LotR -- Book 3 - Chapter 07 - Helm's Deep

[Aiwendil]

This chapter serves as something of a climax for book III. It's interesting to compare this with the climaxes of books I and II, each of which occurs in the final chapter of its respective book. This climax is greater, though, than either Frodo's escape from the Nazgul at the fords or the breaking of the Fellowship, and this may account for the extra space given to the denouement.

As Estelyn and Fordim have both noted, the battle itself is rather short - about 9 pages in my edition, with 16 total in the chapter. This is a beautiful illustration of the principle that, for maximal impact, it is the build-up to an important event that must be emphasized, not the event itself. We have been slowly building up to this climax more or less since we first encountered the Rohirrim in III-2, and more rapidly building up to it since the previous chapter. This is the same thing that was done in II-5, where the actual appearance of the Balrog takes up very little space, but the whole chapter builds toward it. Perhaps the prime example of this technique is still to come - in "The Siege of Gondor".

This is one of two major battle scenes in the novel (the other being the Battle of the Pelennor Fields), and, to my taste, this is the better written. I think that action scenes, and particularly battle scenes, in both books and movies, are harder to do than is generally thought. How can an author convey an event of such scope? And how can it be made interesting? For combat alone is not interesting; in fact, it can easily become very dull and tedious. I think that Tolkien found perfect answers to those questions in this chapter. The way to convey a battle is to give it a plot. It is not really a single piece of action. It is rather a series of dramatic events linked together. The narrative of the battle must have an overall shape, just as any narrative must, with its high points and low points, its moments of suspense and moments of surprise, and, most of all, the same forward momentum that a large-scale plot has. That is what Tolkien does here. We have first the arrival at Helm's Deep and the preparation; then the rearguard is driven in from the Dike; then the host of the enemy approaches and sends arrows over the walls; then Aragorn, Eomer, and Gimli make their sortie; twice then the enemy creeps into the culvert, the second time using Saruman's blasting powder; etc. Where someone with less talent would simply write a battle scene, Tolkien provides a series of events linked into a battle story.

About the game between Legolas and Gimli. Fordim makes two points, the second of which I'll consider first:

I've never fought in a medieval campaign, but I have fought with a sword (you know, tournaments, with safety equipment and everything) and there is just no way that one fighter can be so overwhelmingly good that he can wipe out that many opponents. And certainly not two: either the orcs are incompetent or Gimli and Legolas are getting a bit of 'help' from the author.

I think there may be a kind of tension in LotR between two impulses, the realistic and the mythological. Middle-earth is so believable, so internally consistent and thoroughly described, that it feels "realistic". In a way then it seems quite fair to complain when characters perform feats that are blatantly unrealistic - like killing forty-two Orcs. But Middle-earth is mythological as well. As Neithan points out, Hurin is said (in the '77 Silmarillion) to have killed seventy trolls at the Nirnaeth. Now, it is not clear whether or not this actually derives from Tolkien (if it does, it must come from a Narn text that CRT does not give in full). But the motif, if not the exact number and description, certainly come from Tolkien - in GA Hurin kills a hundred Orcs. This is quite in the heroic tradition - the Iliad, for example, ascribes deeds of impossible valour to its heroes.

As for Fordim's first complaint:

it seems a bit blood thirsty of them to be competing at all

I would say yes, it does come across as grim and bloodthirsty (though also slightly humorous). I don't see that as a problem. War is grim and bloody, and those that fight in it must deal with that in some way. In real life, fighter pilots, for example, do count their kills. I wouldn't be at all surprised if there were some World War I antecedents for such grim joviality.

[Lalwendë]

We might think Anduril is ‘just’ a sword but in this chapter we see it presented heroically, in terms of what it symbolises, and also in terms of its heritage and nobility. In the previous chapter, Aragorn is told to leave it outside Meduseld as Theoden will not have weapons carried in his hall by visitors. In Aragorn’s refusal more is displayed than simply his inexperience in matters of diplomacy; his obstinacy also displays the symbolic significance of Anduril, not just to Aragorn, but to Middle Earth as a whole.

The full significance of the weapon becomes apparent in this chapter:

Anduril rose and fell, gleaming with white fire. A shout went up from wall and tower: 'Anduril! Anduril goes to war. The Blade that was Broken shines again!"

Does Anduril really glow with white fire? Does the blade contain the divinity of Light? Is it a metaphor for the speed and agility with which Aragorn wields the sword? Or is it a metaphor for the beauty and precision apparent from the craft involved in making the blade? Certainly, its reputation has preceded it; it is easy to imagine Hama talking to the other men about how the blade was left outside the Meduseld doors and his excited talk as he describes it to his comrades, much as military men today might talk reverently about a new plane.

But the cries of the men as Anduril is wielded also reveal their hope, perhaps that a ‘hero’ of old has returned, certainly that the heroism of old has returned:

The men of Rohan grew weary. All their arrows were spent, and every shaft was shot; their swords were notched, and their shields were riven. Three times Aragorn and Eomer rallied them, and three times Anduril flamed in a desperate charge that drove the enemy from the wall.

The above passage is interesting as the efforts of Aragorn are mentioned separately to the efforts of Anduril. This quite definitely places the weapon in the area of myth, bringing to mind the way that King Arthur is always mentioned with Excalibur; the sword is not a mere part of his kit, it is something which he has access to, as though his possession of the blade infuses him with a far greater strength. Historically, the wealthiest swordsmen would have blades tailored to their needs, as the weight and balance of a sword in comparison to the person using it is vital, so strength and skill would be the result of a tailored blade, but the inherent myth of a weapon is also important. If it has a ‘myth’ attached, the mere sight of such a blade can cause psychological harm to the enemy:

A broad stairway climbed from the Deep up to the Rock and the rear-gate of the Hornburg. Near the bottom stood Aragorn. In his hand still Anduril gleamed, and the terror of the sword for a while held back the enemy, as one by one all who could gain the stair passed up towards the gate.

This quite intense chapter includes descriptions of the physical fighting, the battle strategies, and the heroism of individuals, but Tolkien has also imbued it with a sense of the mythic. The idea of Excalibur is something of an archetype to us, and we recognise instantly what it means for a man to wield a blade with a history, and we can accept that he who wields it will have the strength to fight against what seem to be insurmountable odds. Tolkien takes care to mention how the arrows of the men have been depleted (unlike in films where the supply seems magically endless) and he makes sure we can see that the odds are very definitely against those we are 'rooting for', and it is against this background that the archetype of Anduril stands out, and also that acts of heroism can be seen in stark contrast to the bleak prospects.

[Boromir88]

Another chapter in which we witness Hama's adoration for Gandalf....

"What does that mean?" said one of the guard to Hama.
"That Gandalf Greyhame has need of haste," answered Hama. "Ever he goes and comes unlooked for."
"Wormtongue, were he here, would not find it hard to explain," said the other.
"True enough," said Hama, "but for myself, I will wait until I see Gandalf again."
"Maybe you will wait long," said the other.

Some other things I noticed on Theoden and Aragorn....

"It will go ill with Wormtongue, if Gandalf comes upon him," said Theoden. "Nonetheless I miss now both my counsellors, the old and the new. But in this need we have no better choice than to go on, as Gandalf said, to Helm's gate, whether Erkenbrand be there or no.

"I fret in this prison," said Theoden. "If I could have set a spear in rest, riding before my men upon the field, maybe I could have felt again the joy of battle, and so ended. But I serve little purpose here."

"It is said that the Hornburg has never fallen to assault," said Theoden; "but now my heart is doubtful. The world changes, and all that once was strong now proves unsure. How shall any tower withstand such numbers and such reckless hate? Had I known that the strength of Isengard was grown so great, maybe I should not so rashly have ridden forth to meet it, for all the arts of Gandalf. His counsel seems not now so good as it did under the morning sun."

"Do not judge the counsel of Gandalf, until all is over, lord," said Aragorn.

"The end will not be long," said the king. "But I will not end here, taken like an old badger in a trap. Snowmane and Hasufel and the horses of my guard are in the inner court. When dawn comes, I will bid men sound Helm's horn, and I will ride forth. Will you ride with me then, son of Arathorn? Maybe we shall cleave a road, or make such an end as will be worth a song-if any be left to sing of us hereafter."

These quotes show the differences between Theoden and Denethor. Why Theoden is your typical heroic King of the middle-ages, and Denethor once great, is in rapid decline. "I will not end here, taken like an old badger in a trap." Theoden refuses, now, to sit back and die in the tower, to sit back and be conquered. He will ride out (and even for the similar reasons as Treebeard and the ents, "maybe it will be worth a song.")

Theoden is starting to doubt Gandalf's counsel, however he is still willing to listen to it. Despite his uncertainty, he basically steps down to Gandalf. Whether Theoden sees Gandalf's counsel as foolish or not, he still steps down, and listens to it. Another difference from Denethor. Even when he is in doubt of Gandalf's words to meet Saruman head on, he still makes the decision to ride out, not just to Helm's Deep, but to what he believes the last moments of his life. "I will bid men sound Helm's horn, and I will ride forth."

[Mithalwen]

"I fret in this prison," said Theoden. "If I could have set a spear in rest, riding before my men upon the field, maybe I could have felt again the joy of battle, and so ended. But I serve little purpose here."

Just a quick point here - what similarity between the feelings of Theoden and Eowyn - feeling trapped and wishing to escape in battle. I never really noticed it before.

[davem]

I was struck by what may seem at first a throwaway line:

Men said that in the far-off days of the glory of Gondor the sea-kings had built here this fastness with the hands of giants.

This is reminiscent of the opening lines from the Anglo Saxon poem 'The Ruin':

The city buildings fell apart, the works
Of giants crumble. Tumbled are the towers
Ruined the roofs, and broken the barred gate,
Frost in the plaster, all the ceilings gape,
Torn and collapsed and eaten up by age.
And grit holds in its grip, the hard embrace
Of earth, the dead-departed master-builders,
Until a hundred generations now
Of people have passed by. Often this wall
Stained red and grey with lichen has stood by
Surviving storms while kingdoms rose and fell.
And now the high curved wall itself has fallen.

The heart inspired, incited to swift action.
Resolute masons, skilled in rounded building
Wondrously linked the framework with iron bonds.
The public halls were bright, with lofty gables,
Bath-houses many; great the cheerful noise,
And many mead-halls filled with human pleasures.
Till mighty fate brought change upon it all.
Slaughter was widespread, pestilence was rife,
And death took all those valiant men away.
The martial halls became deserted places,
The cities crumbled, its repairers fell,
Its armies to the earth. And so these halls
Are empty, and this red curved roof now sheds
Its tiles, decay has brought it to the ground,
Smashed it to piles of rubble, where long since
A host of heroes, glorious, gold-adorned,
Gleaming in splendour, proud and flushed with wine,
Shone in their armour, gazed on gems and treasure,
On silver, riches, wealth and jewellery,
On this bright city with its wide domains.
Stone buildings stood, and the hot streams cast forth
Wide sprays of water, which a wall enclosed
In its bright compass, where convenient
Stood hot baths ready for them at the centre.
Hot streams poured forth over the clear grey stone,
To the round pool and down into the baths.

This is so close in mood to this section of LotR. the Numenoreans built Helm's Deep 'with the Hands of Giants', & as with the Romans of the poem their works have crumbled. Helm's Deep had fallen into disrepair & has had to be rebuilt:

There in the Hornburg at Helm's Gate Erkenbrand, master of Westfold on the borders of the Mark, now dwelt. As the days darkened with threat of war, being wise, he had repaired the wall and made the fastness strong.

The Gondorians may be the last remnant of the people of Numenor but they & their works have begun to crumble, & it is left to their 'inheritors', the men of Rohan, to repair what they had made & make it strong. The glory of Gondor may flourish under Aragorn's rule, but the Gondorians will eventually pass away, like the Romans, leaving only memories & song.

Then we have the 'fire of Orthanc'. This is gunpowder, obviously. It is the source of Gandalf's fireworks, but turned to destruction. Effectively what we see is 'Art' turned into the Machine. Fireworks are ephemeral, they burst in light & noise & then pass into nothing. Saruman's 'blasting fire' is designed to desroy, to reshape the world. It blasts even the works of the 'giants' into nothingness. This is the beginning of the modern world, or of modern warfare - if they aren't the same thing. (Well, that's not strictly true, I suppose, not if we accept the early 'Fall of Gondolin', where 'tanks' are employed by Morgoth.) This is an intrusion of the 'primary world' into the 'secondary world'. The 'blasting fires' of WW1 have intruded into Middle earth.

In so many ways Saruman embodies the ‘modern world’. He is responsible for bombs & factories, deforestation, genetic engineering & double-think. He is a ‘man’ born outside his time. He belongs in the primary world of the 20th century, not in the secondary world of Middle earth.

The peoples of Middle earth mayl win out over Saruman the wizard, but what he represents will in the end win out over Middle earth. He will ultimately win out over Sauron himself. Sauron is a Mythological figure, & belongs in Middle earth. Saruman is all too ‘real’, in a sense all too mundane,in his attitudes & behaviour. The glory of the Dark Ages is at an end, & that end is shown here taking root in the mythological world. The orcs may be slaughered in their thousands, but they keep on coming. Legolas & Gimli hack them down & crow about their achievement, but the orcs keep on coming. The trees may tear them limb from limb but the victory will be short lived. Helm’s Deep is a victory, but it is merely a respite in the ‘long defeat’.

The hosts of Isengard roared, swaying this way and that, turning from fear to fear. Again the horn sounded from the tower. Down through the breach of the Dike charged the king's company. Down from the hills leaped Erkenbrand, lord of Westfold. Down leaped Shadowfax, like a deer that runs surefooted in the mountains. The White Rider was upon them, and the terror of his coming filled the enemy with madness. The wild men fell on their faces before him. The Orcs reeled and screamed and cast aside both sword and spear. Like a black smoke driven by a mounting wind they fled. Wailing they passed under the waiting shadow of the trees; and from that shadow none ever came again.

Well, yes, maybe, & that’s all very well, but this victory too shall pass & the White Light will be broken & the White Page overwritten. Helm’s Deep is a little victory, of Light over Darkness, of White over Black, of Art over the Machine. Yet the defeat of the forces of darkness here will bring a dawn that will soon be obliterated in the clouds wreathed by Sauron.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Legolas' and Gimli's contest at Helm's Deep by Athaniel.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

This chapter begins and ends with moments in which we have images of darkness and shadows, light and wind. As the Rohirrim march toward Helm’s Deep they are pursued by the shadows of Mordor:

The rising sun was hazy, and behind it, following it slowly up the sky, there was a growing darkness, as of a great storm moving out of the East.

At the end of the battle, the Orcs are driven to their destruction in another very different kind of shadow:

The White Rider was upon them, and the terror of his coming filled the enemy with madness. The wild men fell on their faces before him. The Orcs reeled and screamed and cast aside both sword and spear. Like a black smoke driven by a mounting wind they fled. Wailing they passed under the waiting shadow of the trees; and from that shadow none ever came again.

I like the point made by davem that this Battle is but a transitory moment of light and victory in an ongoing war, but I’m not so sure that the chapter is as dour as he makes it out to be. Yes, this is not the Big Victory in the War, and yes there is no final or absolute victory over evil, but these images, I think, give a hint of a deeper transformation that is being wrought in the nature of the world. At the beginning of the chapter we have the “growing darkness” of a coming storm “moving out of the East.” The shadow of Mordor is such that it makes the sun “hazy” and even threatens to overwhelm it as it follows the sun up the sky, like a predator. But at the end of the chapter this imagery is both recalled and reversed. Recalled in that the Orcs are driven into and destroyed by “the waiting shadow of the trees” – and just in case we missed it, Tolkien repeats the image in the next clause: “and from that shadow none ever came again.”

So we have the Shadow of Mordor at the beginning of the chapter, threatening to overwhelm the sun and take possession of the sky, but by the end of the chapter the shadows we see are those of the trees. I think that this is looking ahead to a time when, after the War, the Shadow is gone, but there remain still shadows in the world. That is, the dominating presence of Sauron (Evil) will be destroyed, along with the danger that this shadow presents to the sky and the sun (divine or eternal things that are over the earth?), but naturally there will remain “shadowy” things in the world, like the huorns, that are not Evil, but dangerous, even perilous. The shadows they cast do not threaten the sky or the sun, but those who walk into them in an Orc-like manner.

But this imagery of shadow and light is not just recalled at the end, but also reversed, I think. At the beginning of the chapter the Shadow is being spread from the East by the wind of Mordor (the storm); at the end of the chapter, it is the “mounting wind” of the White Rider that drives the Orcs “like a black smoke” into the shadows of the trees. I find this fascinating – Tolkien could have so easily had the imagery around Gandalf and the trees be all about light and life and greenery (the radiance of the White Rider drove the Orcs into the verdant green of the trees; and from that dark green none ever came again?). But he chose not to do it this way; in effect, he decided that rather than setting up an absolute binary opposition of good and evil through the relatively simple and even expected dark and light imagery, he would work through the relation is a more complex way. The forces of good are still light (White Rider, the sun) but they operate to some extent in the same manner as the forces of evil (like a wind, with and through war). The other point of comparison is that both good and evil are associated with darkness and shadows: it’s just that while Sauron wants His Shadow to dominate the world, Gandalf is willing to work with the shadowy forces of the natural world: to accept them for what they are and to respect them. Sauron wants his Shadow to destroy the light; Gandalf is a figure of light who is happy to accommodate the shadows. . .because they are part of the world.

One last thing that occurs to me in response to Lalwende’s point about Aragorn and Anduril. Lal asks:

Does Anduril really glow with white fire? Does the blade contain the divinity of Light? Is it a metaphor for the speed and agility with which Aragorn wields the sword? Or is it a metaphor for the beauty and precision apparent from the craft involved in making the blade?

The idea of the “white fire” as a metaphor got me to thinking. It seems to me that the whole question of magic in Middle-earth can be understood metaphorically. Metaphor is a weird kind of thing – it is a way of saying something that is patently untrue (even false) but getting away with it because there is an appeal to the ‘real’ truth of the statement. For example, when someone says that their life is “a sea of troubles” their statement is clearly not true in two ways: they are not really on the ocean, and how can there be a sea made of “troubles” in the first place? But because the speaker is using a metaphor there is no falsehood or impossibility, because we all understand what the speaker ‘really’ means.

But in Middle-earth this line between the false or impossible statement and the real meaning falls apart: in a way, metaphor is not compatible with magic – when Tolkien says “the trees whispered their secrets to one another” it really happens. If I said this in the ‘real’ world it would be a metaphor, but in Middle-earth it is literally true. That’s why I think that Lal’s question is both an extraordinarily good one, but also misleading, insofar as this is another instance in which something that would be metaphorical in our world is not in Middle-earth. I would suggest that the answer to each of Lal’s questions is the same: yes, yes, yes and yes. This is a world of magic in which swords glow with a divine light, but it is also a story told to people who live in the primary world, so this glow becomes a metaphor for a variety of other things.

I’m not sure this is making sense. . . Inside the story, there is no metaphor around or about the blade’s glow: it really is glowing. But when we read it, in a world where there are no glowing swords, the only way to bring it into our own experience is to make it into a metaphor for something. This really is different from a text that is about a world that has no magic: for example, there are lots of accounts of Medieval battles in which soldiers’ swords were said to “smoke” with the blood of their enemies – such statements are necessarily metaphorical both inside the text and outside of it. Not so with Middle-earth: the magic of that world can only be experienced by us, in our non-magical reality, in a distant and secondary way – metaphor becomes a poor substitute for the magical reality we are reading about.

[Aiwendil]

Fordim: An interesting idea about metaphors, though I think I may disagree. You say:

But in Middle-earth this line between the false or impossible statement and the real meaning falls apart: in a way, metaphor is not compatible with magic – when Tolkien says “the trees whispered their secrets to one another” it really happens.

I don't think that this can be true, at least not entirely. There are still things that are possible in Middle-earth and things that are impossible. There are still metaphors in the texts that are merely metaphors and not literally true. The trouble is that the existence of magic often makes it difficult to decipher which statements are metaphors and which are describing true but strange things. This is what leads some to hold fast, for example, to the absurd notion that Felarof, the horse of Eorl, could fly because he had wings on his hooves.

It does, then, make sense to ask whether some statement is true or is a metaphor. Either Anduril gives off light or it doesn't; and it's not inconceivable that Tolkien could have intended it not to magically shine and still have written what he wrote, intending it as a mere metaphor.

To take a similar example: it is said in book V chapter 4 of the Witch-king's sword that "flames ran down the blade". Now for years I thought the Witch-king had a sword that was literally on fire. Only a few years ago did I realize that this statement follows a description of the great fires and red light out beyond the gate, in the field of Pelennor. Now when I re-read this it comes across to me quite clearly as meaning that the Witch-king's sword, raised in front of this red glare, is outlined by the fires behind. Now I could be wrong - maybe the sword really is on fire. But clearly it is at least possible (and, I think, probable) that the statement is not literally true.