Theoden

“Where Will Wants Not, a Way Opens, So We Say.” Dernhelm the Young Warrior Takes Merry into Battle.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 785-787

One of the greatest challenges that faces any person is not to pass the pain that they have faced onto another. So it is for each one of us, for all of us must endure pain at some point in our lives, whether in body, soul or spirit, or all three together. And so it is for Éowyn, sister-daughter of Théoden. She has long borne the pain of being forced to gaze helplessly upon her uncle’s long decline into dotage at the hands of Grima Wormtongue, and then as hope is suddenly rekindled in her heart at the sudden healing of Théoden, and even more as she falls in love with the greatest man of the age, Aragorn, the Heir of Isildur, the possibility of freedom and glory opens up before her. Then just as suddenly all is dashed from her grasp.

Aragorn takes the hopeless road, the Paths of the Dead, that no-one has ever passed, and what is worse, he will not take her with him. She must “do her duty” to her lord and king and to her people, attending as lady of her people to all the hearths that will await the men on their return from battle or, if they do not return, awaiting her fate and bearing it as bravely as she can. All the women, children and those too old to fight, do so in the best manner they can. Tolkien turns to the rhythm of speech of his Old English ancestors in order to speak of them:

“They were a stern people, loyal to their lord, and little weeping or murmuring was heard”.

Each woman and child does what is expected of them, what they have long been trained to do.

But there are two people who do not wish to stay behind. Meriadoc Brandybuck, swordthain of Rohan, feels shame as he thinks about having to stay with the women, the children, and the elderly while the warriors go to war, while his closest friends are putting their lives in mortal danger. He has to accept the reasons that Théoden has given to him, that Stybba, the pony small enough for him to ride alongside the king in the gentle pace of a journey along mountain paths will never be able to keep pace with the steeds of the Rohirrim or be able to join the charge of knights before the gates of Minas Tirith. He understands this but it cannot erase the dishonour he feels.

And Éowyn feels the cage that she fears closing round her once more and the rejection by Aragorn that leaves her with the feeling that there is no future, no hope for her beyond the fate of the women who “have leave to be burned in the house” when the men do not return from the war. She sees nothing beyond death in a burning house and so she chooses death in battle, taking on the disguise of a young warrior and the name of Dernhelm.

But even in her despair her heart is able to go out to another. She recognises in the young hobbit a fellow sufferer, one who is condemned to dishonour as he like her is left behind. As he watches the riders preparing to break camp a young Rider comes alongside him, one that he thinks he recognises but whose name he does not know. And the Rider speaks softly to him.

“Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say,” the Rider says… “You wish to go wither the Lord of the Mark goes. I see it in your face.”

And so Éowyn takes Merry secretly with her into battle. She may have been wrapped in anger and despair but she is still able to recognise the same feeling in another and to reach out to him. This does not begin a friendship. They never speak on the ride into Gondor. But in their silence they are able to grant strength to one another. And perhaps for Éowyn this reaching out to another in their pain, even within her own, a keeping open of her broken heart and not closing it against the world and its suffering, perhaps this is the beginning of her long journey towards healing

“So We Come To It in The End… The Great Battle of Our Time, in Which Many Things Shall Pass Away.” A Great Cloud Comes From Mordor That Simplifies The Mind of Théoden.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 783-784

When Merry is awakened at dawn after the coming of the Herald of Gondor he wonders why he has been called by the King in the middle of the night.

“Flinging on some clothes, Merry looked outside. The world was darkling. The very air seemed brown, and all things about were black and grey and shadowless; there was a great stillness. No shape of cloud could be seen, unless it were far away westward, where the furthest groping fingers of the great gloom still crawled onwards, and a little light leaked through them. Overhead there hung a heavy roof, sombre and featureless, and light seemed to failing than growing.”

The coming of the cloud from Mordor is one of the most terrible images of The Lord of the Rings, symbolising as Sauron intended it to do, his absolute intention to rule over all things. For while the cloud has a practical purpose in that it provides a cover for the orcs who will make up the main body of Sauron’s army, and who dislike, even hate the brightness of the sun, it also displays the Dark Lord’s totalising intent, his desire to “bring them all, and in the darkness bind them”. He wishes to rule over all things, even the weather of the world.

The date is the 10th of March, “The Dawnless Day”, the day upon which the host of Minas Morgul sets forth to war in Gondor led by the Lord of the Nazgûl, the Witch-King of Angmar. It is the first day of Pippin’s brief service of the Steward of Gondor, a day upon which he is arrayed in the livery of the White Tower. It is the day upon which Merry is told by Théoden that he will not be riding with the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, but that he is to remain in Rohan; but it is the day upon which Eowyn arrays him for battle. It is one of the darkest days of the whole story.

But it is a day that brings a great simplicity to the mind and heart of Théoden. For when Hirgon had asked him to bring all his strength to Minas Tirith and to come as swiftly as he can he had replied with caution, knowing that his rear needed defence against attack and that his advance guard needed to proceed with care. These are all the usual and necessary precautions that any general must take in order to reduce as much, if possible, any unnecessary losses, and to take thought for the security of what lies behind him as well as what lies before. But one set of circumstances takes away all reason for caution and that is the circumstance in which all choice is taken away except for the choice to throw everything away in one last desperate action. We call it the moment in which we have nothing left to lose, and Théoden knows that this moment has come.

“So we have come to it in the end,” he said: “the great battle of our time, in which many things will pass away. But at least there is no longer any need for hiding. We will ride the straight way and the open road and with all our speed.”

Théoden has come to that moment that is the “condition of complete simplicity”, as T.S Eliot named it in his Four Quartets. It is the moment that is expressed in Christian thought by the cross, the moment when everything has to be given away, even life itself. As Eliot himself continued in his poem, it is a condition that “costs not less than everything.” Théoden knows that he has come to that moment, the moment in which darkness seems to have triumphed completely, and so he gives everything of himself and of his people.

But even at this moment of the most terrible simplicity there is something deeper at work that almost no-one is able to see in this darkness. For it is on this day on which Frodo comes with Gollum and Sam to the Crossroads and begins his own intentional journey into the dark. It is there that he sees the statue of the fallen king, defaced by the obscene graffiti of the orcs, and sees it crowned with a circlet of wildflowers, and it is at that moment that the sun dips beneath the darkness from Mordor and illuminates the scene that Frodo can see. And as he gazes upon this beauty he cries out, “They cannot conquer forever!”

Perhaps he is the only one to experience such a moment of illumination even as the sun disappears, but what he sees, if only for a moment, is what Eliot goes onto say after speaking of the terrible condition of “complete simplicity”.

And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well

“The Red Arrow Has Not Been Seen in The Mark in All My Years.” Rohan Receives The Call for Aid From Gondor. The Importance of Strong Ritual.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins) pp. 781-783

The arrival of Hirgon, the messenger of Denethor, is one of those beautiful set pieces beloved of story tellers and story hearers of the Middle Ages. Those who know the story through Peter Jackson’s films will remember how the message comes to Rohan by means of lit beacons upon the mountain tops, It is a beautiful scene as the message seems to leap from one mountain to another, but a message of such import requires more than the efficiency and speed of lit beacons. It requires the power that can be conveyed only by ritual, by due ceremony.

We will live in an age that has been, in many ways, de-ritualised. Because we do not require rituals as entry points to significant aspects of life, such as long term relationships, it is easier to do without them altogether, In many ways one can understand, and sympathise with, the critique of the way in which past generations abused those rituals and the institutions they underpinned. I think of the forced marriages within my own family history and the story of unhappiness that followed, an unhappiness that continued for generations, and I do not blame the generation of my children for their caution in either entering an institution that has been socially enforced and the rituals that underpinned that institution. I also regret the commercialisation of the ritual of marriage and the sense that in order to marry a couple and their family will have to spend a considerable sum of money to fulfil social expectations. But when the ritual connected to marriage is drained of all its potency something of great import is taken from the institution and the life that the institution is meant to sustain. Perhaps we might say that we have forgotten that marriage exists for the sake of human flourishing and that human flourishing does not exist for the sake of institutions, even those as important as marriage,

But let us return to the scene in which Hirgon, the messenger of Denethor, appears at the camp of the Rohirrim bearing the Red Arrow. We note the pride with which he holds himself even as he pays all due respect to the King of Rohan and to the people that he leads. He is the servant of the Steward of Gondor, a mighty lord. We note also the importance that the King of Rohan attaches to Hirgon’s mission.

“The Red Arrow!.. The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years! Has it indeed come to that?”

The Red Arrow is the visible and outward sign of an inner reality. It serves to remind Théoden of the oath made by his mighty ancestor, Eorl, to Cirion, the Steward of Gondor, at the tomb of Elendil, that in return for the gift of the land of Calenardhon he and his descendants would always come to the aid of Gondor in its need. And we also note that Gondor has never abused this oath. As Théoden himself declares, “The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years!” Denethor was not in the habit of seeking the aid of his closest ally as a matter of course, such as the fight for the crossing of the Anduin at Osgiliath for example. He asks for it now at Gondor’s greatest need, but not before.

So Hirgon kneels before the King of Rohan and declares his mission.

“Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last”

There will be some negotiation. Rohan’s pride requires it. Théoden cannot and must not be taken for granted even though it is already his intention to come to the aid of Gondor. When he rides into battle he needs everyone of those who follow him to do so willingly and so each one of them needs to know that their lord does also and that he is held in the highest honour by Gondor and not regarded as a mere vassal. Perhaps certain alliances of our own time would be the stronger if the most powerful of their members were to remember this.

All of this is made the stronger by the enacting of strong ritual. Those who stand by their king see how he is treated by Gondor and how he in turn treats the messenger of Denethor. They see the respect with each addresses the other, and that story will be passed between every warrior who gathers to make the ride to Minas Tirith and will give strength to each one of them. That is what strong ritual is able to give.

“The Way is Shut… It Was Made by Those Who Are Dead, and The Dead Keep It, Until The Time Comes.” How Can We Know the Proper Time for Things?

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 775-781

The words in the title for this piece were spoken long before the events described here. Brego, the second King of Rohan, went up the steep path out of the Harrowdale with Baldor his son, that had been cut from the rock in an age long before the arrival of the Rohirrim, the Eorlingas, to the lands where now they dwell. At the door in the mountain they met an ancient man who spoke the words to them before breathing his last.

As we have seen, Baldor decided to dare the door and was seen no more until Aragorn discovered his body within the mountain on the Paths of the Dead, and since that time no one had dared try the door until Aragorn does.

Éowyn tells the company of how Aragorn has passed through the door, “into the shadow from which none have returned”. Éomer’s heart falls as he hears his sister’s words.

“He is lost. We must ride without him, and our hope dwindles.”

But it is Théoden who reminds his companions of the story that we have read, the story of the words spoken to his forefathers, that the Dead keep the way, “until the time comes.”

Has that time come?

We know that Aragorn and the Grey Company have indeed passed through the Door, and that the Dead did not prevent him from doing so but heard his voice and followed him to the Stone of Erech where he called them to fulfil the oath that once they made to Isildur and then broke it. We know that the time has come, and Théoden himself says that Aragorn is “a kingly man of high destiny”, and one that might be able to do a deed that no-one else has dared. But Éomer is not persuaded. Perhaps such a man as Aragorn might be able to dare the Door but to what purpose? To him the way that Aragorn has gone is no more than a private quest, and maybe one that a great hero might endeavour, but surely there are other things to be done?

“Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the earth? War is at hand.”

Éomer does not know the story that Aragorn does. Nor does he know that Aragorn made his choice because he believed that unless he did so he would not arrive at Minas Tirith in time, and that even if he did get there with the Rohirrim it would be fruitless because the Corsairs of Umbar would be able to sail up the Anduin unopposed and so the Rohirrim would come to a city that had already fallen.

But let us not think of such things now. The question I wish to consider here is the one posed in the title of this piece. How can we ever know the proper time to undertake a particular action? As Éomer says rightly, the only way to find out if the time has come to try the Door is to try it.

The whole of The Lord of the Rings is a story of grasping opportunities as they arise. At the heart of this, of course, is the One Ring itself. Suddenly, and entirely unexpectedly, the Ring that all had believed to be lost appears in the hands of a hobbit. Some, like Gandalf, were prepared for the reappearance of the Ring. No-one expected the Ring to appear in the manner that it did. Gandalf knows that the only thing to do with the Ring is to destroy it. What even he does not expect is that he will find a willing ally in the person of Frodo Baggins, and that this hobbit of the Shire is at first excited to make a journey out of the Shire, and then, against his own wishes but for the sake of his fellows, to offer his very self as Ringbearer.

Everyone at the heart of the story knows that the stakes are so high that everything must be risked in order to destroy the Ring and that every other ambition, however noble, must be set aside for that purpose. So, Aragorn risks everything for this ultimate purpose, while Éomer does not yet know of that purpose and so thinks in terms of important but lesser things, such as his fealty to his king and faithfulness to an ancient oath. Later he will be invited to the Final Debate and learn of higher things. For now, this is enough for him to act as he must do.

“Speak Not The Soft Words of Wormtongue in My Old Ears”. Théoden Thinks About Ageing and Death in Harrowdale.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) p. 775

As Merry turns his thoughts to Frodo and Sam at the end of the journey from the Hornburg to Harrowdale, Théoden makes ready for the great ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. Éomer is glad that this journey is over, but Théoden now thinks only of what lies ahead.

“This journey is over, maybe… but I have far yet to go. Last night the moon was full, and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras to the gathering of the Mark.”

Théoden may be thinking of the battle that lies ahead but Éomer has different thoughts in mind. What he sees in front of him is an old man. Perhaps the days when Théoden was confined to his chair in the golden hall of Meduseld have had a greater influence upon him than he realises.

“If you would take my counsel,” he says to the king, “you would then return hither, until the war is over, lost or won.”

In other words, though Éomer does not speak them out loud, you should take no part in the battle that lies ahead. It is time for you to rest, old man.

Théoden is seventy-one years old at the time of the events of The Lord of the Rings, and I am the same age as he was then. Would I listen to Éomer’s counsel and leave the battle to younger men? Or would I listen to Théoden who replies to his nephew, gently but firmly.

“Nay, my son, for so I will call you, speak not the soft words of Wormtongue in my old ears… Long years in the space of days it seems since I rode west; but never will I lean on a staff again. If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall, spending my last strength?”

Théoden speaks more gently to Éomer than Jesus did to Peter when Peter tried to counsel him not to lay down his life in Jerusalem. Jesus told Peter to “get behind me, Satan!” But Théoden is just as firm in his intent and conviction as Jesus was. Do not try to prevent me from doing what I have to do, he says to his nephew. “The soft words of Wormtongue” were spoken in order to prevent Théoden from taking action against Saruman. They may have been cloaked in expressions of concern for an old man, offering kind advice to him not to overdo things, to conserve his strength, to look after himself, but Wormtongue’s true intention was to rob that old man of his capacity for any action at all.

And what of Théoden’s words to Éomer? What is the point in my hiding in the hills while my men go into battle? If we lose then death will come to me soon. If we win and I fall in the battle, what sadness will it be that I fell? My death in victory or defeat will be a good death, far better than any that might await me in the future if I only hide away in the hills.

And so it proves. The funeral of Théoden after the events of the War of the Ring is the most glorious of any King of Rohan. The memory in which he will be held thereafter will bring pride to the hearts of all his people.

And what do his words speak to all of us as we grow older? To those of us in our later years? Perhaps we should begin with caution. It is one thing in any of us to speak bold words, but it is another to fulfil them. If Théoden had, through weakness, delayed the ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, asking them to give him time to rest instead of riding on, his words would have no meaning at all. He must spend his strength with the best of his men, showing leadership at their head and not in the rear. If it is a feeble old man who leads the charge at the Pelennor Fields that might inspire pity but not courage. The leader that inspires others is one who lays down their life for the people. At the battle Théoden seizes a horn from his banner-bearer and blows such a blast upon it that it bursts asunder. He may be advanced in years but what strength he has he spends for those who follow him.

It may be given to few of us to lead a charge in battle in our later years but the call to pour out our lives and not to preserve them into decrepit senility as Wormtongue tried to persuade his master to do is a challenge to each one of us.

“I Am Forgetting Them!” Merry Thinks of Frodo and Sam in The Midst of His Loneliness.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 774-775

It has been three days since Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, and the Grey Company, departed from the Hornburg and early in the day Aragorn begins his great ride across Gondor towards the port of Pelargir in order to come to the aid of its defenders who have been attacked by the Corsairs of Umbar. Following him are “shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night”. The Dead have come to fulfil the oath that once they made and then broke to Isildur.

And on that same day, at evening, Théoden arrives with his company at Harrowdale, a deep valley amidst mighty mountains. He will rest there that night; the last rest that he will take before he leads the Rohirrim on their great ride to Minas Tirith and the battle that will take before its walls on the Pelennor Fields. The thoughts of all have turned to what lies ahead and a silence has fallen upon the host. Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire has ridden that day just a few paces behind the king, and he too has ridden in silence.

Not that the whole journey from the Hornburg has taken place in silence. Merry has enjoyed the hospitable company of the king, sharing tales with him of the doings of the Shire and listening to tales of the deeds of Rohan. But despite Théoden’s gentle courtesy Merry has always felt lonely, aware of the “insupportable weight of Middle-earth” surrounding him, longing for the comforts of home, and thinking of his friends.

“He wondered where in all this strange world Pippin had got to; and what would become of Aragorn, and Legolas and Gimli.” They have been his company since their merry meeting amidst the wreck of Isengard and they are the first to come to his mind and to his heart.

But suddenly the thought of others comes to him “like a cold touch on his heart”. Merry has remembered Frodo and Sam, and he realises that it has been some time since he has done so. His thoughts have first been filled with his own plight and then with those who have been with him along the way. He is ashamed that he has not given the attention of his heart to those with whom he first left the Shire. “And yet they are more important than all the rest of us. And I came to help them.”

I do not think we should blame Merry for not thinking about Frodo and Sam. So much has happened to him since they parted company two weeks earlier at Parth Galen, violently sundered by the attack of the orcs who slew Boromir and who took both he and Pippin prisoner. Two weeks must feel like two years to him given the intensity of his experience, and the immensity of all that lies before him requires all the attention that he can give even though he has little idea of what the next days will bring. But that feeling, that “cold touch on his heart”, does the work that it was intended to do. It returns the attention of his heart to Frodo and Sam at just the moment it needed to do so. For it was early in the morning of that same say that Frodo and Sam left the stronghold of Henneth Annûn in the company of Gollum in order to begin the next stage of his journey to Mordor, bearing the Ring and the hopes of the world.

Perhaps Merry has needed the silence of that day’s ride down into Harrowdale in order to clear enough space in his heart to think of more than just of himself. This is one of the values of silence. Like the experience of most of us when we find ourselves in silence, Merry’s mind has been filled with himself, with thoughts and feelings. Most of the time, and for most of us, we are unaware of what we think and feel. Those thoughts and those feelings simply happen to us. But sometimes enough space is created for another level of awareness to be experienced. We become aware of what we are thinking and aware of what we are feeling. And then sometimes, in those quiet times, we may feel something like Merry’s cold touch, something that draws our attention away from ourselves and away from our usual patterns of thought. It is good that we stop to give such moments our full attention, to lean into the unexpected touches of our hearts. They enlarge our hearts and connect us to people and places who need our attention. We do not know what effect it had, for good, for Frodo and Sam. It isn’t given to us to know such things. There would be too much temptation to manipulate things if we did. But for those of us who try to pray, such moments call us consciously to place someone into the hands of God.

“You Have Become a Fool, Saruman, and Yet Pitiable.” Gandalf Breaks The Staff of Saruman and Casts Him From The Order of Wizards.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp. 751-762

Isengard lies in ruins and Saruman is a prisoner within Orthanc. His armies are defeated and now he is caught between two enemies. One, the mighty power that lies within Barad-dûr, knows now that he is a traitor, working only for his own purposes. The others, the King of Rohan who he sought to destroy, the Ents of Fangorn who he contemptuously ignored, and Gandalf who he had once imprisoned and would have sent to Mordor, stand before his doors.

Gandalf and Théoden ascend the steps that lead to the door of Orthanc while the rest of the company await their return below. The Ents remain hidden because Gandalf hopes to persuade Saruman to leave his prison and to come down and feels that if the Ents were present he would fear to do so.

Saruman comes to a window and engages in debate, first with Théoden and then with Gandalf, seeking always to turn things to his own advantage, but as Éomer says to Théoden, “so would the trapped wolf speak to the hounds, if he could.”

Saruman has great power in his voice but by seeking to divide his enemies, speaking singly, first to Théoden and then to Gandalf, he fails in his purpose. First Théoden recalls that Saruman went to war with him unprovoked and murdered children in the Westfold. Then Gandalf recalls his imprisonment within Orthanc. Saruman has done too much wrong to too many to be able to persuade them now that his intentions have been anything but malicious.

But in his speech to Gandalf Saruman reveals what he still believes.

“Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world. Let us understand one another and dismiss from thought these lesser folk! Let them wait upon our decisions.”

Of course, by now, Gandalf knows that when Saruman speaks of we what he really means is I. But even if he didn’t Gandalf has long been a servant and not a master. That is the fundamental difference between the two. Saruman has always regarded others as either more or less powerful than himself. If, like Sauron, they are more powerful, then he will seek to ally himself to them, although he will wait for an opportunity to betray them. It was for this purpose that he sent orcs to capture hobbits and so caught Merry and Pippin. He knew that a hobbit was bearing the Ring, probably taking it to Minas Tirith so that it could be used against the Dark Lord.

This is how Saruman treats the mighty. But for those who he regards as “lesser folk” he has only contempt. The House of Eorl is “a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs” and hobbits are “small rag-tag that dangle” at Gandalf’s tail.

And against Gandalf himself he bears almost uncontrollable fury. He has always regarded Gandalf as a foe. Right from the time when the Valar sent the Istari, the wizards, to Middle-earth to contest with Sauron and to encourage and organise resistance to him, Saruman insisted that he, and not Gandalf, should be the leader of the mission. And Saruman always knew that Cirdan of the Grey Havens had given Narya, one of the three Elven Rings, to Gandalf and not to him. When Gandalf demands Saruman’s staff and the keys of Orthanc Saruman replies in uncontrollable rage.

“When you also have the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those that you wear now.”

Of course, apart from the rather pathetic reference to boots, we know that what Saruman has revealed here is what he desires. He is the one who has always desired power and domination. Like a seed growing to a mighty tree this desire has long lodged in his heart but its full extent, his desire to be Lord of Middle-earth, has only become something fully formed quite recently. Before that it may only have been revealed in jealousy of Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond, and contempt for Rohan or Ents, his near neighbours.

And, at the end, not knowing the consequence, not just of betraying those who had been friends but of the Valar who gave him his mission, he is summoned by Gandalf to stand and hear his judgement and he has no choice but to obey. His staff is broken and he is cast from the Order. Gandalf has the authority to do this and Saruman’s power is broken. God cannot be mocked forever.

“Tales By The Fireside.” Théoden Touches The Perilous Realm.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp. 716,717

“Is it so long since you have listened to tales by the fireside?”

So Gandalf asks of Théoden as the King tries to make some sense of what he has just seen as Ents emerge from the magical forest that has come from Fangorn to Helm’s Deep.

I promised last week that we would remain in this reflection on the Perilous Realm that J.R.R Tolkien spent a lifetime pondering and, in the creation of his legendarium, making something that has allowed millions of readers to touch and taste it too.

In his essay On Fairy-Stories Tolkien tells us that a fairy story is not one that is about an elf or a fairy but is about “the nature of Faërie: the Perilous Realm itself, and the air that blows in that country.” He goes on to say that Faërie is essentially indescribable, that it has “many ingredients, but analysis will not necessarily discover the secret of the whole.” Indeed analysis will effectively kill the thing that it seeks to describe. Perhaps it always does, reducing the thing that it has observed to its many parts and so failing to see the whole that it first experienced. Tolkien tells us that Faërie “may perhaps most nearly be translated by Magic- but it is magic of a peculiar mood and power, at the furthest pole from the vulgar devices of the laborious, scientific magician.”

“The vulgar devices of the laborious, scientific magician.” Have we not here been introduced to the Dark Lord himself, hidden in his fastness of Barad-dûr and his most enthusiastic imitator, Saruman? And isn’t the Ring a perfect example of such a device? Saruman was one who lived long in the Undying Land and knew its beauty and yet became seduced by a desire for power, becoming increasingly frustrated by the long, slow history of beauty that, as Gimli describes so well in speaking of the Caves of Aglarond can only be worked with, “with cautious skill, tap by tap- a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day”. Gimli’s description of the work of a true artist in the presence of beauty is light years away from the work of those “laborious, scientific magicians” Sauron and Saruman, who are endlessly frustrated by the slowness of things to be shaped by their will and who become contemptuous of those who are not willing to work as they do. Essentially they become contemptuous of Ilúvatar and the long slow pace of the music of the Ainur that is the story of Creation itself.

Sauron and Saruman live in the same world as Fangorn and Lothlórien, those expressions within Tolkien’s sub-creation of the Perilous Realm, and yet have no understanding of them or of their magic. Their vulgarity is only capable of reducing the magic of these places to their own that is laborious and scientific. But Sauron’s vulgar creation of the Ring is always a temptation to those who have worked long and patiently with the beauty of Middle-earth. When Galadriel is tempted to take the Ring that Frodo freely offers to her she imagines herself as a Dark Queen crying out that “all shall love me and despair!”

It is a misunderstanding of the true nature of evil to imagine Galadriel at this moment as something horrible as Peter Jackson does in the film version of The Lord of the Rings. What the Ring would have given to Galadriel would have been the opportunity to become endlessly and repetitively a terrible beauty that could be seen, desired but never enjoyed. The whole world would be in the thrall of an erotic desire that would endlessly grow in intensity but could never be satisfied. Gimli expresses this when he speaks of “the danger of light and joy”. Legolas rightly praises Gimli for staying faithful to his companions and for giving up the desire that has been awakened within him but Gimli is not comforted by his words.

So perhaps it is safer to keep an experience of beauty within tales by the fireside. As we hear such tales the longing that Gimli knows may perhaps be tasted, may even be a delicious pleasure for a brief moment, but the story will come to an end and it will be time to sleep. Unless, of course, there may be a path that might lead us to an enjoyment of this pleasure; one that never cloys,as the hymn writer puts it.

“The Songs Have Come Down Among Us Out of Strange Places.” Théoden Thinks About The Nature of Fairy-stories.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp.716,717

I promised last week that we would return from the doors of Isengard and their unexpectedly merry wardens in order to return to a conversation in the Deeping-coomb between Théoden and Gandalf.

The conversation takes place when Théoden’s company are about to begin their journey, with some reluctance, to Isengard. Legolas has seen eyes amidst the strange wood that has come from Fangorn such as he has never seen before and then three strange shapes come forward from the trees.

“As tall as trolls they were, twelve feet or more in height; their strong bodies, stout as young trees, seemed to be clad with raiment or with hide of close-fitting grey and brown. Their limbs were long, and their hands had many fingers; their hair was stiff, and their beards grey-green as moss.”

Tolkien describes Ents here as if we had never met them before although we spent some time among them in the company of Merry and Pippin. But now we see them through different eyes. We see them with wonder through the eyes of Legolas and with fear through the eyes of Gimli and the Riders of Rohan.

Gandalf speaks to Théoden. “They are the shepherds of the trees,” he says to him. “Is it so long since you listened to tales by the fireside? There are children in your land who, out of the twisted threads of story, could pick out the answer to your question. You have seen Ents, O King, Ents out of Fangorn Forest, which in your name you call the Entwood. Did you think that the name was given only in idle fancy?”

This is one of the moments in The Lord of the Rings when Tolkien speaks of the themes that he explored in his essay, On Fairy-Stories. As we noted last week this reflection takes place only in scenes involving the Rohirrim. Aragorn and Éomer speak of this when they first meet on the plains of Rohan and now Théoden and Gandalf speak of it together. They speak of “tales by the fireside”, stories told to children. I remember the pleasure of telling stories to my children when they were young. I remember how we would enter the worlds that these tales would evoke as real places. It was one of my favourite moments of the day when all my troubles would be forgotten for a little while. I did not want these moments to end and my wife would have to remind me that the children needed to sleep!

In his essay Tolkien tries to answer the question, “What is a fairy-story?” and as he skilfully dismantle dismantles various attempts to answer the question, offered by scholars or in anthologies of stories such as the collection published by Andrew and Leonora Lang, he draws us ever deeper, and disturbingly, into a realm that he describes as Perilous. He illustrates his point with reference to Walter Scott’s fine poem, Thomas the Rhymer. In it, Thomas, who himself is a poet, meets a beautiful lady who at first he addresses as “The Queen of Heaven”. She replies that this name does not belong to her and that “I am but the queen of fair Elfland, that am hither come to visit thee”. The Queen of Elfland takes Thomas with her to the Perilous Land and he spends seven years there in her company. She describes the road that they will travel together as being neither “the path of Righteousness”, nor “the path of Wickedness” but “the road to fair Elfland”.

Tolkien describes this realm as “wide and deep and high and filled with many things: all manner of beasts and birds are found there; scoreless shoreless seas and stars uncounted; beauty that is an enchantment, and an ever-present peril; both joy and sorrow as sharp as swords.” In Tolkien’s own tale it is Lothlórien that is most Perilous. Faramir understands this well and in his meeting with Frodo and Sam says, “If Men have dealings with the Mistress of Magic who dwells in the Golden Wood, then they may look for strange things to follow. For it is perilous for mortal men to walk out of the world of this Sun, and few of old came thence unchanged, ’tis said”.

This is the world of which Théoden and Gandalf now speak and one that I will return to with you next week if you will. At least to think about it if not to go there in truth, for as I have been writing this piece I have been filled with longing to take “the road to fair Elfland” myself.

“Welcome, My Lords, to Isengard!” The Doorwardens of Isengard Greet Théoden as He Comes to The Fortress of Saruman.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp. 716-729

The pages that follow Gimli’s beautiful description of the Caves of Aglarond comprise a long slow journey into the unknown. One might think that Théoden and his company might ride with a light heart after their great victory over the hosts of Isengard but we have already seen the much vaunted plainness of manner of the men of Rohan when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli first met them upon the grassy plains while hunting Merry and Pippin as the Uruk-hai were taking them to Isengard. An occasion when Éomer’s men simply dismissed the strangeness of the three companions as an expression of their wildness. And now, as they encounter the strangeness of the forest that has moved from Fangorn to Helm’s Deep the company who accompany their king descend into an unhappy and, occasionally, frightened, silence.

At one point Théoden and Gandalf speak together about the nature of stories that are told only to children and we will return to this in more detail next week reflecting in particular on Tolkien’s famous lecture on Fairy Tales but now I will only note that, while Théoden’s sense of wonder is gradually awakened during the ride to Isengard, he does not share this experience with his men. At last as they approach the outer fortifications of Isengard the growing sense of grim bleakness accompanied by menace seems complete.

This mood begins to shift subtly and gradually as they perceive that “the power of Saruman was overthrown”. The doors of Isengard “lay hurled and twisted on the ground. And all about, stone, cracked and splintered into countless jagged shards, was scattered far and wide, or piled into ruinous heaps.”

The riders gaze upon the ruin of Isengard in uncomprehending silence but then become aware that within its midst there are two small grey-clad figures lying upon the rubble at their ease and that beside them there are “bottles, bowls and platters… as if they had just eaten well, and now rested from their labour.” One of the figures seems to be asleep while the other “leaned back against a broken rock and sent from his mouth long wisps and little rings of thin blue smoke.”

Of course we have just met Merry and Pippin once again taking their ease as soldiers will after battle with whatever is available to them. We last saw the young hobbits with Treebeard on the night before the Ents’ assault upon Saruman when he was wondering if they were all going to their doom, whether it might be “the last march of the Ents”. And now the battle is done and victory won and all the tension is released.

And not just for Merry and Pippin. Soon all the company who are with Théoden and Gandalf are laughing too. It is as if the young hobbits have gently escorted the Riders from their shared experience of gathering gloom and mute incomprehension into something quite different and much more pleasant.

I can think of few better examples of bathos, that swift descent, sometimes of the sublime to the ridiculous, sometimes of the uncanny to the familiar, sometimes of the terrifying to the safe, than this. From the ending of the battle at Helm’s Deep to the encounter with the hobbits there are some twenty pages in my edition of The Lord of the Rings and throughout those pages the mood is as I have described it above. At no point does Tolkien relent in his creation of this feeling of anxious, fearful incomprehension. Not until the bubble is burst by two young hobbits. And who better within all Tolkien’s legendarium to take us into a world that is less fearful and gentler than hobbits.

Except for the Riders of Rohan hobbits also belong to the world of folktales and fairy stories. But unlike the dwimmer-craftiness of wizards (Gandalf included) or the terrifying silent presence of the Huorns of Fangorn hobbits are not to be thought a threat. Most of the time, indeed, they are anxious not to appear such. This lack of apparent threat does of course lead to the downfall of the greatest tyrants of this age. Tyrants always seem to fall to those who they have underestimated. But now the young hobbits do as they are most at their ease in doing. They gently help a group of men descend from a state of heightened anxiety and foreboding to a gentler place. While infuriating the friends who lay down all their dreams and ambitions even their lives in pursuing them across Rohan. But that we will return to on another occasion.