Tale of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor
That the rewriting of Tinъviel was one of the latest elements in the composition of the Lost Tales seems clear from the fact that it is followed by the first form of the Gilfanon ‘interlude’, written at the same time: for Gilfanon replaced Ailios, and Ailios, not Gilfanon, is the guest in the house in the earlier versions of the Tale of the Sun and Moon and The Hiding of Valinor, and is the teller of the Tale of the Nauglafring.
The poem about the Man in the Moon exists in many texts, and was published at Leeds in 1923;* long after and much changed it was included in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (1962). I give it here in a form close to the earlier published version, but with a few (mostly very minor) alterations made subsequently. The 1923 version was only a little retouched from the earliest workings—where it has the title ‘Why the Man in the Moon came down too soon: an East Anglian phantasy’ in the first finished text the title is ‘A Faлrie: Why the Man in the Moon came down too soon’, together with one in Old English: Se Mуncyning.
Why the Man in the Moon
came down too soon
The Man in the Moon had silver shoonAnd his beard was of silver thread;He was girt with pale gold and inaureoledWith gold about his head.4Clad in silken robe in his great white globeHe opened an ivory doorWith a crystal key, and in secrecyHe stole o’er a shadowy floor;8
Down a filigree stair of spidery hairHe slipped in gleaming haste,And laughing with glee to be merry and freeHe swiftly earthward raced.12He was tired of his pearls and diamond twirls;Of his pallid minaretDizzy and white at its lunar heightIn a world of silver set;16
And adventured this peril for ruby and berylAnd emerald and sapphire,And all lustrous gems for new diadems,Or to blazon his pale attire.20He was lonely too with nothing to doBut to stare at the golden world,Or strain for the hum that would distantly comeAs it gaily past him whirled;24
And at plenilune in his argent moonHe had wearily longed for Fire—Not the limpid lights of wan selenites,But a red terrestrial pyre28With impurpurate glows of crimson and roseAnd leaping orange tongue;For great seas of blues and the passionate huesWhen a dancing dawn is young;32
For the meadowy ways like chrysopraseBy winding Yare and Nen.How he longed for the mirth of the populous EarthAnd the sanguine blood of men;36And coveted song and laughter longAnd viands hot and wine,Eating pearly cakes of light snowflakesAnd drinking thin moonshine.40
He twinkled his feet as he thought of the meat,Of the punch and the peppery brew,Till he tripped unaware on his slanting stair,And fell like meteors do;44As the whickering sparks in splashing arcsOf stars blown down like rainFrom his laddery path took a foaming bathIn the Ocean of Almain;48
And began to think, lest he melt and stink,What in the moon to do,When a Yarmouth boat found him far afloat,To the mazement of the crew52Caught in their net all shimmering wetIn a phosphorescent sheenOf bluey whites and opal lightsAnd delicate liquid green.56
With the morning fish—’twas his regal wish—They packed him to Norwich town,To get warm on gin in a Norfolk inn,And dry his watery gown.60Though Saint Peter’s knell waked many a bellIn the city’s ringing towersTo shout the news of his lunatic cruiseIn the early morning hours,64
No hearths were laid, not a breakfast made,And no one would sell him gems;He found ashes for fire, and his gay desireFor chorus and brave anthems68Met snores instead with all Norfolk abed,And his round heart nearly broke,More empty and cold than above of old,Till he bartered his fairy cloak72
With a half-waked cook for a kitchen nook,And his belt of gold for a smile,And a priceless jewel for a bowl of gruel,A sample cold and vile76Of the proud plum-porridge of Anglian Norwich—He arrived so much too soonFor unusual guests on adventurous questsFrom the Mountains of the Moon.80
It seems very possible that the ‘pallid minaret’ reappears in the ‘little white turret’ which Uolл Kъvion built on the Moon, ‘where often he climbs and watches the heavens, or the world beneath’. The minaret of the Man in the Moon survives in the final version.
The Ocean of Almain is the North Sea (Almain or Almany was a name of Germany in earlier English); the Yare is a Norfolk river which falls into the sea at Yarmouth, and the Nene (pronounced also with a short vowel) flows into the Wash.
IX
THE HIDING OF VALINOR
The link to this tale, which is told by Vairл, has been given at the end of the last (p. 195). The manuscript continues as in the latter part of The Tale of the Sun and Moon (see p. 197 note 19), with an earlier draft also extant, to which reference is made in the notes.
‘Lo, tales I tell of the deep days, and the first is called The Hiding of Valinor.
Already have ye heard,’ said she, ‘of the setting forth of the Sun and Moon upon their wayward journeyings, and many things are there to tell concerning the awakening of the Earth beneath their light; but hear now of the thoughts and deeds of the dwellers in Valinor in those mighty days.
Now is it to tell that so wide were the wanderings of those boats of light that the Gods found it no easy thing to govern all their comings and their goings as they had purposed at the first, and Ilinsor was loath to yield the heaven to Urwendi, and Urwendi set sail often before Ilinsor’s due return, being eager and hot of mood. Wherefore were both vessels often far afloat at one and the same time, and the glory of them sailing most nigh to the very bosom of the Earth, as often they did at that time, was very great and very terrible to see.
Then did a vague uneasiness begin to stir anew in Valinor, and the hearts of the Gods were troubled, and the Eldar spake one to another, and this was their thought.
“Lo, all the world is grown clear as the courtyards of the Gods, straight to walk upon as are the avenues of Vansamнrin or the terraces of Kфr; and Valinor no longer is safe, for Melko hates us without ceasing, and he holds the world without and many and wild are his allies there”—and herein in their hearts they1 numbered even the Noldoli, and wronged them in their thought unwittingly, nor did they forget Men, against whom Melko had lied of old. Indeed in the joy of the last burgeoning of the Trees and the great and glad labour of that fashioning of ships the fear of Melko had been laid aside, and the bitterness of those last evil days and of the Gnomefolk’s flight was fallen into slumber—but now when Valinor had peace once more and its lands and gardens were mended of their hurts memory awoke their anger and their grief again.
Indeed if the Gods forgot not the folly of the Noldoli and hardened their hearts, yet more wroth were the Elves, and the Solosimpi were full of bitterness against their kin, desiring never more to see their faces in the pathways of their home. Of these the chief were those whose kin had perished at the Haven of the Swans, and their leader was one Ainairos who had escaped from that fray leaving his brother dead; and he sought unceasingly with his words to persuade the Elves to greater bitterness of heart.
Now this was a grief to Manwл, yet did he see that as yet his design was not complete, and that the wisdom of the Valar must needs be bent once more to the more perfect government of the Sun and Moon. Wherefore he summoned the Gods and Elves in conclave, that their counsel might better his design, and moreover he hoped with soft words of wisdom to calm their anger and uneasiness ere evil came of it. For clearly he saw herein the poison of Melko’s lies that live and multiply wherever he may cast th1em more fruitfully than any seed that is sown upon the Earth; and already it was reported to him that the ancient murmuring of the Elves was begun anew concerning their freedom, and that pride made some full of folly, so that they might not endure the thought of the coming of Mankind.