A movement in the shadows made him ware
Of a gaunt hound that stood like a dark cloud
Rough-curled and smoky grey, with golden eyes
And patient noble face that snuffed the air
And heard and felt air's movements motionless,
Alert and motionless behind his dame.
Then Raimondin bethought him of his hunt
And of his crime, and of his later flight,
And bowed low in the saddle where he stood
And begged her, of her grace, to let him drink
The water of the fountain; he was faint
And sore with travelling, and needs must drink.
"My name is Raimondin of Lusignan
And where I go, and what I shall become
I know not, but I crave a place of rest,
A draught of water, for I choke on dust."
Then said she, "Raimondin of Lusignan
Both who you are, and what you may become-
What you have done, how you may save yourself
And prosper greatly, all these things, I know.
Therefore dismount, and take this cup from me,
This cup of clear spring water from the fount
Whose name is called La Fontaine de la Soif,
The Thirsty Fountain. Therefore, come and drink."
And she held out the cup, and he came down
And took it from her and drank deep therein.
All dazed with glamour was he, in her gaze.
She ministered unto his extreme need
And his face took the brightness of her glance
As dusty heather takes the tumbling rays
Of the sun's countenance and shines them back.
Now was he hers, if she should ask of him
Body or soul, he would have offered all.
And seeing this, at last, the Fairy smiled.
Chapter 17
James Blackadder composed a footnote. He was working on Mummy Possest (1863). He used a pen; he had never learned newer methods; Paola would transfer his script to the glimmering screen of the word-processor. The air smelled of metal, dust, metal-dust and burning plastic.
R. H. Ash attended at least two seances in the house of the famous medium Mrs Hella Lees, who was an early specialist in materialisation, particularly of lost children, and in the touch of dead hands. Mrs Lees was never exposed as a fraud and is still thought of as a pioneer in this field by contemporary spiritualists. (See F. Podmore, Modern Spiritualism, 1902, vol. 2, pp. 134-9.) Whilst there can be no doubt that the poet went to the seances in a spirit of rational enquiry, rather than with any predisposition to believe what he saw, he records the medium's activities with sharp distaste and fear, rather than with simple contempt for chicanery. He also implicitly compares her activities-the false or fictive bringing to life of the dead, with his own poetic activities. For an account (somewhat lurid and imaginative) of these encounters see Cropper, The Great Ventriloquist, pp. 340-4. See also a curious feminist attack on Ash's choice of title by Dr Roanne Wicker, in the Journal of the Sorcières, March 1983. Dr Wicker objects to Ash's use of his title to castigate the "intuitive female" actions of his speaker, Sybilla Silt (an obvious reference to Hella Lees). Mummy Possest is of course a quotation from John Donne, "Love's Alchemy.”
“Hope not for minde in women; at their best/Sweetnesse and wit, they are but Mummy, Possest."
Blackadder looked at all this, and crossed out the adjective "curious" before "feminist attack." He thought about crossing out "somewhat lurid and imaginative" before Cropper's account of the seances. These superfluous adjectives were the traces of his own views, and therefore unnecessary. He contemplated crossing out the references to Cropper and Dr Wicker in their entirety. Much of his writing met this fate. It was set down, depersonalised, and then erased. Much of his time was spent deciding whether or not to erase things. He usually did.
A whitish figure slid round the end of his desk. It was Fergus Wolff, who sat down uninvited on the desk corner, and looked down, uninvited, at Blackadder's work. Blackadder put a hand over his writing.
"You should be up in the sun. It's lovely weather up there."
"No doubt. The Oxford University Press is not concerned witly the weather. Can I do anything for you?"
"I was looking for Roland Michell."
"He's on holiday. He asked for a week off. He's never had one, that I can remember, when I come to think about it."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"Not at all. North, I think he said. He was very vague."
"Did he take Val?"
"I assumed so."
"Did his new discovery lead anywhere?"
"New discovery?"
"He was quite chuffed at Christmas. Discovered a mystery letter or something, I thought he said. I may have been wrong."
"I don't remember anything precisely of that kind. Unless you mean all those notes in the Vico. Nothing of great importance there, sadly. Humdrum notes."
"This was personal. Something to do with Christabel LaMotte. He was quite excited. I sent him off to see Maud Bailey at Lincoln."
"Feminists don't like Ash."
"She's been seen down here, since. Maud Bailey."
"I don't know of anything to do with LaMotte, offhand."
"I was pretty sure Roland did. But it may have come to nothing. Or he'd have told you."
"He probably would."
"Exactly."
Val was eating cornflakes. She ate very little else, at home. They were light, they were pleasant, they were comforting, and then after a day or two they were like cotton wool. Outside the back area, the roses were drifting down the steps, and the borders were bright with tiger lilies and moon daisies. London was hot: Val wanted to be anywhere else, out of the dust and cat piss. The doorbell rang. When she looked up, expecting perhaps Euan Maclntyre and a dinner invitation, she saw Fergus Wolff.
"Hello, my dearest. Is Roland in?"
No. He's gone away. "What a pity. Can I come in? Where has he gone?"
"Somewhere in Lancashire or Yorkshire or Cumbria. Blackadder sent him to look at a book. He was a bit vague.”
“Have you a phone number? I need to get in touch with him rather urgently."
"He said he'd leave one. I was out when he left. But he didn't. Or if he did, I haven't found it. And he hasn't phoned. He should be back on Wednesday."
I see. Fergus sat down on the old sofa and looked up at the irregular pools and peninsulas of staining on the ceiling. "Does that strike you as a bit odd, my love, that he hasn't communicated?”
“I wasn't being all that nice to him." I see.