LotR -- Book 3 - Chapter 06 - The King of the Golden Hall

[mark12_30]

Notes taken while reading the chapter (pre-thread-reading) :

Always wondered why Aragorn was so fussy about leaving Anduril at Theoden's door; thought it was a kind of snooty paranoia. However I think now that he was worried somebody would un-intentionally be caught by the weapon's protective whatever-it-was (curse? spell? blessing? scabbard?)

‘And I would do as the master of the house bade me, were this only a woodman’s cot, if I bore now any sword but Andúril.’

...why? because it's deadly to all but Elendil's heir:

‘Here I set it,’ he said; ‘but I command you not to touch it, nor to permit any other to lay hand on it. In this elvish sheath dwells the Blade that was Broken and has been made again. Telchar first wrought it in the deeps of time. Death shall come to any man that draws Elendil’s sword save Elendil’s heir.’

So it was a sense of responsibility, and not wanting someone else harmed. He's a nice guy after all....

Edoras has a cool floor:

As their eyes changed, the travellers perceived that the floor was paved with stones of many hues; branching runes and strange devices intertwined beneath their feet.

Love the tapestry of Eorl:

But upon one form the sunlight fell: a young man upon a white horse. He was blowing a great horn, and his yellow hair was flying in the wind. The horse’s head was lifted, and its nostrils were wide and red as it neighed, smelling battle afar. Foaming water, green and white, rushed and curled about its knees.

The movie folk got the central fireplace right (that Eowyn slept beside):

past the clear wood-fire burning upon the long hearth in the midst of the hall.

Neat, and very biblical, proverb/observation from Gandalf:

The wise speak only of what they know...

Love the bits about Eowyn, such as

Grave and thoughtful was her glance, as she looked on the king with cool pity in her eyes. Very fair was her face, and her long hair was like a river of gold. Slender and tall she was in her white robe girt with silver; but strong she seemed and stern as steel, a daughter of kings.

And this, and many other, quotes from and about Eomer:

‘Take this, dear lord!’ said a clear voice. ‘It was ever at your service.’

I am steadily remembering why I became so very fond of Eomer, thirty years ago...

Child first brought to my attention a theme that runs throughout the entire trilogy. Gandalf with elegance and simplicity states it here:

To cast aside regret and fear. To do the deed at hand.

Gandalf immediately follows this abstract with the concrete application:

we must first destroy the threat of Saruman, while we have time. If we fail, we fall. If we succeed – then we will face the next task.

Each subplot, each story chapter in the book can be told this way. And throughout the books, Gandalf the counsellor presents one step at a time, and does not look too far ahead.

Once again we see Aragorn's basic and simple virtues at work:

And I promised Éomer that my sword and his should be drawn together.

Theoden openly states his hope for a glorious death:

I myself will go to war, to fall in the front of the battle, if it must be. Thus shall I sleep better.

Gandalf continues in the role of counsellor:

Give him a horse and let him go at once, wherever he chooses. By his choice you shall judge him.

This immediately removes all doubt regarding Grima's true alliance...

Theoden: Give him a horse, if he wishes it.’ ‘And if any will bear him,’ said Éomer.

I remember Gimli's cap and shield, but I don't remember the beginning of that paragraph; always missed it before, or skimmed it.

Now men came bearing raiment of war from the king’s hoard and they arrayed Aragorn and Legolas in shining mail. Helms too they chose, and round shields: their bosses were overlaid with gold and set with gems, green and red and white.

It's interesting enough that Aragorn was dressed by Theoden (a king dressing a king), but the idea of Legolas wearing (colorful!) Rohirric armor is particularly appealing. (Charming?) Also 'charming' is the point that Gimli's shield was Theoden's as a boy. Perhaps that's where the inspiration for the movie Faramir/ Pippin connection came from.

Alone Éowyn stood before the doors of the house at the stair’s head; the sword was set upright before her, and her hands were laid upon the hilt. She was clad now in mail and shone like silver in the sun.

Eowyn the sentinel, the statue, the image of Something Other.... Someone set apart. Dedicated, consecrated?

The men gallop off, and our last sight is this:

Far over the plain Éowyn saw the glitter of their spears, as she stood still, alone before the doors of the silent house.

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Lhunardawen -- wonderful points about the light-and-hope mystical unity!

Originally Posted by Rumil

... little channels through which streams of clear running water flowed. I don't precisely know why, but I find the idea really attractive.

Agreed!

Originally Posted by Rumil

The second one was about the honesty and 'simplicity' (by which I mean straightforwardness and honour rather than stupidity) shown by both the Gate-guard at Edoras and Hama, in contrast to Wormtongue. In the land of the honest is the crooked man always going to become Prime-Minister?

The Shire seems to have evaded this at least in the long run. But I think the pattern occurs all too often in real life...

It's interesting to read in the thread how many folk were disapppointed in Aragorn's behavior at Theoden's doorway. How dangerous was Anduril? Was Aragorn's statement 'death hshall come to any man' for real, or was Anduril just a normal sword?
What about in the sword? Aragorn says by way of warning that

Telchar first wrought it in the deeps of time. Death shall come to any man that draws Elendil’s sword save Elendil’s heir.

Telchar was a first-age dwarven smith from Nogrod, in the Blue Mountains, and he made several cool things including the helmet that eventually Turin wore, and the knife that Beren used to cut the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown. (Too bad it snapped on the second try... hmmm, Narsil broke too...) Isildur cursed the faithless dead; maybe he cursed the shards after his father's death. Maybe Isildur cursed the shards as a form of protecting them after his father's death.
At Rivendell, Narsil was re-forged by elven-smiths, who added symbols & runes of power:

The Sword of Elendil was forged anew by Elvish smiths, and on its blade was traced a device of seven stars set between the crescent Moon and the rayed Sun, and about them was written many runes; for Aragorn son of Arathorn was going to war upon the marches of Mordor. Very bright was that sword when it was made whole again; the light of the sun shone redly in it, and the light of the moon shone cold, and its edge was hard and keen. And Aragorn gave it a new name and called it Andúril, Flame of the West.

Now, elves can do some nifty work. The Gondolin elves made blades that glowed when Orcs came around (Glamdring, Sting.) They might have put a protective spell on it.

and she gave him a sheath that had been made to fit his sword. It was overlaid with a tracery of flowers and leaves wrought of silver and gold, and on it were set in elven runes formed of many gems the name Andúril and the lineage of the sword.
‘The blade that is drawn from this sheath shall not be stained or broken even in defeat,’ she said.

So even in the scabbard, there was elvish power; there's runes of power on the blade; amazing heritage. Why would we doubt that the curse/ protective spell was real?
Aragorn isn't the type to lightly curse someone, especially a stranger, so I doubt he was making the curse up himself on the spot. Nor would Aragorn lie. As I've said before, he doesn't know how to lie; he'd choke if he tried.
So there's a spell of some sort on the sword; and he's really worried about some clueless, curious rider handling his sword and dropping dead. He mutters the sword's lineage and power to Hama, gets Hama's wide-eyed promise that nobody will touch it, and he's satisfied.
I stand by my notes. I think he was acting in an attempt to protect the unknowing, hesitant to declare himself quite yet, worried that someone might pick up and inspect an interesting and ancient sword, maybe even draw it out of curiousity, and invoke some curse on their own heads without intending it.

Other comments...

Fordie: Dude!! Nice connection between tapestries and webs!!

Originally Posted by davem

The way I see this scene is that Aragorn is not the King of Rohan, nor will he be the King of Rohan.

Very valid point, and so is this:

I say it takes a better King to acknowledge his less powerful neighbours' right to independence...

Aiwendil, fascinating and excellent points connecting Aragorn with Beowulf and Heorot with Meduseld. Sounds perfectly plausible to me!

davem, biblically the snake is matched to Satan in the garden of eden; but in the new testament, the terms "snakes and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy" are a broad, generalized reference to the demonic. I think Gandalf is simply pointing out that Grima's alliance is to the darkness, not to the light; Grima isn't Melkor, nor is he Sauron. But through Saruman, Grima is a servant of Melkor and Sauron, whether he realises it or not.

Interesting point about shadows & deliverance...

Originally Posted by Lhunardawen

Eowyn will stand behind the king and support him despite the circumstances and his faulty decisions; and two, she has a greater authority in Rohan than Grima thinks he does

Nice point!

Lalwende-- interesting picture of foggy rolling fields... nice. To me that says "Barrow-Downs" or "North Downs." I picture Rohan as (cough) the great plains of America... don't shoot me.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

There was one who took the alternate role for the serpent, aside from the famous Lucifer. His name was Samael.

It is said that on the sixth day, God was so pleased with Adam he wanted the angels to bow down to him. Samael refused, and Michael warned him of the consequence of his disobedience. But Samael gathered many angels of like mind to him and said something to the effect of “Let God try!” and Michael promptly tossed him out of heaven.

Now, at the risk of being accused of crossing the allegory line, I’d say we see hints of Saruman here. He didn't think Men were good enough to rule Middle-earth—which was Ilúvatar's plan. In this case, however, his downfall was brought about by the very beings he thought weren’t good enough.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

When we first came across Théoden he looked a man so old and feeble you’d wonder if he could even leave Meduseld. After a little chat with Gandalf we see him riding off to battle. What happened? And how came he to be dotard in the first place?

Gríma Wormtongue. This cunning servant of Saruman must have had a part of his master’s power. “You are old,” he must have said to Théoden once, “and you’re not getting any stronger.” It may have been true, perhaps, but this is all the more a testament to the subtlety with which Gríma presented the thought. OK, so maybe Théoden may have been drugged, but I think the greater evil was done when Théoden accepted these words with its deeply-hidden lie.

But Gandalf comes. He breaks the spell decisively (but probably not completely, alas!) with a combination of hope:

[Gandalf: ]Not all is dark.

LR III 6

. . . and the truth:

[Gandalf: ]Nor does your age lie so heavily on your shoulders as some would have you think.

ibid

However, Gríma will not give up without a fight. He tries to replant the lie:

[Gríma: ]I care for you and yours as best I may. But do not weary yourself, or tax too heavily your strength.

ibid

Then he tries to denounce the bringer of truth:

[Gríma: ]Dear lord! It is as I feared. This wizard has bewitched you.

ibid

But all his attempts failed:

[Théoden: ]If this is bewitchment, it seems to me more wholesome than your whisperings. Your leechcraft ere long would have had me walking on all fours like a beast.

ibid

And then the serpent is revealed for what it really is, and all its plots laid bare:

[Gandalf: ]Down, snake! Down on your belly! How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, you were to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you desire?

ibid

Ah, Mighty Whitey. What an entrance you make. As my sister had said waaay above, light has indeed come into Meduseld, and all deeds of darkness are exposed in it.

[Guinevere]

Like Bethberry I find Tolkien's portreyal of the Rohirrim culture one of the most striking and intriguing things in this chapter.

It is the style, though, that I find particularly interesting, for here begins I think some of the strongest evidences of Tolkien's efforts to reimagine some of the features of archaic English in modern English form. The two paragraphs I have quoted have many sentences which begin not with their sugjects, but with subordinate clauses or prepositional phrases, or inversions. Tolkien uses style to begin to characterise this ancient culture. It is a stirring style, replete with an almost ritualistic formality which seems very suitable. Perhaps the most prominent of the specifically Old English style is the poem "Where now the horse and the rider?", with its high rate of alliteration and prominent, staccado-like rhythm. The short, pithy lines of this chapter, so many of which Estelyn has quoted in the first post here, also harken back to the kennings of Old English literature.

Already at my first reading Tolkien's beautiful language and different styles were one of the things that I especially loved , and after having gained more insight by reading Tom Shippey's book "Tolkien, Author of the Century" I appreciate it even more. It makes this ancient world all the more real , I feel I am in another time than my own. (Those who read the book translated to their mothertongue will unfortunately miss most of that effect, alas!)

"But to the Riders of the Mark it seems so long ago", said Aragorn, "that the raising of this house is but a memory of song, and the years before are lost in the mist of time. Now they call this land their home, their own, and their speech is sundered from their northern kin." Then he began to chant softly in a slow tongue unknown to the Elf and Dwarf; yet they listened, for there was a strong music in it.
"That, I guess, is the language of the Rohirrim," said Legolas; "for it is like to this land itself; rich and rolling in part, and else hard and stern as the mountains. But I cannot guess what it means, save that it is laden with the sadness of Mortal Men."

What Aragorn tells about the Rohirrim, might as well apply to the Anglo-Saxons, and what Legolas says about the language of Rohan is probably what Tolkien himself felt about the AngloSaxon language!

The "proverbs" that Estelyn mentioned are something I became aware of some time ago. I found them so intriguing I started looking for them in all Tolkien's works and collecting them. English not being my mothertongue, I am often not sure which ones are traditional proverbs and which ones Tolkien made up - they all sound so genuine! Like many things Tolkien wrote they are about something in the story, but at the same time they express a general, timeless truth.

I love the scene where Gandalf raises Theoden's spirit and kindles hope and courage in him. It's so much subtler and better than the horrible exorcism scene in the movie (sorry about the "movie-bashing", but somehow just those scenes that I didn't like make me appreciate the book scenes all the more!)

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

This chapter—indeed, this Book III—reeks of distrust. For instance, Gandalf gets mistaken for Saruman (or his phantom) far too often—it had got me thinking that had Gandalf not announced himself in anyway before he entered Meduseld, Gríma’s reaction might have been, “What are you doing here, master?”

Then there’s this whole Lothlórien issue, which is part of the Rohirric culture, it seems. After all, Éorl was the first to show distrust:

[Éorl: ][N]one can pass, few or many, through the Dwimordene where dwells the White Lady and weaves nets that no mortal can pass.

UT III 2

Many others show it: Éomer, Háma, and of course, Gríma.

In midst of all this mistrust, Gandalf comes with these words:

[Gandalf: ][N]ow all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed.

LR III 6

This, I think, is the lesson that every good citizen of Middle-earth needed to learn.

So sure, the Rohirrim may have initially distrusted the Huorns and the Ents, but by the time they rode to save Gondor (again), these Druedain-trusting chaps have gone a long way from the Dwimordene-fearing riders of Éorl.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Late have I come. May that not prove ill.

I'm currently re-reading LotR, and I reached this chapter last night. A few thoughts occurred at the time, and hopefully I can address a couple of the issues that have been raised in this conclave. Please forgive the lack of quotes: I'm stealing time from work and my books are elsewhere.

The ‘House of Éorl’ is mentioned, which I assume is the basis for the word ‘Eorlingas’.

In Old English, the suffix ...ingas means 'people or descendents of' (the singular form is ...ing). Therefore 'Sons of Éorl' or 'People of Éorl' are both possible interpretations. 'Éorl' is a word derived from Old Norse Jarl, 'Lord, nobleman', from which derives the modern English title 'Earl'. Tolkien amused himself with his names for the Lords of the Mark, calling most of them by titles applied to kings or simply words for 'King' in Old English. Goldwine, for example, literally means 'gold-friend': it is often applied to kings in verse, and implies wealth and generosity. Thengel and Théoden just mean 'king'. 'prince', 'ruler'. Éorl was not a king when first he rode out of the North, so his name is the lesser title. Théoden's hall is also named for its purpose: Meduseld means 'mead-hall', a common poetic term for such a structure. Where mead is drunk, rather than ale or wine, it seems to carry especially heroic overtones.

I enjoyed Bêthberry's analysis of the language in this chapter. I remember that we've discussed in the past Tolkien's opinion that archaic English is able to convey certain archaic attitudes and thoughts better than its modern equivalent; in fact, he uses Theoden's speech in this chapter as an example in one of his letters, translating it into a modern idiom as well as one so archaic as to be almost late Middle English. More than anything, the language in this chapter evokes for me Victorian and Edwardian translations of Old English poetry and prose, which were usually as close to transliteration as scholars could manage. Nowadays this approach is frowned upon, and the translator is expected to render the original into an entirely modern idiom (reflecting that to Anglo-Saxons the diction was not dusty and old-fashioned), but I prefer the old method's closeness in literal meaning, rhythm and word order. Here, for example, are some lines of Old English rendered in both styles; the quotation is long because it's relevant to this chapter:

Originally Posted by The Wanderer, ll. 88-96

Se þonne þisne wealsteal wise geþohte
ond þis deorce lif deope geondþenceð,

frod in ferðe, feor oft gemon
wælsleahta worn, ond þas word acwið:
"Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Hwær sindon seledreamas?
Eala beorht bune! Eala byrnwiga!

Eala þeodnes þrym! Hu seo þrag gewat,
genap under nihthelm, swa heo no wære.

Originally Posted by Translations

He who then this wall-place [place where buildings stand (Bosworth-Toller)] wisely has considered
and this gloomy life thoughtfully contemplates,

wise in heart, far back often recalls
a multitude of battle-slaughters, and these words utters:
"Where went the horse? Where went the kinsman? Where went the treasure-giver?
Where went the places of banquets? Where are the hall-pleasures?
Alas the bright cup! Alas the mail-clad warrior!
Alas the prince's majesty! How the time departed,
Darkened under night's helm, as though it never was.

***

Then he who has considered wisely this place of buildings
and thoughfully contemplates this gloomy life,
wise at heart, often recalls far back
a multitude of battle-slaughters, and speaks these words...

The unusual word order serves two purposes, both concerned with emphasis: firstly it allows certain syllables to fall in the correct places for proper alliteration, but secondly it allows those words to be placed first which are most important, and associates particular alliterating words and phrases, often across lines. This technique, only fully viable in an inflected language, is one that Tolkien attempts to apply to modern English, and for similar reasons. The phrase 'helms too they chose', for example, has been reversed to remove the emphasis from the personal pronoun and place it instead on the nature of the objects being chosen. It also refers back to the previous sentence, in which Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli are being armed by Théoden. It is a brave effort to revive an ancient metrical device in prose, and it lends to this chapter an epic quality, in keeping with the stature of its protagonists.

Returning briefly to The Wanderer, do those lines look familiar to anyone? Old English elegiac poetry often dwells on the fading and departure of old joys and glories, and this poem is about exile, separation from a lord, companions and the joys of the feasting hall. It also concerns itself with the consolation to be found in Christ, but the main body of the work describes the old warrior, doomed to wander the world friendless, bereft of comradeship and leadership. The poem lament for the Rohirrim picks up the emphasis on a fallen people, the lost joys of the past, and recounts it with much the same rhetorical device. One might even say that the whole theme of loss and fading that runs through LotR, not to mention the traditional English love of nostalgia, are the direct descendents of the Old English elegies.

On a completely different note, the revival of Théoden, although he seems rather too quick to abandon his former mistrust of Gandalf, is beautifully structured. If this chapter is about anyone, it is about the Lord of the Mark, about whom all of its events revolve; and his recovery is central to the narrative. The old, bent king is first shorn of his poor counsellor; then he is asked to trust Gandalf and to turn his mind away from despair. As he begins to come to himself, he moves physically from the dim hall to the fresh air, where Gandalf takes charge of him and relieves Éowyn of her spiritual burden. Already he begins to notice that the world is brighter outside Meduseld, both literally (a hall has no windows) and figuratively: now that he sees the world for himself it is no longer so dark as he had been led to believe. Gandalf's next prompting is that he should abandon his stick and stand unaided, at which he does so and stands upright, revealing the strength and stature of his youth. Finally he is told to take his sword, but before he can hold one he performs the kingly act of judging an errant subject, in this case Éomer. Having judged both wisely and fairly, he accepts Éomer's renewed service by taking his sword, and at this moment, as his authority as king is restored, so his hands regain the strength to wield a king's weapon. Finally he calls his people to arms like the hero of some verse epic. Théoden grows physically, mentally and spiritually, and his authority recovers, all in this one sequence. More importantly, while we may suspect that Gandalf is helping him with more than an arm to lean on and some good advice, the wizard does nothing obvious. To Théoden's men it seems that their king has recovered without assistance.

Perhaps Tolkien was trying to demonstrate how powerful confidence and positive thinking can be. Gríma has exercised no obvious magical powers, but he has repeatedly worked on Theoden's mood, prompting him to sit brooding in his hall rather than walking among his people, quietly and determinedly fostering a spirit of defeatism and misery, and eroding the king's self-confidence just as he gradually undermines his authority. Gandalf acts here as the kindler of spirits that Círdan predicts that he will be in the Silmarillion. Observe how he withdraws, from supporting Théoden physically to sitting on a step beneath him. Gandalf is demonstrating how a good advisor should behave, but also showing that ability to persuade and guide others in sensible directions. Théoden's confidence and stature grow in each scene from this point until his final, triumphant exit on the Pelennor Fields, and it is easy to believe that he will 'sleep better' for it. At the beginning of the chapter, its title seems to contrast the glorious hall with its decrepit occupant; by the end, Théoden more than lives up to his grand and heroic residence.

That's about all I have time for on this subject. May I be forgiven my laggardly entrance.