A Lot of Talk but Very Little Tolkien
Mar. 10th, 2003 12:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ealgyldenWell, the original plan for part two of this thingie-- as an aside, you may have noticed that I'm reluctant to label this as an essay, a paper, what-have-you. I think I'm afraid that that will make it too much like "real work" instead of "livejournal fun", and then I'll feel compelled to start adding footnotes and editing carefully and all, and the crippling writer's block that's plaguing all other areas of my life will move here too, like the Nothing devouring all in its path. I'm having enough trouble staving it off as it is. I don't want to push my luck. So if that means posting something that I'm not perfectly happy with just to get something on the page, I'll regret it later when I reread (or when someone points out the flaws), but I'll do it anyway.-- Anyway, the original plan for part two of this thingie was to point out the mirroring of scenes in the first part Grendel episode of Beowulf and the first part of the Edoras episode of TTT. Then I got off on a tangent and never quite got back (but the scenes are mirrored, I promise!). So instead the Tolkien bit doesn't even show up until the last paragraph (feel free to skip ahead), and this has become Part 2A of what was supposed to be five parts. If it were a fic, I'd say it hadn't been beta'd. I'm not sure what the equivalent term for thingie-proofing is, but whatever it may be, this hasn't had it. All translations are my own (so I won’t have to feel guilty about the no footnotes thing), kept very literal deliberately- I could do a cleaner, more artistic translation, but I want to keep it as close to the original phrasing as possible (though not so close as to be gibberish. Plus, I'm lazy). Lastly, remember, for TTT, I'm using movie-canon and characterization unless specified. Oh yeah, and thegn is pronounced as thane/ thain.
Interested Relationships between King and Warrior
After an unspecified length of time ruling the Danes and enjoying his "glory in war," Hrothgar decided he needed a home worthy of his majesty, "which the children of men would hear of forever, / and there within share out everything/ to young and old, whatever God gave to him,/ except the common land and the lives of men." Heorot, the meadhall of his dreams, becomes the glory of the age, and Hrothgar "did not leave his vow unfulfilled, he shared out rings, / treasure at the feast."
The image of "king as sharer of treasure" is central to ideals of Germanic kingship, and can be interpreted as an extension of the gift economy that so many early medieval societies utilized. In a monetary economy, the interaction between he-who-has and he-who-wants can reasonably be expected to end once the transaction has been completed. In a gift economy, the transaction is instead a moment in an ongoing relationship. For example, the local baker gives ten loaves of bread to the monks at St. Benedict's, and in return they pray for his soul and his family. The prayers are paid for in bread (or, alternatively, the bread is paid for in prayers), but though the initial transaction has been completed, a relationship has been established and will (ideally) continue.
The same situation existed with your average, responsible Viking or Anglo-Saxon king. Thegns and warriors were expected to give their lives to their king, for him to use (or sacrifice) as he would. At first glance it would seem that the warrior’s part in this exchange is unfairly heavy; he must be ready to die for this man if need be, and in return he gets... a king. Goody. But the king's role in this relationship takes on a number of forms, both tangible and intangible. The tangible aspect is that the king is expected to share out the treasures and goods that he holds. The kennings for king or lord often reflect this aspect of his role: he is a goldwine ("gold-friend"), a beahgyfa ("ring-giver"), a medodaela ("mead-sharer"). Every feast, beorscipe ("beer-drinking") and presentation of hoard-goods that took place in Heorot was a sign that Hrothgar continued to esteem his thegns and their avowed loyalty, and that it would be repaid as long as they remained true to him.
As valuable as the king's gifts of gold were to his warriors, the larger part of his debt was paid with intangibles, and the worth of such was counted great enough that both parties were satisfied (again, ideally). The idea that "no man is an island" was undoubtedly true in Viking and Anglo-Saxon society, in which esteem was granted according to the correct behavior in one’s relationships with others. Interpersonal relationships placed actions into a context within which they could be judged; it was possible that killing a man in broad daylight in front of a town full of witnesses wouldn’t be punished as a crime, provided the relationships involved aligned correctly. A vow of loyalty between king and thegn was reciprocal and binding within all the circles of existence, natural and supernatural. The king was the ethelweard, the guardian of his land and its people, and as such was personally responsible for all of his subjects’ fates. In a very real sense, the king was the kingdom. His destiny was tied to that of each of his people and theirs to him; the oaths given between king and thegn form the inner rings of a complex web. Remove the king from the center or break too many of his ties to the inner circle, and the whole web is at risk.
The Ravages of the Beast
Grendel, the aeglaeca (wretch, fiend) that rises from the fens to attack Hrothgar's hall and devour his men, is a threat to Danish society on a number of levels. The most obvious, unsurprisingly, is the whole cannibal problem. Hrothgar and the Danes have been living in noisy prosperity at Heorot for some years, and their joy and prowess in war ring over all the lands. Grendel wants them to shut up. He chooses a straightforward method to achieve this, arriving at Heorot’s doors when the Danes are "swefan aefter symble; sorge ne cuthon,/ wonsceaft wera" ("sleeping after the feast; they did not know grief, [and] the dark fate of men"). In his first attack, he slaughters thirty thegns, dragging their mangled corpses back to his lair. Heorot and her king follow the night’s revels with "micel morgensweg," a "great cry in the morning," and Hrothgar is wounded deeply by his "thegnsorge," or the grief he bears for his lost warriors. But Grendel is out of the king’s reach, back in his desolate swamp, and all the Danes can do is wait for the next attack, and the next, and the next. For twelve years Grendel harries Hrothgar, murdering his warriors, until at last "idel stod husa selest," "the best of halls stood empty."
Obviously, twelve years of dead thegns is the first sin to be laid at Grendel's door. Beyond the bodies, though, is the great damage he has done to Heorot and the Danes on less tangible planes. Hrothgar has not only had his men stolen from him by a demon, he has effectively been un-kinged. He can’t protect his men. He can’t reward their loyalty with feasting and "hall-joys". He no longer has a large and reliable body of fighters from which to draw his strength. He can’t assure that restitution is paid for the loss of a warrior, as is demanded by Germanic custom, because Grendel is emphatically beyond the bounds of society... Hrothgar's ability to maintain his part of the relationship between him and the thegns has been wrested from him, and yet they continue to die for his sake, plunging him dangerously into cosmic debt. The fabric of Danish society is being unraveled, leaving both the king and the nation weak and defenseless. If Grendel's ravages continue unchecked, Hrothgar's kingdom will fall.
Saruman and his spy/weapon/extension, Grima Wormtongue, are subtler than Grendel, but their goals and dubious accomplishments are much the same. Saruman and Grima can't exactly go around personally devouring Theoden's followers, so instead they rally the Wildmen and send them to attack innocent villagers. They send the orcs on constant raids, all the while tangling Theoden in spells to render him crippled and useless. His inner circle is stripped from him: Theodred falls to the orcs, Eomer is banished, Hama and Gamling are immobilized by their love for a lord whom they cannot abandon but who no longer hears their words. When Gandalf remarks that "the courtesy of [Theoden’s] hall is somewhat lessened of late," he is rather understating the case (deliberately, I assume- it is Gandalf, after all). What he is declaring is something that everyone in the scene probably already knows, whether they admit or not: Theoden is not, at the moment, a king. He might occupy the gifstol and hold the title, but in a society where a king is measured by the courtesy of his hall, where men's loyalty and lives are bought through the strength, stability and generosity of the king, a king so enfeebled that he cannot reciprocate his vows is a gangrenous limb. He must be cured or removed, lest the entire body be destroyed.
Toward the end of the first Grendel scene (lns. 189-194), the Beowulf-poet gives us this image of the noble, wounded king, which could apply to our first view of Theoden King as well: "Thus the kinsman of Halfdene brooded constantly/ on the sorrows of his time; nor could the wise warrior/ turn aside his grief; that strife was too strong,/ grievous and prolonged, which came among his people,/ the bitter hatred, the inescapable violence, the greatest of night-evils." There's no hope among the Danes. The king is crippled by grief and confusion as his people die around him. It seems certain that his nation will fall. Unless a hero arrives, that is. And since there are about three thousand lines of Beowulf and a book and a half of LotR left, a hero we shall have.
Like Hrothgar, Theoden is felled by an external force he cannot himself combat (although it comes in the form of spells and possession rather than a bog monster). And as with Hrothgar’s case, the rescue is also of foreign origin.
So next- the hero arrives! At least I hope he does. Please, let him arrive...
After an unspecified length of time ruling the Danes and enjoying his "glory in war," Hrothgar decided he needed a home worthy of his majesty, "which the children of men would hear of forever, / and there within share out everything/ to young and old, whatever God gave to him,/ except the common land and the lives of men." Heorot, the meadhall of his dreams, becomes the glory of the age, and Hrothgar "did not leave his vow unfulfilled, he shared out rings, / treasure at the feast."
The image of "king as sharer of treasure" is central to ideals of Germanic kingship, and can be interpreted as an extension of the gift economy that so many early medieval societies utilized. In a monetary economy, the interaction between he-who-has and he-who-wants can reasonably be expected to end once the transaction has been completed. In a gift economy, the transaction is instead a moment in an ongoing relationship. For example, the local baker gives ten loaves of bread to the monks at St. Benedict's, and in return they pray for his soul and his family. The prayers are paid for in bread (or, alternatively, the bread is paid for in prayers), but though the initial transaction has been completed, a relationship has been established and will (ideally) continue.
The same situation existed with your average, responsible Viking or Anglo-Saxon king. Thegns and warriors were expected to give their lives to their king, for him to use (or sacrifice) as he would. At first glance it would seem that the warrior’s part in this exchange is unfairly heavy; he must be ready to die for this man if need be, and in return he gets... a king. Goody. But the king's role in this relationship takes on a number of forms, both tangible and intangible. The tangible aspect is that the king is expected to share out the treasures and goods that he holds. The kennings for king or lord often reflect this aspect of his role: he is a goldwine ("gold-friend"), a beahgyfa ("ring-giver"), a medodaela ("mead-sharer"). Every feast, beorscipe ("beer-drinking") and presentation of hoard-goods that took place in Heorot was a sign that Hrothgar continued to esteem his thegns and their avowed loyalty, and that it would be repaid as long as they remained true to him.
As valuable as the king's gifts of gold were to his warriors, the larger part of his debt was paid with intangibles, and the worth of such was counted great enough that both parties were satisfied (again, ideally). The idea that "no man is an island" was undoubtedly true in Viking and Anglo-Saxon society, in which esteem was granted according to the correct behavior in one’s relationships with others. Interpersonal relationships placed actions into a context within which they could be judged; it was possible that killing a man in broad daylight in front of a town full of witnesses wouldn’t be punished as a crime, provided the relationships involved aligned correctly. A vow of loyalty between king and thegn was reciprocal and binding within all the circles of existence, natural and supernatural. The king was the ethelweard, the guardian of his land and its people, and as such was personally responsible for all of his subjects’ fates. In a very real sense, the king was the kingdom. His destiny was tied to that of each of his people and theirs to him; the oaths given between king and thegn form the inner rings of a complex web. Remove the king from the center or break too many of his ties to the inner circle, and the whole web is at risk.
Grendel, the aeglaeca (wretch, fiend) that rises from the fens to attack Hrothgar's hall and devour his men, is a threat to Danish society on a number of levels. The most obvious, unsurprisingly, is the whole cannibal problem. Hrothgar and the Danes have been living in noisy prosperity at Heorot for some years, and their joy and prowess in war ring over all the lands. Grendel wants them to shut up. He chooses a straightforward method to achieve this, arriving at Heorot’s doors when the Danes are "swefan aefter symble; sorge ne cuthon,/ wonsceaft wera" ("sleeping after the feast; they did not know grief, [and] the dark fate of men"). In his first attack, he slaughters thirty thegns, dragging their mangled corpses back to his lair. Heorot and her king follow the night’s revels with "micel morgensweg," a "great cry in the morning," and Hrothgar is wounded deeply by his "thegnsorge," or the grief he bears for his lost warriors. But Grendel is out of the king’s reach, back in his desolate swamp, and all the Danes can do is wait for the next attack, and the next, and the next. For twelve years Grendel harries Hrothgar, murdering his warriors, until at last "idel stod husa selest," "the best of halls stood empty."
Obviously, twelve years of dead thegns is the first sin to be laid at Grendel's door. Beyond the bodies, though, is the great damage he has done to Heorot and the Danes on less tangible planes. Hrothgar has not only had his men stolen from him by a demon, he has effectively been un-kinged. He can’t protect his men. He can’t reward their loyalty with feasting and "hall-joys". He no longer has a large and reliable body of fighters from which to draw his strength. He can’t assure that restitution is paid for the loss of a warrior, as is demanded by Germanic custom, because Grendel is emphatically beyond the bounds of society... Hrothgar's ability to maintain his part of the relationship between him and the thegns has been wrested from him, and yet they continue to die for his sake, plunging him dangerously into cosmic debt. The fabric of Danish society is being unraveled, leaving both the king and the nation weak and defenseless. If Grendel's ravages continue unchecked, Hrothgar's kingdom will fall.
Saruman and his spy/weapon/extension, Grima Wormtongue, are subtler than Grendel, but their goals and dubious accomplishments are much the same. Saruman and Grima can't exactly go around personally devouring Theoden's followers, so instead they rally the Wildmen and send them to attack innocent villagers. They send the orcs on constant raids, all the while tangling Theoden in spells to render him crippled and useless. His inner circle is stripped from him: Theodred falls to the orcs, Eomer is banished, Hama and Gamling are immobilized by their love for a lord whom they cannot abandon but who no longer hears their words. When Gandalf remarks that "the courtesy of [Theoden’s] hall is somewhat lessened of late," he is rather understating the case (deliberately, I assume- it is Gandalf, after all). What he is declaring is something that everyone in the scene probably already knows, whether they admit or not: Theoden is not, at the moment, a king. He might occupy the gifstol and hold the title, but in a society where a king is measured by the courtesy of his hall, where men's loyalty and lives are bought through the strength, stability and generosity of the king, a king so enfeebled that he cannot reciprocate his vows is a gangrenous limb. He must be cured or removed, lest the entire body be destroyed.
Toward the end of the first Grendel scene (lns. 189-194), the Beowulf-poet gives us this image of the noble, wounded king, which could apply to our first view of Theoden King as well: "Thus the kinsman of Halfdene brooded constantly/ on the sorrows of his time; nor could the wise warrior/ turn aside his grief; that strife was too strong,/ grievous and prolonged, which came among his people,/ the bitter hatred, the inescapable violence, the greatest of night-evils." There's no hope among the Danes. The king is crippled by grief and confusion as his people die around him. It seems certain that his nation will fall. Unless a hero arrives, that is. And since there are about three thousand lines of Beowulf and a book and a half of LotR left, a hero we shall have.
Like Hrothgar, Theoden is felled by an external force he cannot himself combat (although it comes in the form of spells and possession rather than a bog monster). And as with Hrothgar’s case, the rescue is also of foreign origin.
So next- the hero arrives! At least I hope he does. Please, let him arrive...
(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-10 07:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-10 01:20 pm (UTC)