The Book of Lost Tales Part I: A Readthrough

[Tar-Jêx]

Originally Posted by Belegorn

You prefer Sauron to Tevildo Prince of Cats?

I quite liked Tevildo, but it didn't make sense for a cat to be an evil minion. Carcharoth seemed like it fit better in the universe than a cat, because cats have never been explained.

[jallanite]

The Elvish city of Kôr may be based on the city of Kôr in the novel She: A History of Adventure by H. Rider Haggard, one of the most influential novels in modern literature. In Henry Resknik’s interview with Tolkien in 1966, Tolkien states, “I suppose as a boy She interested me as much as anything …” See http://efanzines.com/Niekas/Niekas-18.pdf , page 40.

Haggard’s Kôr is a ruined African city where Ayesha, an immortal white queen, has ruled for two millennia. Ayesha reveals that she has learned the secret of immortality and that she possesses other supernatural powers including the ability to read the minds of others, a form of telegnosis, and the ability to heal wounds and cure illness.

Ayesha is by some considered to be the origin of Tolkien’s Elven ruler Galadriel.

One Willam H. Stoddard partly posts at http://www.troynovant.com/Stoddard/T...nd-Ayesha.html :

Chapter XIII of She, “Ayesha Unveils”, offers a striking series of events. The narrator of the story speaks with Ayesha in a hidden chamber, and learns of her agelessness. She shows him a “font-like vessel” in which she summons up images of his own journey to her country, telling him she learned of him through such images; and when he calls it magic, she tells him:

It is no magic — that is a dream of ignorance. There is no such thing as magic, though there is such a thing as knowledge of the hidden ways of Nature. This water is my glass; in it I see what passes when at times it is my will to summon it …

After this, he asks her to allow him to look on her face, and she unveils herself, revealing beauty that he compares to that of a celestial being, which he says lies “in a visible majesty, in an imperial grace, in a godlike stamp of softened power” — and he covers his eyes and goes away shaken, reflecting that it is not safe to look on such beauty.

Note how many details can be compared with Frodo’s visit to the mirror of Galadriel in The Fellowship of the Ring. Lothlórien, like Kôr, is an ancient city holding the memory of a distant past, and ruled by an undying queen. Both accounts include a pool of water that shows visions, partly out of the mind and memory of the viewer, and partly of distant places. And Galadriel not only is overwhelmingly beautiful, like Ayesha, but, when she considers accepting the One Ring from Frodo, takes on the same quality of visible majesty. Her climactic line “All shall love me and despair!” would sound entirely natural in Ayesha’s voice.

The one great difference is that Haggard makes Ayesha fundamentally evil, though capable of occasional softer feelings; but Tolkien makes Galadriel ultimately good, despite her being capable of pride, ambition, and rebellion. In the end, Galadriel is redeemed, whereas Ayesha is destroyed by those same qualities, which she is unable to renounce.

Tolkien may have unconsciously picked the name Kôr for his city from Haggard’s novel, or even purposely borrowed the name, but later changed it to Tirion upon Túna to avoid the connection.

For further discussion of Haggard’s Kôr and Tolkien’s Kôr, see John D. Rateliff’s essay “She and Tolkien, Revisited” in Tolkien and the Study of His Sources, edited by Jason Fisher.

[Orphalesion]

Yes the name connection between Kôr in She and Kôr in the Book of Lost Tales is interesting I came upon it a few years ago and it even prompted me to read it. Ayesha does seem a lot like an "evil" Galadriel and perhaps offers a glimpse of how Galadriel would have acted if she had fallen to the temptation and taken the Ring from Frodo.
It would not be the only time Tolkien was inspired by (relatively) contemporary fiction, another example Psamathos Psamathides from Roverandom who bears resemblance to a character from an earlier Children's Book (more so in the early drafts)

I find it also interesting how important Kôr was to the Elves in this early conception, much more, it seems to me than Tirion later would be. I mean in this early stage it's the Ilkorindi "The Elves that never have dwelt in Kor" instead of the Úmanyar "The Elves that have never been to Aman" and their city in exile on Tol Erresea is Kortirion (whcih could be interpreted as Kor-Tower) instead of Avallone "Near Aman". Kôr was almost an Elf Jerusalem.

In the later mythology the Elves seemed to yearn for the lands of Aman/Eldamar/Valinor and not so much for Tirion itself, with the possible exception of Turgon.
For instance, if Tirion was as important to the psyche of the Exiles as Kôr had been, Galadriel's lament would have said "Maybe thou shalt find Tirion" instead of "Maybe thou shalt find Valimar" and it would be "The Undying City" instead of "The undying Lands"

[Formendacil]

The "Link" at the start of this tale is brief: Eriol wants to know more, and eventually Lindo tells a tale at the Hall of Fire that answers what happens next.

Although obvious similarities in theme and action abound between this and the later text, I was struck rereading this chapter just how much Tolkien's plotting improved between this version and the later versions. One key example is that in the earlier text, the strife between the Valar and the Noldoli is almost completely manufactured by Melko. Although he goes about whispering half-truths and lies amongst the Elves, there is no real evidence that this causes any harm--it is only when Melko goes lying to Manwë with accusations that real division comes about.

Interesting too, what the narrator says about Manwë: "Heavy was Manwë's heart at these words, for he had feared long that that great amity of the Valar and Eldar be ever perchance broken, knowing that the Elves were children of the world and must one day return to her bosom." I find this passage intriguing, because it suggests that Manwë, who is elsewhere shown to be naively hopeful about Melko's ability and likelihood of repenting, is far more foreseeing and prepared--indeed, overly so, given that the Gnomes have done NOTHING yet--for the Elves to go astray.

Anyway, Finwë's embassy attempts a clumsy defence, but Melko's evil goes off without a hitch, and the Noldoli are banished from Kôr, finding a new home, Sirnúmen, the precursor to Formenelos. And this is what I mean when I say the later plot is much improved: there, Melkor's words cause more than just unease--people (well, Fëanor anyway) cause strike, and the punishment of banishing is enacted for that, leading to a genuine rift between the Valar and Noldor: genuine because even if Melkor was an actor behind it, his lies led to actions, not just to accusations.

A major difference--and, I think, another example of the later text's strength--is the long pause between the two major calamities: the death of Fëanor's father and the theft of the jewels, and the death of the Two Trees. In The Silmarillion, these actions are joined, happening as part of a single catastrophe, while here they are strung out. To me, the narrative between the two events seems to stagnate a little; Melko seems to have no idea what to do with himself once he has stolen the jewels--and, indeed, his motivation to take them in the first place seems to be mere greed.

It fascinates me that Fëanor was not originally Finwë's son, but all the more so because, as CT shows in the notes and commentary, Tolkien wavered between having his great desire for revenge be due to his grief as a son or father--and although Bruithwir would remain a distinct (if undifferentiated) character, I find myself wondering if the decision to go with "father" as the dead character was one that allowed much of the later history to develop. I do not think it would have made Fëanor as likely to be welded to the royal house, since the death of a royal grandson would not have had the same whole-nation motivating factor as the death of the Tribal Father--and I doubt whether the Seven Sons of Fëanor would have developed, since six surviving sons would have uncut the unsalvable grief of losing a most beloved child.

Which is not to say that it COULDN'T have been written! But I do think that the choice of father rather than son was more conducive to developing the story as we would have it and I incline to suspect it might have contributed to its fermentation. Imagine how different the legendarium would have been without the Seven Sons of Fëanor! Would there have been an Oath? Would the House of Finwë and its domestic drama have ever risen to such a central place?

Other thoughts...

1.) Lacking a connection to Fëanor, Finwë seems rather more saintly in the original text--more worth of his epessë Nólemë, anyway.

2.) I like the triennial/septennial celebrations and the 21-yearly jubilees.

3.) The story of the messenger killed by the angry Valar and Eldar is the only regret I have about losing the gap between the two calamities. Not to say that this taboo-breaking tale would necessarily have fit in the later tale, but it has weight to it, and it feels like an thematic precursor to the kinslayings.

4.) There is ONE point where the lies of Melko are seen to have had some impact, but it's a bit "too little, too late." After Manwë tries to convince the Noldoli to stay in Valinor by revealing Men and their nature, Fëanor produces a speech of indignation that directly parallels Melkor's lies in the Silm, and the narrator does day that "it is a matter for great wonder, the subtle cunning of Melko... pouring from Fëanor his foe."

5. Ungwë Lianti covets the gems of the Noldor, but unless I'm missing something, she doesn't actually devour them in the old story. To quote: "so came all that treasury of most lovely gems fairer than any others that the world has ever seen into the foul keeping of Wirilómë, and was wound in webs of darkness and hidden deep in the caverns of the eastern slopes of the great hills that are the southern boundary of Eruman." The dread and horror of Ungoliant is far less here, but I'll grant that I like the mental image this evokes: a lost treasure in the most desolate of places in the most binding of cobwebs.

6. We get our first mention of miruvor--by way of a blade steeped in it, for no apparent reason.

7. Speaking of things in The Lord of the Rings, I was immediately reminded of the Nazgûl by this passage: "Know then that Oromë had great stables and a breeding ground of good horses not so far from this spot, where a wild forest land had grown up. Thither Melko steals, and a herd of black horses he captures, cowing them with the terror he could wield." The parallel to the theft of the black horses from the Rohirrim is even stronger if you consider that at least the mearas were considered to be of the lineage of the horses of Oromë.

[Orphalesion]

Originally Posted by Formendacil

Melko seems to have no idea what to do with himself once he has stolen the jewels--and, indeed, his motivation to take them in the first place seems to be mere greed.

Well the Silmarills weren't that important yet in a metaphysical sense, they were just the most beautiful of the gems created by the Noldoli. But even the later version Melkor is motivated, fundamentally motivated by greed, cosic-scale greed for the light untainted and the flame unperishable, but still greed.

It fascinates me that Fëanor was not originally Finwë's son, but all the more so because, as CT shows in the notes and commentary, Tolkien wavered between having his great desire for revenge be due to his grief as a son or father--and although Bruithwir would remain a distinct (if undifferentiated) character, I find myself wondering if the decision to go with "father" as the dead character was one that allowed much of the later history to develop. I do not think it would have made Fëanor as likely to be welded to the royal house, since the death of a royal grandson would not have had the same whole-nation motivating factor as the death of the Tribal Father--and I doubt whether the Seven Sons of Fëanor would have developed, since six surviving sons would have uncut the unsalvable grief of losing a most beloved child.

Which is not to say that it COULDN'T have been written! But I do think that the choice of father rather than son was more conducive to developing the story as we would have it and I incline to suspect it might have contributed to its fermentation. Imagine how different the legendarium would have been without the Seven Sons of Fëanor! Would there have been an Oath? Would the House of Finwë and its domestic drama have ever risen to such a central place?

Other thoughts...

1.) Lacking a connection to Fëanor, Finwë seems rather more saintly in the original text--more worth of his epessë Nólemë, anyway.

It is interesting how the family tree of Finwë developed out of necessity as roles needed filling in the various tales. Fëanor's sons will show up soon in the LT, of course still unrelated to Nólemë who only has two children here: Turgon (who is not born until they return to Middle Earth and Isfin (Aredhel). Later as Fëanor was integrated into the family tree Nólemë would be split into Finwe, Fingolfin and Fingon to account for all the different tales of the Elven king's death, the leaders of the Rodothlim from Turamba's tale would be integrated into the family, Finrod arose to reconcile the dualistic nature of the original character from the lay of Leithian.
I'm sadly no expert on it but it would interest me if any of the Finweans were created superfluously just to bolster the family tree (I always had that impression with Angrod and Aegnor)

However while I do love the screwed up family drama of Finwe's descendants later on as much as the next guy, there is something to be said about this early version were not everybody has to be related and Elves seem to be able to rise to leadership position on merit of skill, charisma....or luck.

3.) The story of the messenger killed by the angry Valar and Eldar is the only regret I have about losing the gap between the two calamities. Not to say that this taboo-breaking tale would necessarily have fit in the later tale, but it has weight to it, and it feels like an thematic precursor to the kinslayings.

Oh man, that would have never flown in the later mythology.

5. Ungwë Lianti covets the gems of the Noldor, but unless I'm missing something, she doesn't actually devour them in the old story. To quote: "so came all that treasury of most lovely gems fairer than any others that the world has ever seen into the foul keeping of Wirilómë, and was wound in webs of darkness and hidden deep in the caverns of the eastern slopes of the great hills that are the southern boundary of Eruman." The dread and horror of Ungoliant is far less here, but I'll grant that I like the mental image this evokes: a lost treasure in the most desolate of places in the most binding of cobwebs.

Actually, won't we see later that Ungwë Lianti had a much bigger role planned for her than ultimately materialized? The sun and the moon journey from east to west because Melko holds the north and Ungweliant the south. The (truly) lost tale when she, for a time capture the sun and moon in her nets and her planned demise at the hands of Earendel.
It's a pity that in the published Silmarillion all that is left of her fate is basically "she ran away....and probably ate herself"
She is really one of these tales that later ere lost like Ulbandi and Nuin.

[Formendacil]

Originally Posted by Orphalesion

Well the Silmarills weren't that important yet in a metaphysical sense, they were just the most beautiful of the gems created by the Noldoli. But even the later version Melkor is motivated, fundamentally motivated by greed, cosic-scale greed for the light untainted and the flame unperishable, but still greed.

I suppose one could call it that--though you've already conceded implicitly that there is an order of magnitude in difference between "cosmic-scale greed for the light untainted and flame imperishable" and the rather petty greed-for-gems we see here.

More to the point of what I was thinking, though, Melko's greed in the Lost Tales seems almost spontaneous: he sees gems and simply must have them, whereas although the later Melkor also lusts for the creations of the Noldor (including the Silmarils which do, indeed, have heightened importance), this is a long-standing desire on his part and it is not just a desire to possess something beautiful, but bound up far more clearly with his desire to dominate the other Valar and the created universe. Here that desire to dominate, though perhaps logically implicit, has not yet been drawn out by Tolkien.

And later, when it DOES become a key element of Melkor's plot and character, I would argue that it moves his motivations beyond the realm of even cosmic greed towards pride. Of course, as they say, pride is the root of all sins (including greed) and as the originator of all evil Melkor appropriately partakes of them all, but his greed is later more clearly subordinated to his pride, whereas in the early text it seems to arise separately.

[Orphalesion]

Originally Posted by Formendacil

I suppose one could call it that--though you've already conceded implicitly that there is an order of magnitude in difference between "cosmic-scale greed for the light untainted and flame imperishable" and the rather petty greed-for-gems we see here.

More to the point of what I was thinking, though, Melko's greed in the Lost Tales seems almost spontaneous: he sees gems and simply must have them, whereas although the later Melkor also lusts for the creations of the Noldor (including the Silmarils which do, indeed, have heightened importance), this is a long-standing desire on his part and it is not just a desire to possess something beautiful, but bound up far more clearly with his desire to dominate the other Valar and the created universe. Here that desire to dominate, though perhaps logically implicit, has not yet been drawn out by Tolkien.

And later, when it DOES become a key element of Melkor's plot and character, I would argue that it moves his motivations beyond the realm of even cosmic greed towards pride. Of course, as they say, pride is the root of all sins (including greed) and as the originator of all evil Melkor appropriately partakes of them all, but his greed is later more clearly subordinated to his pride, whereas in the early text it seems to arise separately.

Indeed you are right, I sometimes forget the Catholic foundation of the later mythology and that Melkor's original sin was nihilistic pride, the folly to think himself as an equal or even superior to Eru.
Melko is really a much more petty creature than Morgoth. Here he just wants to grab the gems, which previously he had pretended to care little about later the other gems are just a cherry on top of his real target, the Silmarils containing the Light Untainted, which he hates and yet hungers for.