Túrin’s conduct in the hall is in the tale essentially simpler: the true story has been told to him by a passer-by, he enters to exact vengeance on Brodda for thieving Mavwin’s goods, and he does so with dispatch. As told in the Narn, where Túrin’s eyes are only finally opened to the deception that has been practised upon him by the words of Aerin, who is present in the hall, his rage is more passionate, crazed, and bitter, and indeed more comprehensible: and the moral observation that Túrin’s deed was ‘violent and unlawful’ is not made. The story of Airin’s judgement on these doings, made in order to save Túrin, was afterwards removed; and Túrin’s solitary departure was expanded, with the addition also of the firing of Brodda’s hall by Aerin (Narn p. 109).
Some details survived all the changes: in the Narn Túrin still seizes Brodda by the hair, and just as in the tale his rage suddenly expired after the deed of violence (‘his wrath was grown cold’), so in the Narn ‘the fire of his rage was as ashes’. It may be noticed here that while in the old story Túrin does not rename himself so often, his tendency to do so is already present.
The story of how ‘Túrin came among the Woodmen and delivered them from Orcs is not found in the Tale of Turambar; nor is there any mention of the Mound of Finduilas near the Crossings of Teiglin nor any account of her fate.
(vi) The return of Gumlin to Hithlum and the departure of
Mavwin and Nienóri, to Artanor (pp. 91–3)
In the later story the elder of Túrin’s guardians (Gumlin in the tale, Grithnir in the, Narn) plays no part after his bringing Túrin to Doriath: it is only said that he stayed there till he died (Narn, p. 74); and Morwen had no tidings out of Doriath before leaving her home—indeed she only learnt that Túrin had left Thingol’s realm when she got there (The Silmarillion, p. 211; cf. Aerin’s words in the Narn, p. 107: ‘She looked to find her son there awaiting her.’) This whole section of the tale does no more than explain with what my father doubtless felt (since he afterwards rejected it almost in its entirety) to be unnecessary complication why Mavwin went to Tinwelint. I think it is clear, however, that the difference between the versions here depends on the different views of Mavwin’s (Morwen’s) condition in Hithlum. In the old story she is not suffering hardship and oppression; she trusts Brodda to the extent of entrusting not only her goods to him but even her daughter, and is said indeed to have ‘peace and honour among the men of those regions’ the chieftains speak of the love they bear her. A motive for her departure is found in the coming of Gumlin and the news he brings of Túrin’s flight from the lands of Tinwelint. In the later story, on the other hand, Brodda’s character as tyrant and oppressor is extended, and it is Morwen’s very plight at his hands that leads her to depart. (The news that came to Túrin in Doriath that ‘Morwen’s plight was eased’ (Narn, p. 77, cf. The Silmarillion p. 199) is probably a survival from the old story; nothing is said in the later narratives to explain how this came about, and ceased.) In either case her motive for leaving is coupled with the fact of the increased safety of the lands; but whereas in the later story the reason for this was the prowess of the Black Sword of Nargothrond, in the tale it was the ‘great and terrible project’ of Melko that was afoot—the assault on the caves of the Rodothlim (see note 18).
It is curious that in this passage Airin and Brodda are introduced as if for the first time. It is perhaps significant that the part of the tale extending from the dragon’s words ‘Hearken to me, O son of Úrin…’ on p. 87 to ‘…fell to his knees before Tinwelint’ on p. 92 was written in a separate part of the manuscript book: possibly this replaced an earlier text in which Brodda and Airin did not appear. But many such questions arise from the earliest manuscripts, and few can now be certainly unravelled.
(vii) Mavwin and Nienóri in Artanor and their meeting
with Glorund (pp. 93–9)
The next essential step in the development of the plot—the learning by Mavwin/Morwen of Túrin’s sojourn in Nargothrond—is more neatly and naturally handled in The Silmarillion (p. 217) and the Narn (p. 112), where news is brought to Thingol by fugitives from the sack, in contrast to the Tale of Turambar, where Mavwin and Nienóri only learn of the destruction of the Elves of the Caves from a band of Noldoli while themselves wandering aimlessly in the forest. It is odd that these Noldoli did not name Túrin by his name but only as the Mormakil: it seems that they did not know who he was, but they knew enough of his history to make his identity plain to Mavwin. As noted above, Túrin declared his name and lineage to the Elves of the Caves. In the later narrative, on the other hand, Túrin did conceal it in Nargothrond, calling himself Agarwaen, but all those who brought news of the fall to Doriath ‘declared that it was known to many in Nargothrond ere the end that the Mormegil was none other than Túrin son of Húrin of Dor-lómin’.
As often, unneeded complication in the early story was afterwards cleared away: thus the elaborate argumentation needed to get Tinwelint’s warriors and Mavwin and Nienóri on the road together is gone from The Silmarillion and the Narn. In the tale the ladies and the Elvish warriors all set off together with the full intention that the former shall watch developments from a high place (afterwards Amon Ethir, the Hill of Spies); in the later story Morwen simply rides off, and the party of Elves, led by Mablung, follows after her, with Nienor among them in disguise.
Particularly notable is the passage in the tale in which Mavwin holds out the great gold-hoard of the Rodothlim as a bait to Tinwelint, and Tinwelint unashamedly admits that (as a wild Elf of the woods) it is this, not any hope of aiding Túrin, that moves him to send out a party. The majesty, power, and pride of Thingol rose with the development of the conception of the Grey-elves of Beleriand; as I have said earlier (p. 63) ‘In the beginning, Tinwelint’s dwelling was not a subterranean city full of marvels…but a rugged cave’, and here he is seen planning a foray to augment his slender wealth in precious things—a far cry from the description of his vast treasury in the Narn (p. 76):
Now Thingol had in Menegroth deep armouries filled with great wealth of weapons: metal wrought like fishes’ mail and shining like water in the moon; swords and axes, shields and helms, wrought by Telchar himself or by his master Gamil Zirak the old, or by elven-wrights more skilful still. For some things he had received in gift that came out of Valinor and were wrought by Fëanor in his mastery, than whom no craftsman was greater in all the days of the world.
Great as are the differences from the later legend in the encounter with the dragon, the stinking vapours raised by his lying in the river as the cause of the miscarriage of the plan, the maddened flight of the horses, and the enspelling of Nienor so that all memory of her past was lost, are already present. Most striking perhaps of the many differences is the fact that Mavwin was present at the conversation with Glorund; and of these speeches there is no echo in the Narn (pp. 118–19), save that Nienor’s naming of Túrin as the object of their quest revealed her identity to the dragon (this is explicit in the Narn, and may probably be surmised from the tale). The peculiar tone of Glaurung in the later narrative, sneering and curt, knowing and self-possessed, and unfathomably wicked, can be detected already in the words of Glorund, but as he evolved he gained immeasurably in dread by becoming more laconic.
The chief difference of structure lies in the total absence of the ‘Mablung-element’ from the tale, nor is there any foreshadowing of it. There is no suggestion of an exploration of the sacked dwellings in the dragon’s absence (indeed he does not, as it appears, go any distance from them); the purpose of the expedition from Artanor was expressly warlike (‘a strong party against the Foalókë’, ‘they prepared them for battle’), since Tinwelint had hopes of laying hands on the treasure, whereas afterwards it became purely a scouting foray, for Thingol ‘desired greatly to know more of the fate of Nargothrond’ (Narn p. 113).
A curious point is that though Mavwin and Nienóri were to be stationed on the tree-covered ‘high place’ that was afterward called the Hill of Spies, and where they were in
fact so stationed in The Silmarillion and the Narn, it seems that in the old story they never got there, but were ensnared by Glorund where he lay in, or not far from, the river. Thus the ‘high place’ had in the event almost no significance in the tale.
(viii) Turambar and Níniel (pp. 99–102)
In the later legend Nienor was found by Mablung after her enspelling by Glaurung, and with three companions he led her back towards the borders of Doriath. The chase after Nienor by the band of Orcs (Narn p. 120) is present in the tale, but it does not have its later narrative function of leading to Nienor’s flight and loss by Mablung and the other Elves (who do not appear): rather it leads directly to her rescue by Turambar, now dwelling among the Woodmen. In the Narn (p. 122) the Woodmen of Brethil did indeed come past the spot where they found her on their return from a foray against Orcs; but the circumstances of her finding are altogether different, most especially since there is in the tale no mention of the Haudh-en-Elleth, the Mound of Finduilas.
An interesting detail concerns Nienor’s response to Turambar’s naming her Níniel. In The Silmarillion and the Narn ‘she shook her head, but said: Níniel’ in the present text she said: ‘Not Níniel, not Níniel.’ One has the impression that in the old story what impressed her darkened mind was only the resemblance of Níniel to her own forgotten name Nienóri (and of Turambar to Túrin), whereas in the later she both denied and in some way accepted the name Níniel.
An original element in the legend is the Woodmen’s bringing of Níniel to a place (‘Silver Bowl’) where there was a great waterfall (afterwards Dimrost, the Rainy Stair, where the stream of Celebros ‘fell towards Teiglin’): and these falls were near to the dwellings of the Woodmen—but the place where they found Níniel was much further off in the forest (several days’ journey) than were the Crossings of Teiglin from Dimrost. When she came there she was filled with dread, a foreboding of what was to happen there afterwards, and this is the origin of her shuddering fit in the later narratives, from which the place was renamed Nen Girith, the Shuddering Water (see Narn p. 149, note 24).
The utter darkness imposed on Níniel’s mind by the dragon’s spell is less emphasized in the tale, and there is no suggestion that she needed to relearn her very language; but it is interesting to observe the recurrence in a changed context of the simile of ‘one that seeks for something mislaid’: in the Narn (p. 123) Níniel is said to have taken great delight in the relearning of words, ‘as one that finds again treasures great and small that were mislaid’.
The lame man, here called Tamar, and his vain love of Níniel already appear; unlike his later counterpart Brandir he was not the chief of the Woodmen, but he was the son of the chief. He was also Half-elven! Most extraordinary is the statement that the wife of Bethos the chieftain and mother of Tamar was an Elf, a woman of the Noldoli: this is mentioned in passing, as if the great significance and rarity of the union of Elf and Mortal had not yet emerged—but in a Name-list associated with the tale of The Fall of Gondolin Eärendel is said to be ‘the only being that is half of the kindred of the Eldalië and half of Men’ (p. 215).*
The initial reluctance of Níniel to receive Turambar’s suit is given no explanation in the tale: the implication must be that some instinct, some subconscious appreciation of the truth, held her back. In The Silmarillion (p. 220)
for that time she delayed in spite of her love. For Brandir foreboded he knew not what, and sought to restrain her, rather for her sake than his own or rivalry with Turambar; and he revealed to her that Turambar was Túrin son of Húrin, and though she knew not the name a shadow fell upon her mind.
In the final version as in the oldest, the Woodmen knew who Turambar was. My father’s scribbled directions for the alteration of the story cited in note 23 (‘Make Turambar never tell new folk of his lineage…’) are puzzling: for since Níniel had lost all memory of her past she would not know the names Túrin son of Húrin even if it were told to her that Turambar was he. It is however possible that when my father wrote this he imagined Níniel’s lost knowledge of herself and her family as being nearer the surface of her mind, and capable of being brought back by hearing the names—in contrast to the later story where she did not consciously recognise the name of Túrin even when Brandir told it to her. Clearly the question-mark against the reference in the text of the tale to Turambar’s speaking to Níniel ‘of his father and mother and the sister he had not seen’ and Níniel’s distress at his words (see note 24) depends on the same train of thought. The statement here that Turambar had never seen his sister is at variance with what is said earlier in the tale, that he did not leave Hithlum until after Nienóri’s birth (p. 71); but my father was uncertain on this point, as is clearly seen from the succession of readings, changed back and forth between the two ideas, given in note 15.
(ix) The slaying of Glorund (pp. 103–8)
In this section I follow the narrative of the tale as far as Túrin’s swoon when the dying dragon opened his eyes and looked at him. Here the later story runs very close to the old, but there are many interesting differences.
In the tale Glorund is said to have had bands of both Orcs and Noldoli subject to him, but only the Orcs remained afterwards; cf. the Narn p.125:
Now the power and malice of Glaurung grew apace, and he waxed fat [cf. ‘the Foalókë waxed fat’], and he gathered Orcs to him, and ruled as a dragon-King, and all the realm of Nargothrond that had been was laid under him.
The mention in the tale that Tinwelint’s people were ‘grievously harried’ by Glorund’s bands suggests once again that the magic of the Queen was no very substantial protection; while the statement that ‘at length there came some [Orcs] nigh even to those woods and glades that were beloved of Turambar and his folk’ seems at variance with Turambar’s saying to Níniel earlier that ‘we are hard put to it to fend those evil ones from our homes’ (p. 100). There is no mention here of Turambar’s pledge to Níniel that he would go to battle only if the homes of the Woodmen were assailed (Narn pp. 125–6); and there is no figure corresponding to Dorlas of the later versions. Tamar’s character, briefly described (p. 106), is in accord so far as it goes with what is later told of Brandir, but the relationship of Brandir to Níniel, who called him her brother (Narn p. 124), had not emerged. The happiness and prosperity of the Woodmen under Turambar’s chieftainship is much more strongly emphasized in the tale (afterwards he was not indeed the chieftain, at least not in name); and it leads in fact to Glorund’s greed as a motive for his assault on them.
The topographical indications in this passage, important to the narrative, are readily enough accommodated to the later accounts, with one major exception: it is clear that in the old story the stream of the waterfall that fell down to the Silver Bowl was the same as that which ran through the gorge where Turambar slew Glorund:
Here flowed that same stream that further down wound past the dragon’s lair [lair="the" place where he was lying] in a deep bed cloven deep into the earth (p. 105).
Thus Turambar and his companions, as he said,
will go down the rocks to the foot of the fall, and so gaining the path of the stream perchance we may come as nigh to the drake as may be (ibid.).
In the final story, on the other hand, the falling stream (Celebros) was a tributary of Teiglin; cf. the Narn p.127:
Now the river Teiglin…flowed down from Ered Wethrin swift as Narog, but at first between low shores, until after the Crossings, gathering power from other streams, it clove a way through the feet of the highlands upon which stood the Forest of Brethil. Thereafter it ran in deep ravines, whose great sides were like walls of rock, but pent at the bottom the waters flowed with great force and noise. And right in the path of Glaurung there lay now one of these gorges, by no means the deepest, but the narrowest, just north of the inflow of Celebros.
The pleasant place (‘a green sward where grew a wealth of flowers’) survived; cf. the Narn p. 123: ‘There was a wide greensward at the head of the falls, and birches grew
about it.’ So also did the ‘Silver Bowl’, though the name was lost: ‘the stream [Celebros] went over a lip of worn stone, and fell down by many foaming steps into a rocky bowl far below’ (Narn, ibid.; cf. the tale p. 105: ‘it fell over a great fall where the water-worn rock jutted smooth and grey from amid the grass’). The ‘little hill’ or ‘knoll’, ‘islanded among the trees’, from which Turambar and his companions looked out is not so described in the Narn, but the picture of a high place and lookout near the head of the falls remained, as may be seen from the statement in the Narn (p. 123) that from Nen Girith ‘there was a wide view towards the ravines of Teiglin’ later (Narn p. 128) it is said that it was Turambar’s intention to ‘ride to the high fall of Nen Girith…whence he could look far across the lands’, It seems certain, then, that the old image never faded, and was only a little changed.
While in both old and late accounts a great concourse of the people follow Turambar to the head of the falls against his bidding, in the late his motive for commanding them not to come is explicit: they are to remain in their homes and prepare for flight. Here on the other hand Níniel rides with Turambar to the head of Silver Bowl and says farewell to him there. But a detail of the old story survived: Turambar’s words to Níniel ‘Nor thou nor I die this day, nor yet tomorrow, by the evil of the dragon or by the foemen’s swords’ are closely paralleled by his words to her in the Narn (p. 129): ‘Neither you nor I shall be slain by this Dragon, nor by any foe of the North’ and in the one account Níniel ‘quelled her weeping and was very still’, while in the other she ‘ceased to weep and fell silent’. The situation is generally simpler in the tale, in that the Woodmen are scarcely characterised; ‘Tamar is not as Brandir the titular head of the people, and this motive for bitterness against ‘Turambar is absent, nor is there a Dorlas to insult him or a Hunthor to rebuke Dorlas. Tamar is however present with Níniel at the same point in the story, having girded himself with a sword: ‘and many scoffed at him for that’, just as it is afterwards said of Brandir that he had seldom done so before (Narn p. 132).
The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two Page 18