Continuing from last week...
Fingolfin
Last week we saw how bias worked against Fëanor and his kin, by contrast, the Fingolfin's are shown in a better light.
During the fourth great battle, Dagor Bragollach, Fingolfin also charged Angband, and this time it is stated that he personally challenged Morgoth to single combat, calling Morgoth “craven” (Silm 178-179). The account is much too long to cite in full; however, a few key sentences will show the rhetorical differences between the deaths of the two Noldorin leaders in which Fingolfin may be considered ad bono exemplum. Let’s consider the following:
1) “Fingolfin beheld (as it seemed to him) the utter ruin on the Noldor, and the defeat beyond redress of all of their houses; and filled with wrath and despair he mounted upon Rochallor his great horse and rode forth alone, and none might restrain him.”
2) “[A]ll that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking Oromë himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar.”
3) “[T]he rocks rang with the shrill music of Fingolfin’s horn, and his voice came keen and clear down into the depths of Angband; and Fingolfin named Morgoth craven, and lord of slaves.” undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds” even more strongly supports such a reading (War of the Jewels §45, 18).
4) “But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.”
5) “Thrice he was crushed to his knees, and thrice arose again and bore up his broken shield and stricken helm. […] Yet with his last and desperate stroke Fingolfin hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gushed forth black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond.”
6) “Thus died Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, most proud and valiant of the Elven-kings of old.”
In the first excerpt (1), we may factually determine that Fingolfin mounted his horse and charged the Enemy and none were able to stop him. Rhetorically, however, his wrath is interpreted and judged as ignited by noble sentiments: he must save his people from ruin as a good king should. The narrator seems to know exactly how the situation “seemed to him” and that his wrath is accompanied by despair in sharp contrast to the narrator’s interpretation of Fëanor’s personal reason of revenge for his father, revenge of the rape of the Silmarils, or both.
In the second excerpt (2), all that we can glean factually is that Fingolfin, like Fëanor, seemed filled with rage. But the interpretation of the “great madness” is not fey as it was with Fëanor. Rather, it is likened to the great hunter Oromë and causes his eyes to “shine like those of the Valar” and thus implies a ‘holy’ wrath that does not wildly consume him like the flame of Fëanor’s own wrath.
The third excerpt (3) describes the hero’s approach to the enemy. We know that Fingolfin blows his horn loudly and he goads Morgoth in his challenge. Rhetorically, however, this is described as ‘clear’ and ‘shrill’ and ringing the surrounding rocks. Nonetheless, we cannot be sure that Fingolfin’s voice reached “into the depths of Angband” and this merely emphasizes the righteousness of the High King’s actions in contrast to Fëanor’s wild and ‘fey’ charge.
The righteousness of Fingolfin is further rhetorically highlighted in excerpt four (4). The imagery of the description, ‘gleamed,’ ‘star,’ the colors ‘silver’ and ‘blue,’ crystals and swords that glitter like ice, reinforce Fingolfin as ad bono exemplum of righteous Northern courage. We notice, however, that excerpt five (5) lessens the rhetorical focus and emphasizes a more factual account of the duel without much rhetorical embellishment. Most of the adjectives describe actions readily observable by spectators: three times beaten down and three times returning to the fight, broken shields and blood gushing forth. The obvious, dramatical element of the excerpt is that the last stroke is ‘desperate’ as it suggests the King’s state-of-mind at the moment of death.
Lastly, number six (6) is purely rhetorical to the point of being almost formulaic, like an excerpt of a posthumous panegyric to the “most proud and valiant of the Elven-kings of old”— ad bono exemplum.
Alex Lewis has also analyzed this same passage of Fingolfin’s death and his conclusion, which deserves to be cited in full, supports the above analysis while emphasizing that the interpretive rhetorical narration adds to the historicity and depth of the Elvish wyrdwrīteras:
Compare now if you will the description of Fingolfin’s battle with
Morgoth […]: We are given sixty-eight glorious lines of vivid
description—yet no one else was there to witness the duel! This is all
hearsay and legendary. Yet the detail is incredible: Ringil the sword of
the High King glittered like ice and Fingolfin inflicted seven wounds on
his foe. Morgoth bore down Fingolfin three times to the ground and the
High King hewed at Morgoth’s foot before he died. But this ties in well
with Elrond’s family connection to Fingolfin, and so the bias reinforces
the “historicity” of the work. (Lewis 163)
The two accounts show a discursive structure made up of facts and the interpretation of those facts (factum and dictum); however, the interpretive and rhetorical level foregrounds negative aspects of Northern courage in Fëanor’s passage (he was fey with wrath) and backgrounds, or minimizes Fëanor’s valour to one line. On the other hand, while Fingolfin also charges the foe in “wrath” but his wrath is minimized while his glorious deeds are foregrounded.
Both accounts are biased in favor of the Fingolfians, who wrote the history.
The events do not “speak for themselves” or “tell their own story,” the “narrativizing
discourse serves the purpose of moralizing judgements” (White, “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality” [“Narrativity”] 3, 24). The narratives are certainly ideological in their representation of events through the figurative language they use and they portray certain characters as just and we may recall that a similar formulaic statement is spoken by Gandalf to opposite effect:
“So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion […] And so pass also the days of Gondor that you have known; for good or evil they are ended. Ill deeds have been done here; but let now all enmity that lies between you be put away, for it was contrived by the Enemy and works
his will” (The Lord of the Rings V,7,854-55, emphasis mine).
In essence, the negative traits of Northern courage are placed on the Fëanorians, although they also display virtues of Northern courage; while at the same time the virtues of Northern courage are rhetorically emphasized when the account centers on the Fingolfians. White accounts for these shifts in perspective:
The issue of ideology points to the fact that there is no value-neutral mode of emplotment, explanation, or even description of any field of events, whether imaginary or real, and suggests that the very use of language itself implies or entails a specific posture before the world which is ethical, ideological, or more generally political: not only in interpretation, but also all language is politically contaminated. (“The Fictions of Factual Representation” 129)
III. Maedhros’s and Maglor’s Very Private Discussion
There are other examples of the one-sided Fingolfian nature of the narrative. Consider Maedhros’s and Maglor’s dialogue (Silm 304) in which the only way the narrator may know what was said is by his own embellishment and emplotment.
The conversation between Maedros and Maglor concerns whether they should abandon their Oath or attempt to fulfill it no matter how mad the attempt may be. Maglor ends the conversation by stating, “If none can release us […], then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our oath or break it; but less evil shall we do in the breaking.” The choice is between a lesser of two evils chained to an oath, a choice found often in the Northern courage of Germanic heroic literature, because:
The quality of man is not known until he is sore beset, either by defeat in battle or by being placed in a situation in which he must do violence to his sense of right. Fate can put men and women into positions whence it seems impossible for them to emerge with honour. They are judged by their choice, still more, perhaps, by the steadfastness with which they carry out their chosen aim, never looking back. […] But the point is that there is a choice. It may be no more than a choice between yielding and resisting to the uttermost what is bound to happen: it may be a choice between two courses each of which is hateful. (Phillpotts 5)
The decisions are always are “hard decisions and bitter prices” (Shippey, Laughing 81). Yet the question remains: who is there to witness their hard decision, who witnessed this exemplary motif of Northern courage? The answer is no one.
This is an embellishment of a gap between events made by the narrator.
Cristofari finds these embellishment of gaps within the Elvish history as a symbiotic growth of history and legend which fuse into myth, in which the
[…] narratives originating in reality, but stylized and embellished (though this does not have to mean transformed) until they become meaningful in themselves. In this context, the question of authorship becomes extremely uncertain, to the point that the traditional role of author as go-between in the relationship between history and narratives of history seems inexistent. History is embedded in its narrative, and vice-versa […] (Cristofari 187)
This distinctly pro-Fingolfian embellishment (dictum) which Tolkien creates lends a “partisan nature of Noldorin politics” to the Elvish history and thereby enriches its depth (Lewis 161). The partisan bias, that is, its ideological status, consists of two distinct but converging aspects. The first is its rhetorical specificity, as we have seen in the deaths of the two Noldorin leaders, and the second is the relation of the historical Elvish texts and the power dynamics of the Fingolfians who produced them. Scanlon finds these two aspects as two sides of the same coin:
[T]hese two aspects converge because they represent the two sides of a
text’s ideological status. To the extent a text is ideologically enabling, it
participates in power relations. Yet it can participate in such relations
only textually, that is, by virtue of its discrete rhetorical strategies.
(Scanlon 84)
The functioning of the ideological status, comprising of the two aspects, produces moral and cultural authority. It is not a static authority but rather active and dynamic. That is, the exempla of the two Noldorin royal houses are embedded in the histories of the Noldor: one a good example of heroic ethos, the other an example to be shunned.
Retelling these great tales throughout the ages not only confirms the moral authority of the Fingolfians, but reproduces it (Scanlon 5) in the telling and further reinforces their moral and cultural authority. At the end of the Third Age, as narrated in The Lord of the Rings, there is no doubt of Fingolfian Elrond’s authority. His story is known to many members of the secondary-world audience (who at times instruct the Hobbits of Elrond’s story) and it always portrays him in the most favorable light (dictum). His reputation, derived from these histories, empowers him with enough cultural and moral authority that even the most antagonistic members of the Ring Council fall silent and listen when he speaks.
ELROND’S OATH
At the beginning of this discussion, it was mentioned that the history of the Elves went beyond The Silmarillion and into the Third Age with The Lord of the Rings. This is fairly obvious, but the continuity of the historical bias, or ideological status, of the wyrdwrīteras is interesting as it reflects the reproduction of cultural and moral authority. One example of the continuity is a dialogue between Elrond and Gimli as the Ring goes south:
‘[…] You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as
chance allows. The further you go, the less easy it will be to withdraw;
yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do
not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what
each may meet upon the road.’
‘Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,’ said
Gimli.
‘Maybe,’ said Elrond, ‘but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who
has not seen the nightfall.’
‘Yet sworn word may strengthen a quaking heart,’ said Gimli.
‘Or break it,’ said Elrond. (The Lord of the Rings II.3.281)
Elrond is wise to not hinder the Fellowship by any potential conflict of loyalties. The wisdom of Elrond may be apparent simply because he is of the Eldar, but it is also imbued with the cultural and moral authority of the Fingolfians. As a Noldo of the First Age, Elrond is certainly aware of the power and devasting effect of oaths. Of course Gimli, although of the ‘Free Peoples of Middle-earth,’ is an outsider to the Eldar-Mannish culture. While Gimli speaks of oaths as binding sources of strength and loyalty, Elrond speaks from the authoritative narratives that illustrate examples of tragedy due to binding oaths.
Oaths are motifs of heroic literature that often set up a conflict of loyalties and fall directly within the theme of Northern courage. Whether it is a conflict between loyalty to one’s lord and the duty to die with him versus personal freedom, duty to one’s lord and duty to one’s kin in Hildebrandslied, or various other conflicts of oaths, loyalties, and duty, the conflict between the oath-sworn is a staple of Germanic heroic literature. I suggested a couple of weeks ago that this dialogue between Elrond and Gimli may refer back to the Oath of Fëanor. No doubt that Fëanor’s Oath broke many hearts during the long defeat and it had even threatened Elrond’s life as a boy (Silm 297).
However, there is also another way to read Elrond’s wisdom and reference to the tragic element of oaths as it applies to the Fingolfians. Recall that Elrond’s uncle-in-law, Finrod Felagund, was rescued by Barahir of the House of Bëor during the Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. In response, Felagund “swore an oath of abiding friendship and aid in every need to Barahir, and in token of his vow he gave to Barahir his ring” (Silm 177).
A ring, it may be added, that Aragorn presumably, as the descendent and heir of Barahir, happens to be wearing in the presence of Elrond during the dialogue above. In the Beren and Lúthien tale, Beren calls on Felagund who “knew that the oath he had sworn was come upon him for his death, as he had foretold to Galadriel” (199). Furthermore, in the same passage, Felagund says to Beren:
Felagund is later slain by a werewolf while saving Beren in the dungeons of Tolin-Gaurhoth, the fortress of Sauron. The passage is concurrent with Stanley’s conception of wyrd-as-doom, a great slumbering power. But it also speaks of two oaths. The Oath of Fëanor, sworn to recover the Silmarils at all and any costs, as an ‘oath of hatred,’ possession, and vengeance in contrast to Felagund’s oath to Barahir, and subsequently to Beren. Felagund’s oath was given not in hatred or vengeance, but freely given in love and loyalty to friendship. Again, we are presented with both ad malum exemplum and ad bono exemplum in the two prominent oaths of the First Age. Both induced tragic events and endings, and both broke hearts as when Felagund perished, Beren “mourned beside him in despair” (Silm 205). The illustrative narrations involving the two oaths give Fingolfian — lord Elrond the gravitas and authority to shun any binding of oaths within
the Fellowship.
A third way of reading Elrond’s reaction to Gimli is pure ironic speculation. The text is silent as to whether Felagund’s oath died with him or if there is some sort of obligation to keep it by his kin. We may wonder if it is plausible that Elrond feels some sort of moral obligation to Aragorn stemmingfrom that oath. We know that Elrond provided sanctuary to the Chieftains of the Dúnedain, i.e. the descendants of Barahir (as well as descendants of his own brother, Elros) and the presence of Aragorn, the Ring of Barahir, and Elrond together may lead us to think so. We may also speculate that in aiding Aragorn to reclaim his throne, Elrond’s own fatherly heart may be broken as Arwen chooses the fate of Men and he leaves for the Undying Lands. And that may be Elrond’s wyrd. Nevertheless, the illustrative narrations of Northern courage (in this case the oaths) are once again contrasted between Fëanorians and Fingolfians, ad malum exemplum and ad bono exemplum which parallel the views presented in Tolkien’s academic essays and personal correspondence discussed last week at the beginning of this essay.
CONCLUSION
The history of the Elves, this discussion concludes, is a neatly woven tapestry of theme and tone in its unity of several stories. The goal is not different than the goal of The Lord of the Rings, which “was to dramatise that ‘theory of courage’ which Tolkien had said in his British Academy lecture was the ‘great contribution’ to humanity of the old literature of the North” (Shippey, Road 177).
Nevertheless, Tolkien had reservations and criticisms of Northern courage as well, which are reflected in his personal correspondence and academic papers. Such reservations and criticisms may be seen in the illustrative narration technique used to narrate the fictional history of the Eldar. The discourse of the dramatization forms two exempla throughout the narrative: the virtuous Fingolfian ethos and the impious Fëanorian ethos which are defined by the rhetorical manipulation of factum and dictum as we see not only in classical and medieval exempla but in historical discourse as well. Tolkien uses partisan Fingolfian wyrdwrīteras, narrators or chroniclers, whose discourse “serves the purpose of moralizing judgements” (White, “Narrativity” 24) while simultaneously chronicling their own, secondary world history. Indeed, while Tolkien abhorred allegory, he did feel that there was no better medium than the fairy-story for moral teaching (“Gawain” 73).
The historical bias and moral authority of the Elvish wyrdwrīteras gives their entire history, in Alex Lewis’s words, “a realism far removed from mere contrivance” (164). It is a realism in depth once realized in the heroic epics of Germanic literature.
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