I cannot do this chapter justice.
So much happens here that I want to talk about. The darkness reaching Minas Tirith. The Nazgûl harassing Faramir on his return to Minas Tirith. The conversation where Gandalf and Denethor both learn Faramir’s news of Frodo. Denethor’s anger at Faramir, Faramir’s desperate desire for his father’s approval, and his departure to command the defense of Osgiliath. The encirclement of Minas Tirith, the fall of Faramir, the suicidal despair of Denethor, the breaching of the gate, the arrival of the Rohirrim. It’s just way too much.
Instead, I’m just going to go over a few of my favorite moments in the chapter. I exercised a lot of self-restraint here, but I thought quoting the whole chapter was a bit much.
First point I want to draw attention to: another of those moments I love where Tolkien ties the separate stories together.
It was the sunset-hour, but the great pall had now stretched far into the West, and only as it sank at last into the Sea did the Sun escape to send out a brief farewell gleam before the night, even as Frodo saw it at the Cross-roads touching the head of the fallen king. But to the fields of the Pelennor, under the shadow of Mindolluin, there came no gleam: they were brown and drear.
I feel really bad for Pippin that he didn’t get that last gleam of sunshine that Frodo and Sam got. But all in all I’d rather be in his shoes furry Hobbit-feet.
Next up:
The Prince Imrahil brought Faramir to the White Tower, and he said: ‘Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds,’ and he told all that he had seen. But Denethor rose and looked on the face of his son and was silent. Then he bade them make a bed in the chamber and lay Faramir upon it and depart. But he himself went up alone into the secret room under the summit of the Tower; and many who looked up thither at that time saw a pale light that gleamed and flickered from the narrow windows for a while, and then flashed and went out. And when Denethor descended again he went to Faramir and sat beside him without speaking, but the face of the Lord was grey, more deathlike than his son’s.
So this is the point when Denethor fully despairs. His time in the room with the flickering light was him using the Palantír, during which Sauron directed him to see what Sauron wanted him to see. Hence the despair.
More of Imrahil. For a minor character he gets tons of love, and for good reason. He rocks.
So it was that Gandalf took command of the last defence of the City of Gondor. Wherever he came men’s hearts would lift again, and the winged shadows pass from memory. Tirelessly he strode from Citadel to Gate, from north to south about the wall; and with him went the Prince of Dol Amroth in his shining mail. For he and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Númenor ran true. Men that saw them whispered saying: ‘Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago.’ And then one would sing amid the gloom some staves of the Lay of Nimrodel, or other songs of the Vale of Anduin out of vanished years. And yet – when they had gone, the shadows closed on men again, and their hearts went cold, and the valour of Gondor withered into ash. And so slowly they passed out of a dim day of fears into the darkness of a desperate night. Fires now raged unchecked in the first circle of the City, and the garrison upon the outer wall was already in many places cut off from retreat. But the faithful who remained there at their posts were few; most had fled beyond the second gate.
We’ve got Denethor going completely overboard. I certainly remember a feeling of “what is he doing?” on my very first read-through. I didn’t quite get what he was planning until a couple chapters from now.
‘Why? Why do the fools fly?’ said Denethor. ‘Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! And I? I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!’
And all of it is building towards this moment. I’m not going to quote the passage beforehand, with Grond smashing the Gate (much as I would like to, I’m trying to be reasonable here), but it’s very nearly as gripping. If this isn’t one of the finest passages ever written, than I do not know what is:
In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and all fled before his face. All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen. ‘You cannot enter here,’ said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. ‘Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!’ The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter. ‘Old fool!’ he said. ‘Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!’ And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade. Gandalf did not move. And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn. And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin’s sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.
Like I said before, for all the times I’ve read LotR over the years, I’ve never sat and really read it like I’ve been doing for this readalong, paying detailed attention to the craft of storytelling and Tolkien’s use of language. This entire chapter is a masterpiece.
One last minor point I want to mention: the rooster. “And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.” I always thought this was a little odd when I was younger, but I’ve come to appreciate it. It’s worth remembering, and it’s a point that Tolkien makes elsewhere, that our struggles are not the same as the struggles of the world. Our actions are what they are, but the world will go on spinning regardless. This is another moment that I would bet (though I have no evidence) can be traced back to Tolkien’s time in the trenches. I imagine it would be somewhat surreal, amidst all the devastation of the Western Front, to hear a rooster who didn’t care about any of it and was just crowing to greet the morning.
Next time, Merry wishes he was as fancy as a Coach bag when he’s imitating a piece of luggage during the Ride of the Rohirrim.