to Vita Fera,(13) in which nothing must be touched by impious hands. Cankers, fungi, parasites: let 'em alone!

'Languages are not jungles. They are gardens, in which sounds selected from the savage wilderness of Brute Noise are turned into words, grown, trained, and endued with the scents of significance. You talk as if I could not pull up a weed that stinks!'

'I do not!' said Lowdham. 'But, first of all, you have to remember that it's not your garden - if you must have this groggy allegory: it belongs to a lot of other people as well, and to them your stinking weed may be an object of delight. More important: your allegory is misapplied. What you are objecting to is not a weed, but the soil, and also any manifestations of growth and spread. All the other words in your refined garden have come into being (and got their scent) in the same way.

You're like a man who is fond of flowers and fruit, but thinks loam is dirty, and dung disgusting; and the uprising and the withering just too, too sad. You want a sterilized garden of immortelles, no, paper-flowers. In fact, to leave allegory, you won't learn anything about the history of your own language, and hate to be reminded that it has one.'(14)

'Slay me with pontifical thunder-bolts!' cried Frankley. 'But I'll die saying I don't like pants for longings.'

'That's the stuff!' laughed Lowdham. 'And you're right of course, Pip. Both are right: the Thunder and the Rebel. For the One Speaker, all alone, is the final court of doom for words, to bless or to condemn. It's the agreement only of the separate judges that seems to make the laws. If your distaste is shared by an effective number of the others, then pants will prove - a weed, and be thrust in the oven.

'Though, of course, many people - more and more, I sometimes feel, as Time goes on and even language stales - do not judge any longer, they only echo. Their native language, as Ramer would call it, dies almost at their birth.