On the Edge of Ruin...: Rereading and what is "Notable."

I cried last night while reading The Two Towers.

Unlike Mrs. Gibson, the teacher who cried while reading Charlotte's Web to our 5th grade class, the I rarely cry for any fictional character--in fact, the death of Théoden may be the only time time it has happened, and it is certainly the only time it has happened repeatedly, even predictably.  But I was not reading of Théoden's death.  Rather, I cried as Théoden rode to meet with Saruman, his parting after his first meeting with Merry and Pippin:

"Farewell, my hobbits! May we meet again in my house! There you shall sit beside me and tell me all that your hearts desire: the deeds of your grandsires, as far as you can reckon them; and we will speak also of Tobold the Old and his herb-lore. Farewell!" (545)

It is a truly notable moment, and one that could easily be missed in a first reading of Lord of the Rings.  What we have in this scene is a reunion between the members of the Fellowship who still remain West of the Anduin.  Merry and Pippin are introduced to Théoden and learn that the Rohirrim, having come from the North, preserve a memory of hobbits in oral, folk memory, whereas the scholars of Middle Earth (the Elronds, Sarumons, and Denethors), and even the Ents, who also carry oral wisdom, have none.  Théoden in particular seems to remember tales of hobbits--holbytlan, in the language of the Mark--particularly fondly, and in his goodbye ("Farewell, my hobbits!") I hear a good deal of wonder, and ownership not only of their acquaintance, but of the discovery that they do exist.  More than in battle, this exchange seems to make the years fall away from Théoden, Lord of the Mark.

It is the following line that had me choked up, however:  "There you shall sit beside me and tell me all that your hearts desire: the deeds of your grandsires, as far as you can reckon them; and we will speak also of Tobold the Old and his herb-lore."  Gandalf has cautioned Théoden that hobbits will sit "on the edge of ruin" and discuss the minutiae of everyday life and geneology.  Théoden, while enraptured by what Merry has to tell, must ride on to meet with Sarumon, and bids them farewell until another time.  The tragedy, of course, is that this time will never come.

These words of Théoden look forward to Théoden's death, which moves me primarily because of this--the loss of opportunity to sit in peace and discuss the history of the Shire.  It almost an unfilfilled promise--a moment that never comes fruition.  Otherwise, Théoden's death is heroic--a matter, the Rohirrim might say, for song and not for tears.  Of course, there is a sense in which heriosm, pointing to something larger than mortality, is itself a matter for tears, if not quite for tears of sadness.

The words also look back--at least, in the structure of the book.  The Prologue, "Concerning Hobbits," has seemingly been written in reference to this conversation with Théoden.  The phrase "concerning hobbits" occurs within the exchange ("never till now have I found a people that knew any story concerning hobbits" - p. 544), while the section "Concerning Pipe-weed" quotes a volume of herblore written by Merry, undoubtedly in memory of Théoden, that tells of "Tobold the Old and his herb-lore."  This moment contains the Beginning, Middle, and End of The Lord of the Rings--all three books!--though "Concerning Hobbits" and "Concerning Pipe-weed" were "written" ( by Merry) long after the events have concluded.  I have not yet considered the fact that a very scholarly, written tract functions as a dedication to the king of Rohan, which still exists (more or less) as a primary oral culture.

Though I do not attribute to my own experience the emotional impact of the scene, I can't help but recall the months leading up to my grandfather's death.  When he was in the hospital after his heart attack, I went to read to him.  Having recently finished a college course on Ancient Greek literature, I thought he would particularly enjoy Robert Fitzgerald's translation of The Odyssey.  I began reading, but became overwhelmed by the hospital setting--seeing him hooked to machines.  Feeling dizzy, and watching the edges of the world become black, I patted his hand and told him that I would be back--then I turned and left.  Although he was in the hospital for 6 more months, that was the last time I saw him, and I did not return to read more of The Odyssey.  It is something I have come to terms with, though I don't think I exactly blamed myself.  Rather, like the words of Théoden, my promise was one that did not come to fruition.  It was a lost opportunity--and interestingly, an opportunity that centered on stories and history.

Sometimes, it is good to cry.  Even in the lost opportunity of Merry and Théoden, there is connection, and the desire to share with someone else something that is precious to us, though I feel the irony in using that particular word, and to know that they are eager to sit and hear the tale.  My tears are as much for Théoden's wonder at the existance of the holbytlan, and for the beauty that is interrupted but can still be recalled, as for the sadness of the unfulfilled promise, and for my certain knowledge of Théoden's glorious death.  It is impossible, perhaps, not to think of Fallenness, and Promises, and Glory in this moment--so that even in tears, there is Hope.

Note:  I made a small change to the paragraphs about the Prologue, since Merry is not the primary author, only a source.  I think the overall reading of symmetry in the moment "on the edge of ruin" still holds, however!