Farmer Maggot's Farm: If not locus amoenus, then what?

Since I am actively looking for places where the Hobbits and the ring company experience rest and rejuvenation along their journey, I feel compelled to pause and consider Farmer Maggot's farm.  Farmer Maggot's farm is a place of rest, yes.  They eat and drink as they rest.  But is it a locus amoenus?  And if not, then what?

The meal is a homely one--a homey one, we might say--farmhouse fare.  It consists of mushrooms and other appropriate foods, and it is eaten within man-made--or hobbit-made--walls rather than in nature.  In particular, there is no running water.  There is also no priest.  Farmer Maggot is a shrewd fellow, but he does not, in fact, preside over the meal.  His wife is more instrumental than he in laying the table, and his part in the tableau is to analyze recent events rather than to serve.  That the main part of the meal is made of mushrooms suggests an earthiness, or perhaps we might say an earthliness.  This is good, nourishing food, but it is food of the earth rather than heavenly food.  So perhaps sometimes a meal is just a meal? And yet, I'm not sure.

The meeting with Farmer Maggot follows close on the heels of the meeting with the elves at Woodhall.  In fact, it is the very next chapter.  Like the supper with the elves, this supper is communal:  the hobbits share a meal with others, bringing the total to 14--the same number (if memory serves) as the voyage to the Lonely Mountain in the Hobbit, without Gandalf.  Interestingly, it is also one more than the total of Jesus and his 12 disciples at the Last Supper (which some would say is the origin of 13 as an unlucky number).

Farmer Maggot, though not a priestly figure, offers sanctuary.  He shields Frodo from the Black Riders and transports him to the Ferry.  But in spite of not being a "priest" figure (there seem to be no priests among hobbits, even though Gildor calls Frodo a prince among hobbits), he has been in the Old Forest, and has even had some dealings with Tom Bombadil, who reveals his respect for Farmer Maggot later.  And while the food is earthly rather than spiritual, he and his wife provide food for Frodo, Sam, and Pippin for their journey, and they later share it with Merry and Fredegar Bolger.

The positioning of this "ordinary" scene of communal eating so close to the extraordinary scene of communal eating and celebration begs for the reader to consider the possible connections.  The spiritual food of the elves is different in kind than the homely, earthy food of the farmer, and yet both nourish the body.  The eating of the communal meal at Farmer Maggots does relieve their fears, but the communal nature seems to be responsible for that relief rather than the food itself.  While it is a man-made shadow of something that, with the elves, touches the divine, a communal meal nevertheless anticipates and participates, in a small way, in that taste of heaven.  Here, we glimpse how ordinary moments become elevated to the sacramental in Tolkien, and as we live in this world, such a moment can be equally significant.

The Locus Amoenus in Middle Earth: Elvish Spaces

It's been a while since I've written a notable moment post, or written about Tolkien or the locus amoenus in Lord of the Rings in particular, but I bought myself a copy of the complete Lord of the Rings for Kindle (on sale for $5!) with my Christmas gift card, and started reading on a recent trip back from New Orleans, so it seemed an opportune time to resume.  (Quotes will be from the three-volume Houghton-Mifflin edition, copyright 1994.)

I started at the beginning again, reading the Forward and the Prologue, and a very long textual note that outlined all of the many times errors were introduced into the volumes and corrected by Tolkien and his publishers.

Reading very specifically with the locus amoenus in mind, I am approaching the farm of Farmer Maggot, with Black Riders on the road--Farmer Maggot is an important personage, and even though his farm is not a locus amoenus, per se, it is a resting place where the weary have food and drink, and Tom Bombadil himself attests to the farmer's wisdom.  Before the hobbits find Farmer Maggot, however, they encounter first a Black Rider, and second Gildor Inglorian of the House of Finrod with a host of High Elves.

I resist discussing the elves when analyzing the locus amoenus and the priesthood of Middle Earth.  Elves are the most obvious priests of Middle Earth.  They are in possession of two of the three Rings of Power.  They posess the wisdom (at least of their own kind).  They are fair and have the most fair dwellings.  Their dwellings--to which they admit outsiders in the Ring quest and in The Hobbit--offer food, drink, and rest.  They feature stories of the sacred history of Middle Earth.  They are the closest to Illuvatar (with the possible exception of Gandalf); they know--and evoke--the name of Elbereth.  They drive away Black Riders simply with their presence.  When Frodo journeys with them to their banquet placr, a "veil is lifted"--more or less--and the hobbits glimpse different stars than the ones they have yet glimpsed on their journey.  These elves are not rooted to the particular place, but with their presence and their celebration they consecrate the place.  This is the first time on the journey that the hobbits receive the food and drink of the elves.

But there is a problem with elves.  They are remote.  As a result, they are held in awe, but they are also feared.  They are concerned with their own affairs to the exclusion of all other races.  They are also leaving--their time is done.  So while the dwellings and sacred places of the elves obviously represent the locus amoenus as sanctuary, and priestly sanctuary in particular, the places that are sanctuaries and sacred spaces, priestly dwellings, rest for the journey, but are not associated with elves seem the more significant--both because they are less expected, and because they tap more specifically into the sacred that is grounded in Middle Earth.  Nevertheless, elves--and elvish spaces--set the standard.

So what of the elvish space on the road from the Shire to Buckleberry Ferry?

It is in the "woods on the hills above [the town of] Woodhall" (79).  When they approach the space, the trees become denser and younger.  The clearing is surrounded by woods on three sides, but "eastward the ground fell steeply" and the tops of trees are far below (80).  Time is significant--the time for celebration is marked by the movement of the stars:

Away high in the East swung Remmirath, the Netted Stars, and slowly above the mists red Borgil rose, glowing like a jewel of fire.  Then by some shift of airs all the mist was drawn away like a veil, and there leaned up, as he climbed over the rim of the world, the Swordsman of the Sky, Menelvagor with his shining belt.  The Elves all burst into song.  Suddenly under the trees a fire sprang up with a red light. (80)

The veil of mist--presumably revealing stars that would have been seen on Middle Earth anyway--anticipates the veil that separates Middle Earth from Valinor, through which Frodo, Bilbo, Galadriel, Gandalf, and Elrond pass after the aftermath of the War of the Ring.  The same veil recalls the veil of the temple, "rent in two" when Jesus died.

The boughs of trees make a kind of roof over the natural space, which is like a hall.  There is a fire and food--"good enough for a birthday-party" (81), although Gildor apologizes for the poor fare.  Specifically, the food is eucharistic: "bread, surpassing the savour of a fair white loaf to one who is starving," fruit of the vine "sweet as wildberries and richer than the tended fruits of gardens," and "a cup that was filled with a fragrant draught, cool as a clear fountain, golden as a summer afternoon"--a foretaste of heaven indeed.

Though Gildor is friendly and responsive to the hobbits' fears and wish for information, he remains distinctly above them.  Sam, who has wished to see elves above all elves, is speechless and wears "an expression half of fear and half of astonished joy" (79-80).  When Gildor attempts to give Frodo warning, Frodo "cannot imagine what information could be more terrifying than [Gildor's] hints and warnings" (82), and cites a proverb: "Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes" (83).  Gildor's advice is guarded because "advice is a dangerous gift," but also because

[t]he Elves have their own labours and their own sorrows, and they are little concerned with the ways of hobbits, or of any other creatures upon earth.  Our paths cross theirs seldom, by chance or purpose. (83)

The wisdom of the Elves is great but has limits, as Gildor discerns that there may be a purpose to their meeting, but he does not know what it might be, and thus is even more hesitant to give advice.

After the meeting with the Elves, who do provide sanctuary, the hobbits are rested and refreshed, and provided with (literal) food for their journey.

Sam's reflective observation proves particularly insightful:  that Elves "seem a bit above [his] likes and dislikes" (85).  While all of the consecrated of Middle Earth are beyond the hobbits' understanding, the Elves occupy the space that is the most remote.  The relationships that the hobbits form with other priestly figures close some of the distance, while also bringing the humble hobbits closer to experience of the divine.

Language and Race, Nostalgia and Place - Stopping in Hollin/Eregion: A Notable Moment

It's a funny thing about Notable Moments.  Once I commit one to writing, my mind becomes oriented in that direction--seeking, finding, and writing notable moments.  (And now I need to publish this one so that I can write about the Ents and Entwives...) This is another thing I hoped to inspire in my students during that second-to-last semester teaching when I introduced the "notable moments" blog assignment--a habit of thought and a pattern of writing down thoughtful analyses and questions.  Because Notable Moments don't have to come to conclusions, and unlike research papers (particularly graduate research papers), there is no pressure to say something that no one else has said or thought.  In fact, on the internet, saying something original is not particularly important.  Saying things that others have thought, in fact, builds community.

***

A few pages past my last post, when Elrond sends the fellowship on their way(s), they reach Hollin, which had been Eregion.  It is a moment of beauty and longing, and I paused over it fondly to think about what it is that I find so compelling about the passage:

     "I need no map," said Gimli, who had come up with Legolas, and was gazing out before him with a strange light in his deep eyes.  "There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales.  They stand tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr.

     "Only once before have I seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dûm,the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue.  Yonder stands Baranzinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White, and Fanuidhol the Grey, that we call Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr.

     "There the Misty Mountains divide, and between their arms lies the deep-shadowed valley which we cannot forget: Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale, which the Elves call Nanduhirion."

[....]

     "Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram," said Gimli, "and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla.  My heart trembles with joy that I may see them soon."

     "May you have joy of the sight, my good dwarf!" said Gandalf.  "But whatever you may do, we at least cannot stay in that valley.  We must go down the Silverlode into the secret woods, and so the Great River, and then---"

     He paused.

     "Yes, and where then?" asked Merry.

     "To the end of the journey--in the end," said Gandalf.  "We cannot look too far ahead.  Let us be glad that the first stage is safely over.  I think we will rest here, not only today but tonight as well.  There is a wholesome air about Hollin.  Much evil must befall a country before it forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there."

      "That is true," said Legolas.  "But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them.  Only I hear the stones lament them: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone.  They are gone.  They sought the Havens long ago." (FOTR 276)

And might I just take this moment to say that the feature of Mac OS that allows you to hold down a letter key to bring up all of the accented letters (à, á, â, etc.) and choose one with a number key or a click is AWESOME?

In this passage, the first thing I notice is language.   This is new to this particular reading--although I am well aware of Tolkien's attention to languages, when I have read Fellowship of the Ring before, or listened to the audiobook, I did not necessarily register how many different names were given for the mountains.  Only Caradhras registered--the important one.  And yet, consider:

Baraz	Baranzinbar	the Redhorn	Caradhras
Zirak	Zirakzigil	Silvertine	Celebdil the White
Shathûr	Bundushathûr	Cloudyhead	Fanuidhol the Grey

There are four distinct designations for each mountain.  The six names in dwarvish are interesting in that the first are shortened versions of the second, and that each is shortened in a different way.  Baraz takes the first two syllables of "Baranzinbar," but omits the "n," perhaps because, linguistically, the first "n" in "Baranzinbar" mirrors the second, in the syllable "zin," while also creating a full stop before the third syllable.  In the shortened form, there is no need for the mirroring--particularly when the "n" would become "swallowed" by the "az" anyway (there's a linguistic term for this, but my Old English is far behind me...)--and since the "z" is now part of the second syllable rather than the third, there is no need for a pause within the word.  "Zirak" is a more simply shortened form--simply the first two syllables of "Zirakzigil"--while "Shathûr" is the last two syllables of "Bundushathûr."

In addition, you have the elvish names--Caradhras, Celebdil, and Fanuidhol, presumably the Redhorn, Silvertine, and Cloudyhead in the common tongue.  On the umpteenth reading, I think I finally noticed that "Caradhras" and "the Redhorn" are the same mountain, which others no doubt caught on the first reading...  That "Silvertine" is the mountain designated "the White" by the elves is interesting to me; I wanted the clouds ("Cloudyhead") to be white and Fanuidhol the Grey to be silver ("Silvertine"), but my instinctive preference does not account for the fact that there is a reason present in the description.  Fanuidhol is grey because of the clouds, presumably.  And it is the bright white of Celebdil that makes it shine like silver--in the names are embedded more clues as to the appearance of the mountains.

I would argue that Tolkien's deep studied and instinctive connection to language is on display in this passage in more varied and obvious ways than it is almost anywhere else in Fellowship of the Ring--and it centers on the dwarves, who are evoked more poignantly in this scene than in the whole journey through Khazad-dûm.  The phrase, "Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla," sends a little thrill through me every time I read it, though "dark water" and "cold springs" are, in themselves, unremarkable.  Quite apart from the place-names, which are exotic and strange and evoke the unknown culture and history of dwarves, the phrasing itself--the syntax--is made ritualistic through parallelism:  "dark is the water," "cold are the springs."  One can imagine this being a responsorial chant (and dwarf poetry, as Tolkien shows us, has the feel of a chant, a march, a procession) or a greeting.  And indeed, it becomes a greeting when Galadriel, to comfort Gimli and show her understanding, says also, "Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla," and adds that "fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone."  It does not simply evoke a place and a description, but a custom, and a culture, and, in fact, a spirituality.

The passage is also replete with nostalgia, and nowhere more clearly than in Gimli's recitation of the dwarf proverb.  However, the passage holds a less distinct nostalgia as well.  Gimli feels nostalgia for Khazad-dûm, but though they are passing through Hollin, which was Eregion, a great kingdom of elves in the Second Age, Legolas, who represents the race of elves on the quest, does not feel nostalgia.  While Gandalf asserts that "much evil must befall a country before it forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there," Legolas feels only strangeness:

"That is true," said Legolas.  "But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them.  Only I hear the stones lament them: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone.  They are gone.  They sought the Havens long ago."

Here, there is a different kind of nostalgia.  The narrative makes it clear that something is lost, and gives the reader a sense of nostalgia without using the memory (personal or collective) of a character.  Rather, the fact that Legolas should not be able to remember or to feel the imprint of his kin--except that the elves who dwelt there were not of the same race as Legolas, exactly--seems to evoke a different kind of sadness.  The loss of Eregion is a more complete loss than the loss of Khazad-dûm.  And yet, the rocks, which were directly manipulated by the elves, and which did not continue to live, die, and replace themselves like trees and grass, do still bear the imprint.  In that which is not living, the memory survives--hauntingly, since the memory and their handling by the elves grants the stones a sense of life... almost a soul.

In this lost place, we see a small hint of a recurring motif in Tolkien:  the locus amœnus.  This is a literary term that I learned in the context of a graduate class on Dante, and which I have not encountered elsewhere in literary scholarship.  Perhaps it is an outdated concept; perhaps it is simply foreign to the American tradition of literary criticism, which seems likely, even given the advent of ecocriticism, which purports to root itself in place.  I have not ever found an answer to this question, but the locus amœnus is a concept I find useful and compelling, particularly with reference to Tolkien.  Wikipedia has a brief entry on the term that encapsulates most of what I was taught.  Locus amœnus means "pleasant place," but more--there is a hint of heaven or Elysium.  It is a place of safety.  In the Commedia, a locus amœnus is a resting place, particularly when there is a transition--some kind of shift in the journey. There are multiple loci amœni in the Purgatorio, and some have said that Dante's representation of Limbo, itself a nod to pagan Elysium, is a locus amœnus.  They are shadows and foretastes of heaven, safe places, resting places, pauses on the journey.

By this definition, a reader of Tolkien could, fairly easily, trace the loci amœni through Lord of the Rings.  I am not going to count the Shire, because except in memory, it does not seem imbued with power the same way that others are--though Farmer Maggot's house is a decent candidate for a locus amœnus.  Tom Bombadil's house is most certainly one, as is Rivendell.  As the reader progresses further into Lord of the Rings, the power of the locus amœnus becomes more apparent, and patterns emerge:  there is a priest-figure; there is water; there is a sacred or solemn or celebratory feast.  Many of these places are revealed in The Two Towers--my favorite of the three parts of the journey, perhaps for this reason.

So what about Hollin?  It has "a wholesome air."  But it is not safe for very long.  They are forced to continue along after being detected by spies of Saurumon (presumably).  The priests--if ever there were priests--were gone.  And yet... the stones seem still to bear the mark.  Were they consecrated?  Even if the elves are corrupt, which these were--descendents of Fëanor for those who know the Silmarillion--elves are still powerful and, in their very essence, good.  Or so it seems in this age of Middle Earth.  In Hollin, formerly Eregion, we have the memory of a place that had been a locus amœnus, but is no more.  It shows how even a foretaste of heaven can be subject to destruction--utterly obliterated, except for the memory of the stones:  a small trace of holiness.  A former locus amœnus offers no protection, and the fellowship must continue on, while the reader might remember Elrond's words--that if the Ring were kept in Rivendell, they would hold out as long as possible, but eventually would fail.  And perhaps only the stones would hold the memory of the elves who had once lived there.