“Osanwe-Kenta” is an interesting though somewhat confusing essay. Christopher Tolkien believes it was composed at the same time as “Quendi and Eldar” (circa 1959), most of which was published in The War of the Jewels. “Quendi and Eldar” is a collection of short essays providing the etymological development of certain words the Elves used to name themselves and other peoples, or to refer to individuals in some way.
The primary text is laden with historical notes and anecdotes which reveal far more about early Elvish history than some of the passages in The Silmarillion. Unfortunately, the “Quendi and Eldar” material is not wholly compatible with The Silmarillion. And though we understand that Christopher Tolkien’s editorial decisions impacted the Silmarillion text considerably, the discrepancies between these two bodies of work go well beyond possible editorial errors.
“Quendi and Eldar” is sub-titled “Origins and meanings of the Elvish referring to Elves and their varieties. With Appendices on their names for other Incarnates.” “Osanwe-kenta” is sub-titled “Enquiry into the Communication of Thought”. And if the stipulated subject matter of these two works is not disparate enough, a third body of writings is also associated with them: the essay on the origin of Orcs, published in Morgoth’s Ring, with an introduction on page 415 that mentions both “Quendi and Eldar” and “Osanwe-kenta”.
Christopher published the essay on Orcs first as part of the “Myths Transformed” collection of his father’s later writings, in which the cosmology for Middle-earth was gradually expanded and revised toward excluding some of the oldest traditions dating back to 1916 and 1917.
The connection between “Orcs” and “Quendi and Eldar” lies in the opening to Appendix C of “Quendi and Eldar”, where Tolkien writes:
…The Orcs of the later wars, after the escape of Melkor-Morgoth and his return to Middle-earth, were neither spirits nor phantoms, but living creatures, capable of speech and of some crafts and organization, or at least capable of learning such things from higher creatures or from their Master. They bred and multiplied rapidly whenever left undisturbed. It is unlikely, as a consideration of the ultimate origin of this race would make clearer, that the Quendi had met any Orcs of this kind, before their finding by Orome and the separation of Eldar and Avari.
Christopher writes: “No doubt my father was led from his words here ‘It is unlikely, as a consideration of the ultimate origin of this race would make clearer…’ to write that ‘consideration’…. And that is the the essay on Orcs, which Christopher provided in Morgoth’s Ring with what has to be one of the most confusing and debilitating preambles in the history of literary scholarship.
Morgoth’s Ring was published in 1993, and The War of the Jewels came out in 1994. A year after first reading this introduction to the essay on Orcs, we were finally permitted to see the larger work in almost its entirety. However, it would not be until the July, 1998 Vinyar Tengwar (issue 39) was published that we would finally be introduced to a substantial section of Appendix D for “Quendi and Eldar” which Christopher had omitted from publication “primarily for reasons of space”.
Well, no one can argue much with “reasons of space”. Many people waited more than 40 years to see what the real appendices to The Lord of the Rings might have looked like, thanks to the “reasons of space” which forced J.R.R. Tolkien to trim the material to perhaps one-half its original content. But the “reasons of space” have nonetheless left the entire “Quendi and Eldar” collection in a disheveled state. For, you see, yet another part of “Osanwe-kenta” was published in the July, 2000 Vinyar Tengwar (issue 41). The “Etymological notes on the Osanwe-kenta” were unknown to Carl Hostetter when he published “Osanwe-kenta” in the earlier issue of VT.
The full story thus looks something like this:
Around the year 1959, J.R.R. Tolkien put aside his labors on The Silmarillion to provide himself with a bit of history. In a television interview dated to the mid-1960s, Tolkien said of himself that he disliked history unless it was the history of words. Words tell you a great deal about the people who used them, and he liked delving into such matters. “Quendi and Eldar” is thus a digression into history through words. The words alone mean little unless they have an accompanying history, so Tolkien devised that history.
In studying the roots of the Elvish words for “people” (and related words), Tolkien discovered where the three kindreds came from, and from there he learned who the Elf-fathers were. Along the way he noted that the Elves of Cuivienen might have encountered some sort of proto-Orcs but not the real Orcs of the later wars, and he had to figure out just where the Orcs came from in order to understand why that should be.
But as he was documenting the history of language, its use and development, Tolkien could not help but digress from the digression to talk about language and how the Noldor studied it. They studied their own language and the Valarin (Valinorean) language, as well as the dialects of Quenya spoken by the Teleri of Alqualonde and the Vanyar. The Silmarillion notes that the Teleri’s language changed during their sojourn on Tol Eressea, and it was no doubt this old tradition which (in part) inspired Tolkien to wander into the shadowy paths of Elvish linguistic history.
But how did “Osanwe-kenta” figure into the combination?
The connection appears to be the elusive Pengolodh, who appears here and there in The History of Middle-earth. Pengolodh was a Noldorin loremaster, one of the Lambengolmor (Loremasters of Tongues). He was one of Turgon’s people in Gondolin, and had a mixed parentage, Noldor and Sindar. Pengolodh survived the fall of Gondolin and (presumably) wandered south with Tuor and Idril’s band of exiles. He ended up in Eregion in the Second Age, and eventually fled Middle-earth after that realm was destroyed. Pengolodh was the last surviving member of the Lambengolmor when he sailed over Sea.
Osanwe-kenta opens with the following paragraph:
At the end of the Lammas Pengolodh discusses briefly direct thought-transmission (sanwe-latya “thought-opening”), making several assertions about it, which are evidently dependent upon theories and observations of the Eldar elsewhere treated at length by Elvish loremasters. They are concerned primarily with the Eldar and the Valar (including the lesser Maiar of the same order). Men are not specially considered, except in so far as they are in general statements about the Incarnates (Mirroanwi). Of them Pengolodh says only: “Men have the same faculty as the Quendi, but it is in itself weaker in operation owing to the strength of the hroa, over which most men have small control by the will.”
“Osanwe-kenta” is thus presented as the work of an unnamed author — probably Bilbo Baggins, although Carl Hostetter notes “it is … tempting to identify this redactor, and that of Quendi and Eldar, as Aelfwine, the Anglo-Saxon mariner who was the translator / transmitter of and commentator upon other works of Pengolodh, such as the Quenta Silmarillion (LR: 201, 203-4, 275 fn) and, notably, Lhammas B (cf. LR:167)”.
However, by 1959 Aelfwine had long since vanished from the mythology and all authoritative translations from the Elvish were attributed to Bilbo (the original author of The Red Book of Westmarch) and subsequent scholars, including Merry, possibly one or more Tooks, and at least one Gondorian scholar: Findegil, the King’s Writer, who made a copy of the Thain’s Book which Tolkien alleged was his source for The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien validates the Thain’s Book as the ultimate authority on many things besides the stories of Bilbo and Frodo (in the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings):
The Thain’s book was thus the first copy made of the Red Book and contained much that was later omitted or lost. In Minas Tirith it received much annotation, and many corrections, especially of names, words, and quotations in the Elvish languages; and there was added to it an abbreviated version of those parts of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen which lie outside the account of the War. The full tale is stated to have been written by Barahir, grandson of the Steward Faramir, some time after the passing of the King. But the chief importance of Findegil’s copy is that it alne contains the whole of Bilbo’s ‘Translations from the Elvish’. These three volumes were found to be a work of great skill and learning in which, between 1403 and 1418, he had used all the sources available to him in Rivendell, both living and written. But since they were little used by Frodo, being almost entirely concerned with the Elder Days, no more is said of them here.
It is possible that the unnamed narrator is intended to be Findegil or some other Gondorian scholar (in fact, my first impulse was to suggest as much)>, but Bilbo is assigned an exemplary status as a scholar by the words “these three volumes were found to be a work of great skill and learning”. Who, we must ask, found them to be such great works? It must be that Bilbo’s research was only fully appreciated in Gondor, and probably only after Peregrin retired to Gondor in FA 64, taking the Thain’s Book with him (at Elessar’s request).
Some of the comments in the appendices to The Lord of the Rings are quoted, which is Tolkien’s way of suggesting that he is citing directly from the Red Book. For example:
‘Our King, we call him; and when he comes north to his house in Annuminas restored and stays for a while by Lake Evendim, then everyone in the Shire is glad. But he does not enter this land and binds himself by the law that he has made, that none of the Big People shall pass its borders. But he rides often with many fair people to the Great Bridge, and there he welcomes his friends, and any others who wish to see him; and some ride away with him and stay in his house as long as they have a mind. Thain Peregrin has been there many times; and so has Master Samwise the Mayor. His daughter Elanor the Fair is one of the maids of Queen Evenstar.’
This passage would have been written between the years FA 15 and 30, the years in which Elanor became a maid to the queen and when she married Fastred of Greenholm. The language is nothing like the commentaries from “Osanwe-kenta” and other works concerning the Elder Days. But it cannot be Bilbo’s commentary because he was not in the Shire during those years. Bilbo’s “Translations from the Elvish” thus represents a blank canvas which Tolkien had to fill as the years went by. “Quendi and Eldar”, “Osanwe-kenta”, and “Orcs” (not to mention The Silmarillion itself) are thus all part of the more ancient works Bilbo translated and preserved.
Bilbo was thus a master linguist, and his hand must be perceived in every story which is derived from the Red Book. He knew both Quenya and Sindarin, and must have learned a great deal from the Elves of Rivendell, some of whom undoubtedly knew Pengolodh. In fact, it may be that Elrond’s folk, being mostly Noldor, were more familiar with Pengolodh than with other Elvish loremasters, of whom very few are ever named. The total collapse of the Eldarin civilization in the First Age, and the loss of many Elves at the end of the Second Age, would have diminished the pool of resources Elrond had available to him, and hence Bilbo’s own sources were limited.
“Osanwe-kenta” purports to explain how, or why, two beings may communicate by thoughht. But it quickly drifts into a discussion of Melkor’s character and motivations, as opposed to Manwe’s. Melkor used the innate ability shared by all rational creatures (though diminished in the weaker orders, such as Elves and Men) to communicate by thought as an avenue to approach and seduce the wills of weaker beings. He could not force another will to do as he bid, not until he had first circumvented it. That is, Melkor could not directly influence the thought of other beings, but he could indirectly lead other beings to think as he wished them to. Among the Eldar of Aman, he relied upon language, his mastery of which utterly amazed even the Vanyar, though Manwe had warned the Eldar that Melkor would acquire such skill with their language.
The essay concludes with a discussion of whether Manwe was right to restore Melkor’s freedom to him. It makes the point that, had Manwe not done so, he would have become like Melkor, himself rebellious toward Iluvatar. One of the notes attached to the essay also deals with foresight. Communication by thought, the nature of good and evil, foresight — even the notion of whether a Valar can become trapped in an assumed form (body) — “Osanwe-kenta” wanders all over the place, leaping from idea to idea almost faster than the author can write them down.
The material from the late 1950s represents a highly productive yet unsatisfying era from Tolkien’s writing career. The more he wrote about Middle-earth, the more he needed to write in order to explain what he had written. Answers begat questions, questions went unanswered, and ideas rolled from his hand like boulders crashing down the slopes of Caradhras.
It would appear, however, that everything was leading back to the mythology Tolkien had constructed for The Lord of the Rings. The portion of Appendix D from “Quendi and Eldar”, which Christopher omitted from The War of the Jewels, deals primarily with Feanor’s early career as an Elvish loremaster. Feanor’s study of language and his political motivations are more fully elucidated in “The Shibboleth of Feanor”, which Christopher published in The Peoples of Middle-earth, the twelfth and last volume in his History of Middle-earth series.
Linguists have focused upon the first part of the “Shibboleth” because it provides details concerning the development of Noldorin Quenya, whereas historians have focused on the second part of the “Shibboleth” because it provides details on the final Noldorin genealogy. “The Shibboleth of Feanor” was composed in 1968 or later, and therefore post-dates “Quendi and Eldar” by almost a decade. It would seem, therefore, that Tolkien felt unsatisfied by what he had written in “Osanwe-kenta” and decided to further expand upon Feanor’s history. Christopher does conclude, at one point in The History of Middle-earth, that his father used genealogies he had written in the late 1950s while working on “The Shibboleth of Feanor”. It may very well be, indeed seems most likely, that J.R.R.T. had some or all of the “Quendi and Eldar” papers available, too.
However, like Aelfwine, whose last appearance in any text occurred sometime in the early 1950s (according to Christopher’s own analysis), Pengolodh is strangely silent in “The Shibboleth of Feanor” and accompanying texts. The Pengolodh texts were shattered by time, and the tradition concerning Pengolodh himself fell into disrepute with Tolkien. The necessity of providing an ancient voice for Bilbo’s translations was shunted aside by Tolkien’s need to revise the cosmology and placate his unflagging sense of perfection. In the course of these changes, he inevitably moved away from some promising concepts he had only touched upon.
We know now that the Vanyar did not simply wander through the woods of Valinor or sit in the halls of Manwe and sing songs all day. “The Shibboleth of Feanor” (in a section published in the July, 2000 Vinyar Tengwar) and, to a lesser extent, “Osanwe-kenta” indicate that the Vanyar had their own loremasters, some of whom argued with Feanor over linguistic principles. It would appear, then, that the Vanyar had a curiosity concerning language which equalled that of the Noldor. But the Vanyar may not have been as concerned with the history of language as with its use. The Vanyarin loremasters in fact agreed with Feanor in principle concerning his objection to a shift in sound, but because of his vehemence in condemning the shift, Feanor alienated his potential allies among both Noldor and Vanyar alike.
It may also be possible to infer something of the history of Aman after the end of the First Age from some of these writings and other texts. Tolkien occasionally tosses in an allusion to Aman in the present tense, perhaps unintentionally, perhaps with the thought of leaving some connection to the Undying Lands available. We are told that most of the records of Numenor were lost in the Downfall. Hence, all of the correspondence with the Eldar of Tol Eressea, and/or all the journals or other accounts of visits by the Eldar, must have been lost. At best, Elendil and his people could have brought a few books out of Numenor, but of these many may have been lost through the centuries and wars. The loss of the Numenorean sources thus excuses Tolkien from having to write many Numenorean stories. But it also strengthens the view that any reasonably complete text dealing with the Elder Days must be included in Bilbo’s “Translations from the Elvish”.
Yet though Tolkien may at one time have contemplated how to produce the three volumes of the Translations, it is evident he never proceeded very far down that path, beyond writing and rewriting the core histories of “Quenta Silmarillion” and its accompanying texts. The linguistic essays are experimental, and they provide glimpses of layers within the developmental process. Like Humpty-Dumpty in the well-known nursery rhyme, the Translations from the Elvish represent a lost heritage which no army of researchers will ever be able to recover. There is really nothing to recover, but “Quendi and Eldar”, “Osanwe-kenta”, and “Orcs” may deserve special attention in the future. We have probably only just started picking up the pieces.
This article was first published on September 24, 2001.
