As if the Story of Túrin Weren't Already Tragic Enough

While analyzing the death scenes of Nienor Níniel and Túrin in the chapter "Turambar and the Foalókë" in The Book of Lost Tales, I noticed that parts of the last words of each character seemed to be iambic verse. 

Before leaping to her death in a waterfall, Níniel addresses the river with a statement that begins and ends with the same sentence: "O waters of the forest whither do ye go?" I believe the text in between also scans as iambic with slight variations like an extra unstressed syllable or a very brief switch to trochees. 

For reference, an iamb or an iambic foot is two syllables long, the first unstressed, the second stressed. In the following example, I have indicated the stressed syllable with an acute accent:

Tomórrow ánd tomórrow ánd tomórrow

A trochee or a trochaic foot, which we'll also be looking at today, is the opposite of an iamb, a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable. Trochees go fast. The word trochee derives from the Greek verb τρέχω, meaning run. Iambs walk; trochees run. Here's another example from Macbeth, but this time trochees:

Doúble, doúble toíl, and troúble

Fíre búrn and caúldron búbble

The prose text "Turambar and the Foalókë" reads :

“O waters of the forest whither do ye go? Wilt thou take Nienóri, Nienóri daughter of Úrin, child of woe? O ye white foams, would that ye might lave me clean—but deep, deep must be the waters that would wash my memory of this nameless curse. O bear me hence, far far away, where are the waters of the unremembering sea. O waters of the forest whither do ye go?” (LT II.109) 

Recast as verse, it might read: 

"O waters of the forest whither do ye go?
Wilt thou take Nienóri, Nienóri, daughter
of Úrin, child of woe? O ye white foams,
would that ye might lave me clean—but deep, deep must be
the waters that would wash my memory of this (5)
nameless curse. O bear me hence, far far away,
where are the waters of the unrememb'ring sea.
O waters of the forest whither do ye go?”

To begin with, I thought it was just the opening sentence, but the repetition of the same phrase in the closing sentence made me wonder about the words in between. After studying the scansion for a while I noticed that structuring it with six beats per line yielded eight full lines of what we might call iambic hexameter. Now in English we are far more used to iambic pentameter, which is thought to best reproduce the rhythm of the spoken language. The ancient Greeks, however, felt that what they called iambic trimeter accomplished this end. And? So? We count iambic feet differently than the Greeks did. For us it's one iamb per foot, and a line of verse composed of five iambs is iambic pentameter. The Greeks thought of an iambic foot as having two iambs. So a line of Greek iambic trimeter has the same number of beats as a line of English iambic hexameter. 

Iambic trimeter, as Tolkien well knew, is the standard form of verse for dialogue in Greek Tragedy. Since schoolboys were often required to translate English poetry into Greek or Latin verse, Tolkien had very likely translated lines of Shakespeare into Greek and set them in iambic trimeter. The story of Túrin and his family owes much to the story of Oedipus and his family. Tolkien said so himself, and his opinion of Greek Tragedy was clearly quite high (Letters² #131 p. 210; #156 p. 297). In this same section of "Turambar and the Foalókë" the character Tamar (Brandir) reproaches Túrin with the suicide of Nienor Níniel, saying that she died "blind with horror and with woe, desiring never to see thee again" (LT II.111). This very Sophoclean line recalls Oedipus who blinded himself so he would not have to see his children who were also his siblings in this world, or his wife who was also his mother in the next. 

Just because I can make the scansion work does not completely persuade me, however. Certain parts work better than others. What most inclines me to think that Tolkien was consciously mimicking Greek Tragic Trimeters in Nienor Níniel's final words is that Túrin's final words seem to be doing the same thing. First the prose: 

“Thee only have I now—slay me therefore and be swift, for life is a curse, and all my days are creeping foul, and all my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead."

The last twelve beats of this sentence can easily be seen as two lines of iambic trimeter:

"life ís a cúrse, and áll my dáys are creéping foúl,
and áll my deéds are víle, and áll I lóve is deád."

It does not surprise me in the least to think that Tolkien embraced this tragic form to enhance the last words of his most tragic characters. If he can draw inspiration from the tragedy of Oedipus Tyrannos, he can also draw inspiration from one of its most characteristic forms of verse.

Gollum said, Sméagol said

Recently I was asked to present a 30 minute talk on the first five chapters of Book 4 of The Lord of the Rings. (When? Later in the summer. Where? That would be telling.) So, last night I was reading "The Taming of Sméagol" and "The Passage of the Marshes" and giving the matter some thought. I've thought about these chapters a lot over the years. In addition to being just so good they are essential for understanding Gollum, since Book IV is the reader's longest exposure to him.

A thought struck me as I was looking at the moment when Frodo starts calling Gollum Sméagol, after which Gollum begins using it to refer to himself. Even Sam uses it a few times. I wondered whether the narrator ever called him Sméagol when telling the story in his own voice. So, not in the speech or thoughts of the characters. Since Frodo is supposed to be the main writer of this story, what he does here might be revealing. 

I first searched for "Sméagol" plain and simple, and discovered 155 instances, not counting appendices, tables of contents, indices, etc. Scanning through these I didn't see a single instance where the narrator calls him Sméagol in direct narration. (The debate Sam overhears between Sméagol and Gollum not only represents Sam's thoughts, but also helps to distinguish for the reader which of them is speaking at a given moment.)

Without going too far down this rabbit hole, I conducted four more searches I thought could be useful. I searched:

• "said Gollum"
• "Gollum said"
• "Sméagol said"
• "said Sméagol"

The first, "said Gollum," appears forty-five times, all in Book IV. There's nothing unusual here. It's exactly what we might expect. 

The second, "Gollum said," is a bit trickier, since the search ignores punctuation. Of six results, only two represent the voice of the narrator.

• 1.i.33: "Even if Gollum said the same once," said Bilbo
• 3.iii.456: "Gollum, gollum!" said Pippin
• 4.ii.624: Gollum said nothing to them -- spoken by the narrator
• 4.iv.652: "Gollum!" said Sam
• 4.ix.717: As Gollum said -- spoken by the narrator
• 5.iv.815: "Gollum," said Pippin

The third, "Sméagol said" is much the same as the second and for the same reason. Of twelve occurrences, all in Book IV, the voice we hear is always Frodo's, Sam's, or Gollum's.

• 4.i.616 "Sméagol," said Frodo
• 4.i.618 "Sméagol," said Gollum
• 4.ii.633 "But Sméagol said..." spoken by Gollum
• 4.iii.637 "Sméagol said so" -- spoken by Gollum
• 4.iv.655 "A present from Sméagol," said Sam
• 4.vi.687 "Sméagol," said Frodo
• 4.vi.687 "Sméagol," said Frodo
• 4.vi.689 "Sméagol!" said Frodo
• 4.viii.715 "Sméagol," said Gollum
• 4.viii.715 "Sméagol," said Frodo
• 4.ix.717 "Sméagol?" said Frodo
• 4.ix.719 "Sméagol!" said Frodo

The fourth and last, "said Sméagol," is found just three times, all on 1.ii.53, when Gandalf is recounting for Frodo the conversation Sméagol had with Déagol just before he murdered him. It worth noting that Gandalf will call Gollum "Sméagol" six more times in this chapter of the The Lord of the Rings (1.ii.53, 56). Everywhere else he calls him Gollum. In this chapter, "The Shadow of the Past," Gandalf is trying to get Frodo to pity Sméagol before Frodo learns that Sméagol is Gollum.

Now I believe that, since the story of The Lord of the Rings claims to be written largely by Frodo, we should take that seriously enough to consider the implications of that assertion. This is not to say that we should think that no changes were made in later years long after Frodo and Sam were gone. But the pervasiveness of "said Gollum" versus the rarity of "said Sméagol," together with the narrator's exclusive use "Gollum" when speaking of this character, makes clear where the narrator stands on him. And this fits perfectly with the fact that Frodo may address him as "Sméagol" but, with only one exception, never speaks of him to others by any name but "Gollum."*

________________________________

The sole exception is when Frodo in Ithilien formally pledges to Faramir to take "this Sméagol" under his protection (TT 4.vi.690). The alternative was Gollum's execution.

Once again I am indebted to the indispensable James Tauber and The Digital Tolkien Project for their expertise and labor in the fields of Arda

The Second Tolkien Conference Switzerland -- Announcement

The 2026 Tolkien Conference Switzerland, organized by the University of Zurich, the University of Lausanne, and Friedrich Schiller University Jena, will take place on Saturday, March 14, 2026, once again at the University of Zurich as a hybrid conference.

Sign up here

The 2026 topic is: 'Leadership in Tolkien's Middle-earth'. We have already confirmed several international high-profile speakers: 

• Matthew T. Dickerson,  
• Judith Klinger, 
• Christine Lötscher,  
• José María Miranda Boto,  
• Annika Röttinger and 
• Claudio Testi.

As part of the supporting program, the two podcasters from 'Typisch Ravenclaw' will analyze and compare political systems in Middle-earth based on The Economist's Democracy Index in a live podcast (tbc).

 

A Ghostly Link between Tolkien and Charles Williams?

I was reading Charles Williams' 1945 novel All Hallows' Eve yesterday morning. It's a rather spooky story, the first chapter of which is told from the point of view of a ghost, a young woman named Lester Furnival. At first she doesn't realize that she's dead, that she's been killed by a plane that crashed on the streets of London in the last days of the Second World War. She walks the streets of a ghostly version of London. She encounters her husband, who is still alive, and for a moment they are able to see each other. But he vanishes, as if the living are as ghostly to the dead as the dead are to the living. She then meets a friend, also dead, whom she had been on her way to meet when she had been killed. 

In the second chapter, Lester's husband, Richard, is walking through London several months after the war has ended. His wife has been dead and buried for a while now. Then suddenly he sees her.

She was [there]. It was along Holborn that he was walking, for he had half-thought of going that night to look for Simon’s hall or house or whatever it was. And there, on the very pavement [i.e., sidewalk], the other side of a crossing, she stood. He thought for the first second that there was someone with her.... They stood on either side that Holborn by-way, and gazed [across the street at each other].

I then recalled a letter from 3 April 1944 in which Tolkien recounted a visit he made to his hometown of Birmingham and his old school, King Edward's, two days earlier. Unhappy about the damage done to the city by Nazi bombs and (even worse) by the modern architecture of (too many) new buildings, he writes, "I couldn't stand much of that or the ghosts that rose from the pavements" (Letters #58 p. 101). 

Now it's nothing new or surprising that someone who survived the Great War should speak of ghosts, or even write about seeing the ghosts of the dead on the streets of London, and its well-known that Tolkien lost two extremely close friends to the Somme, both of whom he knew from King Edward's School. They were not all, of course. Over 1,400 students and masters served, and over 250 died. Tolkien will have known a good many of these. 

What I found interesting is that on 10 November 1943, Williams had read two chapters of his new novel All Hallows' Eve to Tolkien (Letters #51b p. 89). By the middle of October, according to his biographer, Grevel Lindop, Williams thought he had about twenty-five percent of the novel done (Lindop p. 379). So the first two chapters (out of ten) sounds about right for what Williams read to Tolkien. Years later Tolkien would claim that he had been "in fact a sort of assistant mid-wife at the birth of All Hallows Eve, read aloud to us [i.e., Tolkien, C. S. Lewis & other Inklings] as it was composed" (Letters #259 p. 489). Tolkien and Lewis both provided feedback, but, Tolkien avers, that Lewis was the greater influence. Still, Tolkien seems to remember himself as quite engaged with the book. 

So, we have Tolkien speaking figuratively about ghosts rising from the pavement in war damaged Birmingham just under six months after Williams had read to him about a ghost appearing on the pavement of war damaged London. This could just be a coincidence, and it probably is, but it might also be a recollection, conscious or not, of some strange and striking writing by Charles Williams.

_________________________________

Grevel Lindop. Charles Williams: The Third Inkling. Oxford University Press 2015.

"I will bear Frodo, though I do not know the way."

So I was reading Tolkien et la mémoire de l'antiquité, or Tolkien and the Memory of Antiquity. It's a recent very interesting book by Isabelle Pantin and Sandra Provini on Tolkien's reception of Greek and Latin sources like Vergil's Aeneid. 

"il s'agisse ... pour Frodo d'accepter le fardeau de l'Anneau plutot que de jouire d'une existence paisable dans le Comte."

"for Frodo ... it is a question of accepting the burden of the Ring rather than enjoying a peaceful existence in the Shire."

The word fardeau means burden. That's what caught my eye. It made me think of a line in the famous "To be, or not to be" soliloquy in Hamlet Act 3 Scene 1. Hamlet asks "who would fardels bear?" That is, "who would bear burdens?" (if they didn't have to).

Me being me, I immediately began reimagining crucial moments in The Lord of the Rings. 

At Rivendell:

"I will bear fardels," [Frodo] said, "though I do not know the way."

And on the slopes of Mt Doom:

"Come, Mr. Frodo!" he cried. ‘I can’t bear fardels for you, but I can bear you."

 

Foalókë & The Digital Tolkien Project -- How it Helps my Work, part 2

At the end of last year I shared a post on how The Digital Tolkien Project helps my work, in particular in studying the story of Túrin as told in The Book of Lost Tales. I now have a little more to show on the same subject, picking up more or less where I left off.

Parallel to this use of Turambar is that of Foalókë, the other name in the title. Tolkien employs Foalókë eighteen times in this story (Tauber, “‘Foalókë’ in The Book of Lost Tales. ”). The first two times come when the narrator is giving the title at the beginning (LT II.70). The last sixteen all occur after Túrin has met the dragon and the dragon has won his hoard (91, 94-99, 103-04, 105-06, 108, 108). Significantly, for according to the “Qenya Lexicon” Foalókë designates a lókë, a dragon, who guards a foa, a hoard (“The Qenya Lexicon” 38).[1] The single use of just lókë, moreover, is found precisely at the narrator’s transition from characterizing lust for gold as a trait common to all dragons to identifying and explaining the actions taken by Glaurung in pursuit of his lust: “Thus it was that this lókë….” (LT II.85). Túrin becomes Turambar and Glaurung becomes Foalókë in the same scene.

---

[1] With foalókë Tolkien is likely thinking of OE hordweard, “guardian of the hoard,” a poetical word used several times of dragons in Beowulf (Fulk et al. 2293, 2302, 2554, 2593; “DOE: Hord-Weard”). It’s not impossible that Tolkien intends lókë to remind the reader of the treacherous and deceptive Norse god, Loki. He thus implies to the reader the untrustworthiness of a dragon through the similarity of the sounds.

Túrin's "tide of ill" in The Book of Lost Tales (LT II.87)

In The Book of Lost Tales the narrator of Túrin's story says of his choosing to pursue the orcs who had taken Failivrin (Finduilas) captive says that his life could have turned out differently if he had done so. As the last clause of sentence indicates, the dragon, Glomund (Glaurung), was of the same opinion and refused to let that happen.

Maybe in that desperate venture [Túrin] had found* a kindly and swift death or perchance an ill one, and maybe he had rescued* [Finduilas] and found* happiness, yet not thus was he fated to earn the name he had taken anew, and the drake reading his mind suffered him not thus lightly to escape his tide of ill. 

(LT II.87)

That last phrase--“to escape his tide of ill”--is quite lovely, but as enigmatic as it is evocative. Does tide here allude to the unstoppable tides of the ocean, or does it mean time or season as in yuletide? The latter meaning is older by far. Old English tid** appears in the Old English version of Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, in the gospel of Matthew in the Lindisfarne Gospels, and in Beowulf (147). The former is not found before the 14^th Century. 

In The Book of Lost Tales Tolkien uses tide in both senses, but mostly in reference to the sea. The context, however, normally contains one or more other words that establish the connection to the natural phenomenon. 

So, for example:

"but the Ainur put it into [Tuor's] heart to climb from the gully when he did, or had he been whelmed in the incoming tide" (LT II.151).

"The went the Man of the Sea out when the tide began to creep in slow and shallow over the long flats" (LT II.317)

"When that tide again forsook the Hungry Sands..." (LT II.318).

But there are examples where it refers to time. Thus, high-tide*** in the first example below refers not to the sea but to a high-time, that is, a time of celebration or festival, like Christmas. And day-tide**** in the second means simply daytime.

"this year you will celebrate the death of Karkaras with a high-tide greater than even before, O King" (LT II.231).

Of this converse of Eriol and Vairë upon the lawn that fair day-tide came it that Eriol set out not many days thereafter (LT I.95).

Some of the poetry from the war years, which Christopher Tolkien includes in The Book of Lost Tales, also signifies time by tid:

Still their old heart unmoved nor weeps nor grieves, 
Uncomprehending of this evil tide, 
Today’s great sadness, or Tomorrow’s fear 

(LT II.296)

So, again, which meaning of tide is Tolkien using here? While it could be a figurative use of tide to suggest the overpowering, irresistible force of evil, as it is at LT II.232--"valiantly they warded the palace of the king until the tide of numbers bore them back"--the "tide of ill" which the dragon has in mind is the calamitous life of woe and sorrow to which Melkor had cursed Túrin and his family. As the narrator indicates earlier in the sentence by saying that Túrin and Finduilas might have "found happiness," he is thinking about a span of time, not being swept away by the force of a moment. Tolkien being Tolkien, however, he might mean both (as a reader rightly commented below).

_______________________

*In less archaic English we would say "would have found" for "had found," and "would have rescued" for "had rescued" and "would have ... found" for "had ... found."

** “Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, December 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/5003698957.

*** “Day Tide, N., Sense 1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/9829095802.

**** “High Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/1021614943.

The Digital Tolkien Project -- How it Helps My Work

The Digital Tolkien Project, founded by my friend, James Tauber, and brought to life by James with the help of so many dedicated and talented fans and scholars, is perhaps the most significant Tolkien related project since The History of Middle-earth was published in the 1980s and 1990s. Yes, I have just compared James to Christopher Tolkien. But I would argue that the compliment is well-deserved and so not flattery. 

I consult The Digital Tolkien Project pretty much every day. Sometimes just out of idle curiosity about Tolkien's use of a word, but more often my purpose is driven by a desire to consult it about something I am working on, either for this blog or for publication. I am currently over 200 pages into what I hope will be my next book, which will study how the Great Tales and (what I call) the Great Themes, such as Fate and Free Will, Divine Justice and the Problem of Evil, Death and Immortality, shape the legendarium in the years 1916-1937, that is, before Tolkien set aside the Silmarillion to write The Lord of the Rings. (I hope there will be a subsequent volume later on in which treat the same subjects after he returned to the Silmarillion.)

Today I want to provide an example of how The Digital Tolkien Project helps me in my studies. Below I have added an excerpt from the first of my chapters on Túrin in the early legendarium, here specifically in "Turambar and the Foalókë," the very first telling of his story, published in The Book of Lost Tales. So here's a single paragraph of my draft chapter, which I will no doubt rewrite quite a few times before I am done with it. But all those stats on the words drake, worm, dragon, Túrin, and Turambar, whose use by Tolkien suggests so much, come from The Digital Tolkien Project. Yes, I could have counted them all myself, but not so easily or accurately, or without having to separate out all the times Christopher himself uses these words in his notes and commentary.

The final words of the prophecy in “Turambar and the Foalókë” are also the final words of the tale: “and Melko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil” (LT I.116). A drake is of course a dragon, and in The Book of Lost Tales it is Tolkien’s preferred word for such creatures, appearing 23% more often than worm and 59% more often than dragon.[1] Turambar, the other word in the title, occurs 101 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë”: 99 of these 101 instances come after Túrin names himself Turambar in his first meeting with the dragon (LT II.86).[2] By contrast, Túrin appears 116 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë:” 83 of these 116 instances occur in the first sixteen pages of the text (69-86); the remaining 33 come in the last thirty pages of the text, that is, after Túrin renames himself (86-116). All or nearly all of these uses are the direct speech or reported direct speech or thought of Morwen, Nienor, Húrin, Thingol, Airin, Brandir, Glaurung, and Túrin himself. It is not simply the narrator speaking of Túrin in the normal course of narrating his actions. 24 of these 33 instances of Túrin occur in the portion of the tale devoted to the search for him undertaken by Morwen and Nienor (91-99). Turambar never appears in this section. In a tale whose title may be translated as “The Conqueror of Fate and the Drake” Tolkien’s use of words like drake, Túrin, and Turambar here disclose their essential significance to the story. Once Túrin proclaims himself the “Conqueror of Fate,” the narrator unironically accepts this declaration because he knows something the reader does not. He knows and believes the prophecy about Túrin’s return. Even when explaining the meaning of the title at the beginning of his tale, he follows up by emphasizing the connection in Men’s minds between this tale and the evils they suffered from Melkor and his drakes, a statement echoed by the prophecy in the tale’s final words (69-70, 116). It will not do to leave a Conqueror of Fate and drakes out of our calculations.

---

[1] In “Turambar” Tolkien uses drake 27 times; worm 22 times; dragon 17 times; and serpent 3 times. Tolkien’s seeming avoidance of serpent might indicate a desire not to recall the serpent of Genesis 3.

[2] Eltas twice employs Turumart, which he glosses as Gnomish for Turambar, once when giving the title of the tale and once when explaining the meaning of the name Turambar (LT II.70, 86).

My Life in Middle-earth, or was that Kenya?

If you've ever seen the wonderful British show "As Time Goes By," you probably remember one of the running gags early on. (If you've never seen the show, it's romantic, charming, and funny. Plus it has Jud Dench.) The male lead in the show, played by Geoffrey Palmer, had spent decades living in Kenya. Upon his retirement, he published a memoir which he called My Life in Kenya. Whenever he talked to a stranger about his book, they would ask him what it was called. He would reply "My life in Kenya." Then they would ask "What's it about?" And he would reply "My Life in Kenya," with a look on his face that was equal parts incredulity and exasperation. 

Today I was at a funeral and someone I knew a little bit in the dim past said to me: "I hear you've written a book about Tolkien. What's it called?" 

"Pity, Power, and Tolkien's Ring," I replied.

"What's it about?" he asked.

"Pity, Power, and Tolkien's Ring," I replied with a look on my face that was equal parts incredulity and exasperation.

The Last Word of Tolkien's Teacher, Joseph Wright

Joseph Wright was a remarkable man, especially for his day. He was born in a time when the children of poor families only rarely learned to read and write, let alone rise to be the Professor of Comparative Philology at Oxford University. As if that weren't enough, his crowning achievement was his English Dialect Dictionary, which held 80,000 entries in its six massive volumes. His was the life Jude Fawley wanted to live, Jude the Obscure with a happy ending. Almost.

Many fans of Tolkien will know that Wright taught Tolkien philology in his years at Oxford. When Wright died, his wife, Elizabeth Mary Wright, wrote a two volume biography of him. She describes his death and their relationship, both personal and professional, on p. 682 of the second volume:

There was only one thing more which had to be done, a last message to leave behind on the last day of all: and so he gathered up his strength in the midst of a long stretch of silence, and framed his lips to say to me quite clearly the one word ‘Dictionary’. It was, in essence, a humble echo of the words of One greater than he, when the hour had come : ‘I have glorified thee on the earth; I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.’ At the time I thought all he wanted to say was to remind me of his wish to be ‘remembered by’ that one literary achievement. Later, when I came to re-read his letters which had lain in an old red morocco case for over thirty-four years, I saw in that one word a message and a reminder of deeper significance. Might it not be that he was thinking of the Dictionary as the seal and token of that priceless and imperishable gift he had given me long years ago, which had sustained every moment of our life together, the love which is stronger than death ? He wrote of the Dictionary : ‘It is a work that is a most sacred task to me. . . . Had it not been for you, nothing in the world could have induced me to undertake what seemed an impossibility to everybody else. But deep genuine love can overcome impossibilities’ ; and also —as I have already quoted among the extracts from these letters: ‘It would be premature to enlighten the world at present, but someday it will all be made known what a man’s deep love for a woman can inspire him to do.’

He died in the evening of February 27, 1930.

Really, what more is there to say? 

Joseph and Elizabeth Wright with their children, ca. 1907.
Photographer unknown. Public Domain.

 

"...the language ... of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

 ‘I cannot read the fiery letters,’ said Frodo in a quavering voice. 

‘No,’ said Gandalf, ‘but I can. The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. But this in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough: 

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, 
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

(FR 1.ii.50)

From time to time someone will ask why Gandalf will not utter the Black Speech in Bag End, but will do so in Rivendell. I saw this just the other day. It's a reasonable question. Here's the passage from The Council of Elrond for comparison. 

Upon this very ring which you have here seen held aloft, round and unadorned, the letters that Isildur reported may still be read, if one has the strength of will to set the golden thing in the fire a while. That I have done, and this I have read: 

            Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk
                                        agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

The change in the wizard’s voice was astounding. Suddenly it became menacing, powerful, harsh as stone. A shadow seemed to pass over the high sun, and the porch for a moment grew dark. All trembled, and the Elves stopped their ears.

‘Never before has any voice dared to utter words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey,’ said Elrond, as the shadow passed and the company breathed once more.

(FR 2.ii.254)

Gandalf recites the enchantment in the Common Speech in Bag End. Nothing happens. Gandalf recites the enchantment in the Black Speech in Rivendell, the power of the Ring is invoked. The Elves don't just cover their ears because Gandalf has said some ugly words. His indiscretion is not social. He is not Gandalf the Gauche. He is Gandalf the Grey, a being of great power, calling upon the Ring of Sauron in a language it understands, as it were. A moment later he again recites the spell in the Common Speech. Again, nothing happens.

So, when Gandalf said to Frodo that he would "not utter [the language of Mordor] here," the word here does not mean here in the Shire. It means here in the presence of the Ring. He won't do it because he has an idea of what is going to happen. True, he doesn't want to frighten Frodo any more than he is already frightened. True, he doesn't want to risk drawing the attention of the Eye. The Shire is not safe enough. Rivendell is much safer than Hobbiton. Why does he do it at all? He is making a point and removing all doubt that this is in fact the One Ring.

"So let us forgive him" -- from the stairs of Cirith Ungol to the slopes of Mt Doom

The scene in The Two Towers where Gollum comes back down the stairs of Cirith Ungol to find Frodo and Sam asleep is remarkable for many reasons. Gollum, looking upon them, nearly repents of his decision to betray the hobbits to Shelob so he can get the Ring back. Sam, who has every reason to suspect Gollum is up to no good, treats Gollum harshly and Gollum responds in kind. Gollum's "repentance is blighted," as Tolkien says in one of his letters (Letters #246 p. 466). The reader is left in the unaccustomed position of pitying Gollum and being disappointed in Sam. Gollum, who began the scene close to repentance, ends it with a renewed commitment to treachery. Sam, who began in anger and suspicion, ends in grudging remorse and apology. Frodo's attempt at conciliation fails utterly.

The scene is about two pages long. Gollum is the only character awake for the first half page. Sam wakes up and clashes with Gollum on the second half of that page. At the start of the second page Sam awakens Frodo. Just before Sam wakes up, the narrator draws attention to the fact that neither Frodo nor Sam could have witnessed Gollum's moment of near repentance, and explains what they would have seen if they had been awake. It is the moment that sets up the astonishing pathos of the scene:

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

(TT 4.viii.714). 

One of the most basic conceits of The Lord of the Rings is that Frodo largely wrote the book he gave to Sam to finish. Obviously, Frodo could have written what he saw after he woke up, and Sam could have told him about what had gone on after he woke up. Not only would Gollum have been unlikely to have filled Frodo and Sam in on what he was experiencing at the start of the scene, but after the end of this scene they see very little of Gollum for the rest of the book. So the narrator of the book isn't supposed to be omniscient, and Sam couldn't have seen more than an old weary looking Gollum touching Frodo's knee. Incredulity is a very weak argument, but it is very hard to believe that Tolkien both slipped up on the narrator's perspective and then called attention to that slip by pointing out that no one could have seen Gollum before Sam woke up. What we see here is one of the most thematically significant moments in the whole story, the moment in which the reader suddenly sees Gollum precisely as Bilbo saw him in The Hobbit, precisely as Gandalf thought Frodo needed to see him, though he at first refused to do so, and precisely as Sam sees him on the slopes of Mt Doom. With pity. If this happened by chance, it's chance-if-chance-you-call it.

But what is more important than how we might square the creation of this scene with the supposed narrator's limited perspective -- and I have my theories -- is how we read this moment in the thematic context of the book. We need to read it in the context of the movement from pity to mercy and thence to forgiveness. That forgiveness comes only after Gollum betrays them once more and is again shown mercy, this time by Sam who has finally suffered enough to realize what he saw when he opened his eyes on the stairs of Cirith Ungol. That mercy enabled the eucatastrophe in the Chambers of Fire. I think we may be able to fully understand the importance of what happens on the stairs if we read it in dialogue with Frodo's words after the Ring is destroyed:

‘Your poor hand!’ he said. ‘And I have nothing to bind it with, or comfort it. I would have spared him a whole hand of mine rather. But he’s gone now beyond recall, gone for ever.’ ‘

Yes,’ said Frodo. ‘But do you remember Gandalf’s words: Even Gollum may have something yet to do? But for him, Sam, I could not have destroyed the Ring. The Quest would have been in vain, even at the bitter end. So let us forgive him! For the Quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.' 

(RK 6.iii.947)

I really think that reading the second scene in the context of the first is much more important than sorting out the narrative questions arising from the sudden seeming omniscience of the narrator on the stairs. Going forward from the forgiveness meted out on the slopes of Mt Doom, there is no further context to consider, unless it's Frodo's attempt to spare Saruman and Wormtongue in the Shire. For Gollum is never mentioned again within the story. Frodo's last word on Gollum is "So let us forgive him."

"Foul" and "Vile" in The Book of Lost Tales

The Book of Lost Tales uses the words "foul" and "vile" in pretty much the way you'd expect.

"Foul" describes the following beings or things associated with them:

• Orcs: LT II 14, 159, 193, 232
• Karkaras (Carcharoth): LT II 34, 38, 239
• Melkor: LT I 55; LT II 37, 42 
• Glaurung (Glorund): LT II 85, 86 (3 times), 98
• Thingol, reproached by Tinúviel for Beren's "foul captivity" by Melkor: LT II 37 
• Brandir (Tamar), his "foul speech" that Nienor committed suicide, as described by Túrin: LT II 111
• Ungoliant (Wirilómë): 152
• Water, as polluted by blood or evil: LT II 38, 287

"Vile" describes the following beings or things associated with them:

• Glaurung: LT II 106, 107
• The dragon's hoard is Thingol's "vile reward": LT  II 135

"Foul" occurs more often in direct or indirect connection with the dragon than with anyone or anything else. So, too, of course, it occurs most often in "Of Turambar and the Foalókë," seven out of a total of sixteen times in both volumes of The Book of Lost Tales. Túrin and Morwen both address Glaurung with this word, calling him "foul worm," and "foul beast" (LT II.86, 98). It appears four times in a single page when he first enters the tale and meets Túrin (LT II 85-86). "Vile" is twice applied to Glaurung, again in "Of Turambar and the Foalókë," and once in a deleted passage by Húrin when he scornfully gives him Glaurung's hoard from Nargothrond as his "vile reward" for what he wrongly thinks is Thingol's failure to care for Húrin's family (LT 135).

There is one final passage to look at, in which both words occur in the same sentence. Here, Túrin, having killed Glaurung, learned that his wife is actually his sister and that she has killed herself, and then killed the man who gave him the news, asks his sword to kill him:

"Thee only have I now—slay me therefore and be swift, for life is a curse, and all my days are creeping foul, and all my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead.”

(LT II.112).

Given the usage of these two words in The Book of Lost Tales, one might conclude that Túrin feels he has become as evil as Glaurung himself.

_______________________

I noticed not long before finishing this post that the second half of Túrin's words to his sword can be read as two lines of iambic pentameter:

and all my days are creeping foul, and all

my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead.

(The first half of the sentence is not far off either)

 

Númenor: the Downfall is in the Details

Tolkien speaks of (some of) the names the island we mostly call Númenor in three different versions of "The Fall of Númenor," and in a chapter of his unfinished novel "The Lost Road." The first two versions of "The Fall of Númenor" and the chapters from "The Lost Road," all written shortly before Tolkien began The Lord of the Rings, were published by Christopher Tolkien in The Lost Road. The third version of "The Fall of Númenor," written in the mid-1940s in connection with "The Notion Club Papers," was published in Sauron Defeated.

Please note that "The Lost Road" is not the same as The Lost Road. The first is an unfinished story, and the second is the volume of The History of Middle-earth in which the first is published. So, too, "The Fall of Númenor" is not The Fall of Númenor, the elegant compendium of Númenor's history published by Brian Sibley in 2022.

The first version of "The Fall of Númenor" says:

It was called by the Gods Andor, the Land of Gift, but by its own folk Vinya, the Young; but when the men of that land spake of it to the men of Middle-earth they named it Númenor, that is Westernesse, for it lay west of all lands inhabited by mortals. Yet it was not in the true West, for there was the land of the Gods. The chief city of Númenor was in the midmost of its western coasts, and in the days of its might it was called Andúnië, because it faced the sunset; but after its fall it was named in the legends of those that fled from it Atalantë the Downfall.

(Lost Road, 19). 

The second version of "The Fall of Númenor" says:

That land was called by the Valar Andor, the Land of Gift, and by its own folk it was at first called Vinya, the Young; but in the days of its pride they named it Númenor, that is Westernesse, for it lay west of all lands inhabited by mortals; yet it was far from the true West, for that is Valinor, the land of the Gods. But its glory fell and its name perished; for after its ruin it was named in the legends of those that fled from it Atalantë, the Downfallen.

(Lost Road 24-25)

In "The Lost Road" Elendil says:

"And for the men of the Three Houses they made Vinya, the New Land, west of Middle-earth in the midst of the Great Sea, and named it Andor, the Land of Gift; and they endowed the land and all that lived thereon with good beyond other lands of mortals."

(Lost Road 64-65).  

 The third version of "The Fall of Númenor" says:

That land the Valar called Andor, the Land of Gift; and by its own folk it was at first called Vinya, the Young; but in the days of its pride they named it Númenor, that is Westernesse, for it lay west of all lands inhabited by mortals; yet it was far from the true West, for that is Valinor, the land of the Gods. But the glory of Númenor was thrown down [> overthrown] and its name perished; and after its ruin it was named in the legends of those that fled from it Atalantë, the Downfallen.

(Sauron Defeated 332-333)

Of all the names we see in these texts, "Vinya, the Young," is the one I find most interesting. In the first place "Vinya" suggests that at this point Men possess an innocence and humility before the Gods/Valar and even a sense of wonder at this island manufactured expressly for them in the midst of the Sea. Yet the shadow is always closer than we think. The name Númenor is a mark of its pride, an assertion of its preeminent glory to the seemingly lesser mortals back in Middle-earth, and above all it asserts the claim of Númenor to be "the true West." In each version of "The Fall of Númenor" the claim is swiftly rejected, and the downfall follows at once as proof of the error of false pride. 

In the other text, "The Lost Road," Elendil twice refers to the island as Vinya and twice as Andor (Lost Road 58, 64-65). The uses of Vinya are particularly revealing in a couple of ways. In the passage quoted above, he is speaking of the history of the island to his son. In the other passage he wishes that it had not been his fate to be born in Vinya because he would rather be in Tol Eressëa (58). This is a measure of his respect and admiration for the Elves and Valar. In both passages, Tolkien originally had Elendil say "Númenor" but then changed it to "Vinya" (70 n.3). In fact, "Vinya" as well as "Andor" first appeared in a replacement passage. The original was much briefer and more neutral, with any hint of the pride of the Númenóreans buried much deeper, if it is there at all:

It was called Númenor, that is Westernesse, and Andúnië or the Sunsetland, and its chief city in the midmost of its western coasts was in the days of its might called Númar or Númenos; but after its fall it was named in legend Atalantë, the Ruin.

(14)

Vinya, the Young, disappears in the transition from the earlier versions of Númenor's story to Akallabêth, its final version. Why Tolkien made this change we do not know. Presumably, the change reflects the much greater prominence given to Eärendil as the star that guided the ships of the Edain to Númenor, and to the new name for the island, "Elenna," which means "Starwards" (S 260-61). More thought is needed on this change, but today is not that day. Still, I find something quite appealing in the notion that the name by which we all know the island, and by which everyone in The Lord of the Rings wistfully calls the island, was once a product of the pride that destroyed it. 

______________________

Aldarion founded a great harbor on the shores of Middle-earth, which he called "Vinyalondë." This is usually taken to mean "New Haven," perhaps the "vinya" here refers to Númenor itself, and so would mean "Númenor-haven."

From a Gift in Death to the Gift of Death: Túrin and the Doom of Men

In The Book of Lost Tales death is not the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men, at least not in the sense we usually think of it, and perhaps not at all. The spirits of Men do not leave the world for points unknown outside the physical universe. They are just as bound to Arda as the Elves. Just as the Elves do, Men go to the Undying Lands upon their death. There Fui Nienna judges them based on their deeds while alive, and she sends them to various afterlives within time and space where they will remain until the world ends. While Nienna's role with Men is set up as parallel to Mandos' with the Elves, unlike the Elves, Men never return to life and the Great Lands (Middle-earth) as the Elves do.

With the Sketch of the Mythology first written in 1926 it becomes apparent that Tolkien's conception of death for Men has begun changing. The Sketch was meant to provide background for The Lay of the Children of Húrin, which allows us to conclude that the Lay would very likely have seen death in the same way. Now, Men depart the world entirely after a time spent in Mandos, which seems to house the spirits of both kindreds, though apart from each other. No role for Nienna is mentioned. No one knows where the spirits of Men go after Mandos or who has charge of them once they leave. It is the same in the Quenta Noldorinwa of 1930 and its successors later in the mid-1930s, the Ainulindalë and the Quenta Silmarillion of 1937.*

The Book of Lost Tales says that death is "one with this gift of power" given to Men by Ilúvatar. "This gift" has already been described earlier on the same page:

"But to Men I will give a new gift, and a greater," [said Ilúvatar]. Therefore he devised that Men should have a free virtue** whereby within the limits of the powers and substances and chances of the world they might fashion and design their life beyond even the original Music of the Ainur that is as fate to all things else. This he did that of their operations everything should in shape and deed be completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

(LT I.59)

Now the Sketch and the Quenta Noldorinwa do not mention this, since their accounts of the Music are almost non-existent, but the Ainulindalë does, with a very interesting difference, which appears in bold:

"But to Men I will give a new gift," [said Ilúvatar].  

Therefore he willed that the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to fashion their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else. And of their operation everything should be, in shape and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

(Lost Road 163).

By adding these words here Tolkien brings death to the fore and gives it (at least) equal weight with the power bestowed by Ilúvatar, which was previously not the case. He also binds the experience of the hearts of Men, which are within this world while yearning for another that is attainable only through death, to the astounding power or virtue he is giving them within this world. 

Without these new words here, the declaration later on in both texts that death is one with this power/virtue, death seems concomitant with the power or perhaps even a limit placed on it, as it does in "The Music of the Ainur." With these words, however, Men's power almost seems to proceed from their mortality and freedom from the circles of Arda. Indeed the word "freedom" is by far the most significant change in this latter sentence.

"The Music of the Ainur" in The Book of Lost Tales reads: "It is however of one with this gift of power that the Children of Men dwell only a short time in the world alive, yet do not perish utterly for ever..." (LT 59). 

The text of the 1930s Ainulindalë reads: "It is one with this gift of freedom that the children of Men dwell only a short space in the world alive, and yet are not bound to it, nor shall perish utterly for ever" (Lost Road 163).

The emphasis has shifted here. In "The Music of the Ainur," the power/virtue gifted to Men is of primary importance. Death comes along with or limits this power. In the Ainulindalë death is at least as important, and probably more so, because the power derives from the nature of Man's relationship to death.

Parallel with this development, as it were, we find the evolving story of Men. In The Book of Lost Tales Men are few and more often than not treacherous and hostile. The Elves, the Noldor in particular, look down on Men from the moment the Valar tell them that someday Men will exist (LT I.150). The stories of Túrin and Tuor play key roles in the narrative and are told at length, but The Book of Lost Tales belongs to the Elves even more than the Silmarillion does. That Men are meant to play a crucial part in the defeat of Melkor and the completion of Ilúvatar's plan for the world is equally clear. The elves telling the man, Eriol, these lost tales in the frame narrative know this, and Ulmo's attempts to bring Elves and Men together, especially in "The Fall of Gondolin," demonstrate it. Túrin's life is a catastrophe. Tuor fails to save Gondolin. And Tuor's son, Eärendil, also fails because he arrives too late. (If you are wondering why I've not mentioned Beren, it's because in The Book of Lost Tales he is an Elf, not a Man.)

Throughout the 1920s the significance of Men continues to grow, however. Tolkien spends the first half of the decade almost exclusively on Túrin and his family in The Lay of the Children of Húrin and the second half on The Lay of Leithian, in which the decision to recast Beren as a Man brings death into the story of Beren and Lúthien in a very different way than had been the case in The Book of Lost Tales where both Beren and Lúthien had been Elves. Eärendil now succeeds in his mission to persuade the Valar to rescue Middle-earth from Melkor. Perhaps most telling of all is the growth in importance of Túrin, not during his life -- which remains disastrously horrifying -- but after his death. His afterlife becomes a matter of apocalyptic prophecy. Beginning in The Book of Lost Tales it is prophesied that he will return at the end of time to fight in the Last Battle against Melkor. The Sketch develops this further, making him the one who will slay Melkor on that day, thus avenging himself and his family. The Quenta Noldorinwa and the Quenta Silmarillion go further still. Túrin will not only avenge himself and his family, but all Men.

It won't be surprising then to find that Men as a whole become more prominent in the background to the Great Tales. While the majority of Men in the wars of the First Age still side with Melkor, there is now more than one group of Men, the Men of Dor-Lómin, who prove loyal to the Elves. The House of Hador, from which both Túrin and Tuor (now first cousins) descend. The House of Bëor, to which Beren belongs, appears, as does the House of Haleth, which Túrin comes to lead before the end. These three groups become the Edain, "the Fathers of Men," and as a reward for their sufferings and their service against Melkor, the Valar create for them an island of their own called "Andor," which means "The Land of Gift," but which those who dwelt there came to call Númenor. Though the Númenóreans also receive greater lifespans than other Men, they have an increasingly difficult time accepting that death is a gift, or understanding it even though they do accept it. In both "The Fall of Númenor" and "The Lost Road," the texts of the 1930s in which Tolkien created Númenor and with it the Second Age, death comes to be explicitly spoken of as a gift, "which cometh to Men from Ilúvatar" (Lost Road 25). Even Elendil himself, who accepts that it is a gift, nevertheless seems at a loss to grasp how that is so:

"But Death is not decreed by the Lords: it is the gift of the One, and a gift which in the wearing of time even the Lords of the West shall envy. So the wise of old have said. And though we can perhaps no longer understand that word, at least we have wisdom enough to know that we cannot escape, unless to a worse fate."

(Lost Road 65)

Significantly, the power/virtue we have seen associated with death in earlier texts goes unmentioned. Yet another power receives attention. For Sauron -- also called Thû or Sûr in these texts -- promises the Númenóreans dominion over the earth and eternal life within the world. These he calls "the gifts of Morgoth," which he claims the Valar are keeping from them, but all Men need to do to get what is rightfully theirs is to conquer the Undying Lands (Lost Road 15). This goes rather badly. Númenor is destroyed utterly. Its king and army who "had set foot in the land of the Gods were buried under fallen hills, where legend saith that they lie imprisoned in the Forgotten Caves until the day of Doom and the Last Battle" (Lost Road 15).

This last detail recalls the fate of Men after death in The Book of Lost Tales. All except the most wicked are said to be waiting "in patience till the Great End come" (LT I.77). That they wait patiently suggests they are aware that they have something to do at the end. But what? This may refer to the Second Music in which all Men will participate (LT I.60; Lost Road 163). Yet there may be something else or something more. I would argue that they, too, are waiting for the Last Battle. It's certainly true, as we saw above, that after The Book of Lost Tales Men leave the world entirely after a time in Mandos. But if Túrin can return from Mandos for that battle, why not his fellow Men whom he is fighting to avenge? 

In The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, yet another text of the 1930s, Tolkien invents a prophecy that Sigurd, a character with a significant influence over the character of Túrin, will return from Valhalla at Ragnarök and slay the Midgard Serpent, thus saving the world. With him will come the einherjar, the mortal warriors chosen at death to fight alongside the gods at the Last Battle. As Christopher Tolkien observes, it is very difficult not to see Túrin now in Sigurd, since there is no such prophecy about him in Norse mythology and he does not return (S&G 53-54, 63-64, 184) The influence is now flowing from Túrin to Sigurd. And as we also saw above, the prophecy that Túrin will return to fight that day is present from the first telling of his tale in The Book of Lost Tales. Even when every other detail of Túrin's afterlife disappears after The Book of Lost Tales, the prophecy about the Last Battle not only remains, but is further elaborated and given greater significance, from his only being present at the battle in the first version to his being the avenger of all Men in the Quenta Noldorinwa and Quenta Silmarillion.*** 

Nor is this all. Túrin's replacement of Fionwë as the slayer of Melkor accomplishes much more than vengeance. For Fionwë, his prophecy says, "shall destroy the world to destroy his foe" (LT I.219). Túrin, however, saves the world. (Be honest. You never saw that coming.) In the same way, Tolkien's rewritten Sigurd saves the world. In fact, Túrin makes possible the healing of Arda. With Melkor dead, the Silmarils are recovered and returned to Fëanor, who, coming back from Mandos himself, unlocks them and allows Yavanna to use their light to revive the Two Trees. The world is remade.

If we look back now at the other details of Túrin's afterlife, which may not be as forgotten as they seem,**** we may perhaps descry the beginning of death becoming a gift. Túrin died with a great deal of blood on his hands. I am not speaking of those he killed in battle, but of those he should not have killed at all (Orgof/Saeros, Beleg, Brodda, Orlin, and Tamar/Brandir). He abandoned Finduilas. He committed incest and suicide. When he arrives in the afterlife, Nienna and Mandos will not allow him or his sister, Nienor, to enter their realm. Eventually, at the "prayers" of their parents, the Valar have "mercy" on the siblings, and purify them in a "Bath of Flame" in which "all their sorrows and stains were washed away," and they dwell happily among the Valar. Everything from the prayers of Húrin and Morwen to the final happiness of Túrin and Nienor is described in one sentence, but that is not the whole sentence. The first part of the sentence tells what has already happened, but the second shifts from past to future, briefly and powerfully delivering the prophecy of Túrin's return (LT II.116). And there the story ends, leaving the audience in silence.

Many will surely see in the prayers and mercy and the washing away of the effects of Túrin and Nienor's misdeeds and misfortunes in a bath of flame references to Christianity, and in particular to Matthew 3:11 and Luke 3:16 where John the Baptist speaks of one who will come after him and baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit instead of water. And I have no doubt that Tolkien means to invoke these ideas. But let's not be hasty. According to standard Catholic doctrine, once a person dies repentance is no longer possible. Nor, for that matter, do we see any sign of repentance. 

We may also reasonably think of Purgatory, but the cleansing of Túrin and Nienor is an exception if the only comparable event is the purification of (the Maia) Urwendi and her maidens so that they can survive sailing the Ship of the Sun. But it is quite interesting to note that their purification prepared them for something greater than they could do otherwise. In that sense it not only purified, but enhanced them. Also, since all the faithful who have not atoned fully for their sins before death go to Purgatory for a time, the cleansing by fire undergone there is not going to be exceptional, as it is here, but rather common. Túrin's "sins" -- note that Tolkien does not use this loaded word -- are by no means trivial or venial.

Even ignoring the Christian echoes in this account of his afterlife, Túrin is so stained that the gods of the dead, Nienna and Mandos, want nothing to do with him, or even with his far more sinned-against sister. Yet he shall return to fight beside Tulkas and Fionwë and to discomfit Melkor and his dragons in the Ragnarök-like battle on the world's last day. Even before his role evolves into being the slayer of Melkor and avenger of Men, it is not unreasonable to think that Túrin's purification in the Bath of Flame is more than a cleansing. As with Urwendi and her maidens, it is a preparation for something greater and more demanding.

By blending Christian imagery and ideas into this largely pagan afterlife, Tolkien evokes a greater sense of the divine than would have been the case otherwise. The cleansing of Túrin and Nienor is an unexpected act of mercy by the gods, which arises from pity in response to the prayers of Húrin and Morwen (or Úrin and Mavwin as The Book of Lost Tales calls them). Unexpected, too, is Túrin and Nienor's reversal of fortune in the afterlife, as the "doom of woe and death of sorrow" to which Melkor cursed them and their parents comes to an end with their deaths, and the tides of fate flow towards a reunion and a love that is pure and heroism of the sort to be expected from the son of Húrin and Morwen and the foster-son of Thingol and Melian (LT II.71,115-16). And maybe not from the son only. For an early, unincorporated note records that Nienor, too, will return for the Last Battle (LT II.138; she is there called Vainóni). 

It is true in The Book of Lost Tales, as it is later in the legendarium, that a destiny or fate exists which is prior to all the destinies, dooms, or curses pronounced by the Valar and Melkor, and which can shape even their actions (LT I.142, 147, 151, 209). The Valar collectively know much of things to come, but Ilúvatar did not reveal everything. Some things are hidden, some unnoticed, and some not understood because the Valar cannot understand all of Ilúvatar's mind and purpose. There are things that happen "not without the knowledge of Ilúvatar" and "not without the desire of Ilúvatar" (151, 180). He also at times prompts the Valar and Maiar in various ways, as he does Manwë, Aulë, and Urwendi to use the last of the light of the trees to build the Ship of the Sun and the Bath of Flame (180, 185, 187-88). This particular prompting is significant in two ways. First, as we know, Túrin and Nienor also enter the Bath of Flame. Second, the first rising of the sun is connected to the awakening of Men, "who were waiting for light" (237). Men, to whom Ilúvatar gave the  power to go beyond the Music, awaken with the sun's rising. Túrin, the man whose Great Tale is the first we come to in The Book of Lost Tales as well as being its most shockingly memorable, bears the brunt of the special enmity and the curse of Melkor. This dark and troubled character, who quite literally makes the worst of his fate, at least as far as Melkor's doom is concerned, is cleansed after death in the very Bath of Flame that prepared Urwendi to sail the Ship of the Sun and awaken Men. Cleansed, he will play a significant part in the Last Battle against Melkor at the end of the world. As the legendarium evolves, he will go on to be the slayer of Melkor and the avenger of all Men. His deeds that day will not heal Arda by themselves, but they will clear the way for Fëanor to return at last from Mandos and to devote his art, the gift Ilúvatar bestowed upon the Elves, to its proper end. 

Nothing Túrin did in his life merited the purification and enhancement he received after death. Quite the opposite in fact. (This is even truer of Fëanor who suffered far less except in his own opinion, but his role at the end of the world isn't in The Book of Lost Tales.) This unmerited purification is what Tolkien would call grace. "Every gift of grace raises [the recipient] to something that is above human nature," says Thomas Aquinas (ST 2-2.171.2 ad 3). We need to draw a distinction here. Aquinas identifies two different kinds of grace, that which sanctifies and that which he calls gratuitous. Sanctifying grace brings its recipient closer to God; gratuitous grace helps its recipient help others (ST 1-2.111.1c, 4c; SCG 3.155). As such, gratuitous grace may empower that recipient, though temporarily and without changing their nature, to perform miracles, to prophesy, and so on. Gratuitous grace is sometimes also called actual grace because it is directed to acts. It is this grace that better explains what happens with Túrin after his death, if we are to view it through the lens of Tolkien's faith. Even so, that same faith must note that Túrin never repents. However distraught he may become after killing Orgof/Saeros, Beleg, Brodda, Orlin, and Tamar/Brandir, he never changes except to become worse. That same faith must also note that after death repentance is impossible. So, while the idea of the grace of Ilúvatar offers a reasonable explanation for Túrin's cleansing and enhancement, the metaphysics of Arda are not the same as those of the primary world, where Tolkien practiced his faith. The grace of Ilúvatar is not the same as the grace of God as Roman Catholicism understands it.

In The Book of Lost Tales the death of Túrin and Nienor is not the catastrophic ending to The Tale of the Children of Húrin, full of pity and horror, that it later becomes, or seems to become. But because the story continues even unto the ending of the world, their death becomes a turning point not just in their story, but in the story of the world. For in it we can see the first signs of the gifts of Men: the power to go beyond the Music and help to complete Ilúvatar's design for the world; and the connection between this power and Death. As Túrin's role on the last day becomes more significant and central, the gift that he receives in death will become the Gift of Death.

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* Prior to the writing of the Ainulindalë as a separate text its story of creation appeared in the second chapter of The Book of Lost Tales, called "The Music of the Ainur." The Sketch and the Quenta Noldorinwa contained much less detailed accounts in their first chapters. This could indicate that Tolkien was planning to shift the story of the Music into its own text as early as the mid to late 1920s.

** Within the legendarium "virtue" almost always means "power." Think of the "virtue" lembas possesses to give Sam and Frodo the strength to go on. By contrast, within Tolkien's letters "virtue" almost always has its more common modern meanings, such as a superior quality or particular excellence of character.

*** In The Book of Lost Tales the killing of Melkor at the Last Battle is explicitly attributed to Fionwë, who is better known by his later name, Eonwë (LT I.219). While Túrin fights beside him and causes Melkor to rue his presence, he does not kill Melkor (LT II.116).

I am limiting my comments here to the story of Túrin and its various forms before Tolkien set the Silmarillion aside in late 1937 to write The Lord of the Rings. So, I do not address whether Christopher Tolkien was right or wrong to leave the Second Prophecy of Mandos, where Túrin's return is prophesied, out of the published Silmarillion. While I agree with Douglas Charles Kane's argument in Arda Reconstructed that Christopher made a mistake here, the evidence that Christopher uses to justify the omission of the prophecy dates from after Tolkien's return to the Silmarillion after 1949. 

**** Consider Christopher's comment on the difficulty of knowing whether his father's removal of something from a particular text meant it had been abandoned for good or only for the time being. 

"The wizard Tû and the Dark Elf Nuin disappeared from the mythology and never appear again, together with the marvellous story of Nuin’s coming upon the forms of the Fathers of Mankind still asleep in the Vale of Murmenalda—though from the nature of the work and the different degrees of attention that my father later gave to its different parts one cannot always distinguish between elements definitively abandoned and elements held in ‘indefinite abeyance’"

(LT I.233, italics added)

***** Gratuitous has had a sad time of it in recent times. Commonly now, at least in much of the US, it means uncalled for or unjustifiable, as in a gratuitous remark or criticism. Here, it means freely given without expectation of return. The phrase is the standard English translation of the Latin gratia gratis data, literally grace freely given.