Читать книгу The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien - Christopher Tolkien, Christopher Tolkien - Страница 77

31 May 1944 (FS 28)

20 Northmoor Road, Oxford

Dearest Chris,

About time I wrote again … On Thursday I dined in college, myself and the three old gents (Drake, Ramsden, and the Bursar¹) who were very affable. The Inklings meeting. . . . was very enjoyable. Hugo² was there: rather tired-looking, but reasonably noisy. The chief entertainment was provided by a chapter of Warnie Lewis’s book on the times of Louis XIV (very good I thought it); and some excerpts from C.S.L.’s ‘Who Goes Home?’ – a book on Hell, which I suggested should have been called rather ‘Hugo’s Home’. I did not get back till after midnight. The rest of my time, barring chores in and out door, has been occupied by the desperate attempt to bring ‘The Ring’ to a suitable pause, the capture of Frodo by the Orcs in the passes of Mordor, before I am obliged to break off by examining. By sitting up all hours, I managed it: and read the last 2 chapters (Shelob’s Lair and The Choices of Master Samwise) to C.S.L. on Monday morning. He approved with unusual fervour, and was actually affected to tears by the last chapter, so it seems to be keeping up. Sam by the way is an abbreviation not of Samuel but of Samwise (the Old E. for Half-wit), as is his father’s name the Gaffer (Ham) for O.E. Hamfast or Stayathome. Hobbits of that class have very Saxon names as a rule – and I am not really satisfied with the surname Gamgee and shd. change it to Goodchild if I thought you would let me. I am going to get these 8 new chapters, XXXIII – XL, which you have not read, typed almost at once to send out to you, one at a time at short intervals. . . . . I have done no serious writing since Monday. Until midday today I was sweating at Section Papers:³ & took my MSS. to the Press at 2 p.m. today – the last possible day. . . . . Yesterday: lecture – puncture, after fetching fish, so I had to foot it to town and back, and as bike-repairs are imposs. with Denis⁴ ill and working slow, I had to squander afternoon in a grimy struggle, which ended at last in my getting tire off, mending 1 puncture in inner tube, and gash in outer, and getting thing on again. lo! triumphum.⁵ But it’s hard work at a bob!. . . .

Sunday: June 3. . . . . One of the reasons for this second gap since Wednesday is that since I finished setting papers, and before scripts came in, I have been trying to get some chapters typed so that they can be duplicated and sent out to you. I have got two done. A labour at first, as I have not typed for so long. There is little further news of me beyond this Prisca and Mummy went to see Anna Neagle in Emma in the play from Jane Austen, and enjoyed it. I walked home with them, after dining at Pembroke. A poor affair. But it is increasingly heartbreaking as the armies draw near to Rome to hear the crass comments of elderly and stupid old gentlemen. I find the present situation of things more and more distressing. I wonder if you were even able to hear any of the Pope’s words. A propos of that, but concerning another occasion: that you may judge of the atmosphere of tact and courtesy in my beautiful college. I took Rice-Oxley to dine on the second Tuesday in term. The election to the Rectorship of Lincoln had just been announced: the college had elected K. Murray the young Scotch Bursar responsible for the Turl atrocity.⁶ The obvious (and I think proper) person was V. J. Brooke (St Cath’s Censor⁷); but Hanbury⁸ was also a candidate. Sitting next to me, the Master in a loud voice said: ‘Thank heaven they did not elect a Roman Catholic to the Rectorship anyway: disastrous, disastrous for the college.’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ echoed Dr Ramsden, ‘disastrous.’ My guest looked at me and smiled and whispered ‘models of tact and courtesy!’. . . .

Your own dear Father.