of Helkaraksë and of Qerkaringa).
6 For the path down from Mandos, the black ship Mornië, and its journey down the coast to Arvalin, see p. 77, 90 ff.
7 Turondo or Turgon, son of Nólemë, has been named previously, p. 155.
8 The reading Hanstovánen is slightly uncertain, and another name ‘or…… Morniën’ follows it. See under ‘Changes made to names’ below.
9 After the word ‘dwelling’ there is a space left for the insertion of an Elvish name.
10 MS Qerkaringa unemended, but clearly the western promontory (the Icefang) is referred to, and I therefore read Helkaraksë in the text (see note 5).
Changes made to names in
The Flight of the Noldoli
Helkaraksë < Qerkaringa (for the details of, and the explanation of this change see note 5 above).
Arvalin < Habbanan.
Amnos < Emnon < Morniento.
Hanstovánen The name of ‘the beaching place of Mornië’ was first written Morniëlta (last letters uncertain), then Vane (or Vone) Hansto; this latter was not struck out, but the form in the text (which may also be read as Hanstovánen) seems to be the final one. After Hanstovánen follows ‘or……Morniën’.
Commentary on
The Flight of the Noldoli
In this ‘tale’ (in reality the conclusion of the long tale of ‘The Theft of Melko and the Darkening of Valinor’ told by Lindo and finished by Rümil) is found the oldest account of the departure of the Gnomes out of Valinor. Here the Gods continue the vain pursuit and search long after Melko has escaped, and moreover are aided in it by the Eldar (including the Solosimpi, who as the later Teleri portrayed in The Silmarillion would hardly have left their shores and their ships). Fëanor’s return to Kôr and his haranguing of the Noldoli (and, in this account, others) by the light of their torches is seen to be an original feature; but his sons have not yet appeared, nor indeed any of the Noldorin princes descended from Finwë save Turondo (Turgon), of whom it is specifically stated (p. 167) that he was ‘not yet upon the Earth’. There is no Oath of Fëanor, and the later story of the divided counsels of the Noldor appears only in the attempt of Nólemë (Finwë) to calm the people—Nólemë thus playing the later part of Finarfin (The Silmarillion p. 83). In The Silmarillion, after the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and the Prophecy of the North, Finarfin and many of his people returned to Valinor and were pardoned by the Valar (p. 88); but here those few who went back found there was no welcome for them, or else ‘Mandos has them’ (p. 168).
In the rejected section given on p. 163, which was replaced by the account of the battle of Kópas Alqualunten, the reference to ‘those deeds which afterwards the Noldoli most bitterly rued’ must be simply to the theft of the ships of the Solosimpi, since there is no suggestion of any worse actions (in the replacement passage almost the same words are used of the Kinslaying). The actual emergence of the idea that the Noldoli were guilty of worse than theft at Kópas is seen in a note in the little book (see p. 23) that my father used to jot down thoughts and suggestions—many of these being no more than single sentences, or mere isolated names, serving as reminders of work to be done, stories to be told, or changes to be made. This note reads:
The wrath of the Gods and Elves very great—even let some Noldoli slay some Solosimpi at Kópas—and let Ulmo plead for them (? if Ulmo so fond of the Solosimpi).
This was struck through and marked ‘done’, and the recommendation here that Ulmo should plead for the Noldoli is found in the tale of The Hiding of Valinor (p. 209).
In the description of Kópas the ‘mighty arch of living stone’ survived into the ‘arch of living rock sea-carved’ in the much briefer description of Alqualondë in The Silmarillion (p. 61); and we see here the reason for the Haven’s being ‘lit with many lamps’ (ibid.)—because little light came there from the Two Trees on account of the rock-wall around it (though the darkness of Alqualondë is implied by the statement in The Silmarillion that it ‘lay upon the confines of Eldamar, north of the Calacirya, where the light of the stars was bright and clear’).
The events at the Haven were differently conceived in detail from the later story, but still with much general agreement; and though the storm raised by Uinen (ibid. p. 87) does not appear in the original version, the picture of the Noldoli journeying northward some along the shore and some in the vessels remained.
There are interesting indications of the geography of the northern regions. There is no suggestion of a great wasteland (later Araman) between the northern Mountains of Valinor and the sea, a conclusion reached earlier (p. 83), and supported incidentally by the accounts of the steep path from Mandos in the mountains down to the beaching place of the black ship Mornië (p. 77, 167). The name Helkaraksë, ‘Icefang’, first appearing in emendations to the text and given to the neck or promontory running out from the western land, was afterwards re-applied to what is here called Qerkaringa, the strait filled with ice-floes that ‘grind and crash together’ but this was when the Helcaraxë, ‘the Grinding Ice’, had come to have a quite different geographical significance in the much more sophisticated world-picture that my father evolved during the next ‘phase’ of the mythology.
In The Silmarillion (p. 87) there is a suggestion that the speaker of the Prophecy of the North was Mandos himself ‘and no lesser herald of Manwë’, and its gravity, indeed its centrality in the mythology, is far greater; here there is no suggestion of a ‘doom’ or ‘curse’, but only a foretelling. This foretelling included the dark words ‘Great is the fall of Gondolin’. In the tale of The Fall of Gondolin (but in an interpolated sentence very possibly later than the present tale) Turgon, standing upon the stairs of his palace amid the destruction of the city, uttered these same words, ‘and men shuddered, for such were the words of Amnon the prophet of old’. Here Amnon (rather than Amnos as in the present text, itself an emendation from Emnon) is not a place but a person (the servant of Vefántur who uttered the prophecy?). In the little notebook referred to above occurs the following jotting:
Prophecy of Amnon. Great is the fall of Gondolin. Lo Turgon shall not fade till the lily of the valley fadeth.
In some other notes for the Lost Tales this takes the form:
Prophecy of Amnon. ‘Great is the fall of Gondolin’ and ‘When the lily of the valley withers then shall Turgon fade’.
In these notes Amnon might be either place or person. The ‘lily of the valley’ is Gondolin itself, one of whose Seven Names was Losengriol, later Lothengriol, which is translated ‘flower of the vale or lily of the valley’.
There is an interesting statement in the old story (p. 166) that the Noldoli would never have passed the ice if they had yet been subject to the ‘weariness, sickness, and the many weaknesses that after became their lot dwelling far from Valinor’, but ‘still was the blessed food of the Gods and their drink rich in their veins and they were half-divine’. This is echoed in the words of The Silmarillion (p. 90) that the Noldor were ‘but new-come from the Blessed Realm, and not yet weary with the weariness of Earth’. On the other hand it was specifically said in the Prophecy of the North (ibid. p. 88) that ‘though Eru appointed you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be,’ &c.
Of the treachery of the Fëanorians, sailing away in the ships and leaving the host of Fingolfin on the shores of Araman, there is of course in the old story no trace; but the blaming of Fëanor was already present (‘the Tents of Murmuring’, p. 168). It is a remarkable aspect of the earliest version of the mythology that while so much of the narrative structure was firm and was to endure, the later ‘genealogical’ structure had scarcely emerged. Turgon existed as the son of (Finwë) Nólemë, but there is no suggestion that Fëanor was close akin to the lord of the Noldoli, and the other princes, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Fingon, Felagund, do not appear at all, in any form, or by any name.
VIII
THE TALE OF THE SUN AND MOON
The Tale of the Sun and Moon is introduced by an �
��Interlude’ (as it is called in the manuscript) in which there appears, as a guest at Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva, one Gilfanon of Tavrobel. This interlude exists also in a rejected earlier version.
The tale itself is for most of its length a manuscript in ink over an erased pencilled original, but towards its end (see note 19) it becomes a primary manuscript in ink with the pencilled draft extant in another book.
The Tale of the Sun and Moon is very long, and I have shortened it in places in brief paraphrase, without omitting any detail of interest. (A note of my father’s refers to this tale as ‘in need of great revision, cutting-down, and [?reshaping]’.)
Gilfanon a · Davrobel
Now it is not to be thought that as Eriol hearkened to many tales which spake of divers sorrows of the Elves that the thirst for limpë grew less within him, for it was not so, and ever as the throng sat about the Tale-fire he was an eager questioner, seeking to learn all the history of the folk even down to those days that then were, when the elfin people dwelt again together in the isle.
Knowing now therefore something of the glorious fashion of their ancient home and of the splendour of the Gods, he pondered often on the coming of the days of Sunlight and of Moonsheen, and of the doings of the Elves in the world without, and of their adventures there with Men ere Melko compassed their estrangement; wherefore one night he said, sitting before the Tale-fire: ‘Whence be the Sun and Moon, O Lindo? For as yet have I heard only of the Two Trees and their sad fading, but of the coming of Men, or of the deeds of the Elves beyond Valinor has no one told me.’
Now there happened that night to be present a guest both at their board and at their tale-telling, and his name was Gilfanon, and all named him beside Gilfanon a · Davrobel,1 for he came from that region of the isle where stands cthe Tower of Tavrobel beside the rivers,2 and about it dwelt the Gnome-folk still as one people, naming the places in their own tongue. That region was Gilfanon wont to name the fairest of all the isle, and the Gnome-kin its best folk, albeit ere the coming of the folk thither long had he dwelt away from the Noldoli, faring with Ilkorins in Hisilómë and Artanor,3 and thereto had he become as few Elves did a great friend and companion of the Children of Men of those days. To their legends and their memories he added his own knowledge, for he had been deep-versed in many lores and tongues once in the far days of Kôr, and experience had he beside of many very ancient deeds, being indeed one of the oldest of the fairies4 and the most aged that now dwelt in the isle, albeit Meril held the title of Lady of the Isle by reason of her blood.
Therefore said Lindo now, answering Eriol: ‘Behold, Gilfanon here can tell thee much of such matters, and it were well if you fared hence away with him to sojourn awhile in Tavrobel.—Nay, look not thus,’ he laughed, seeing Eriol’s face, ‘for we do not banish thee yet—but of a sooth he who would drink of limpë were wise first to seek the guestkindliness of Gilfanon, in whose ancient house—the House of the Hundred Chimneys, that stands nigh the bridge of Tavrobel5—may many things be heard of both past and that are to come.’
‘Methinks,’ said Gilfanon to Eriol, ‘that Lindo seeks to rid himself of two guests at once; howso he may not do so yet, for I purpose to stay in Kortirion a sennight yet, and moreover to feast at his good board meanwhile, and stretch me by the Tale-fire too—thereafter maybe thou and I will fare away and thou shalt see the full loveliness of the fairies’ isle—but now let Lindo raise up his voice and tell us yet more of the splendour of the Gods and their works, a theme that never wearies him!’
At that was Lindo well-pleased, for of a truth he loved to tell such tales and sought often an occasion for recalling them, and said he: ‘Then will I tell the story of the Sun and Moon and of the Stars, that Eriol may hearken to his desire,’ and Eriol was well pleased, but Gilfanon said: ‘Speak on, my Lindo—yet lengthen not the tale for ever.’
Then did Lindo lift up his voice,6 and it was the most pleasant to hearken to of all tale-tellers, and he said:*
‘A tale I tell of that time of the first flight of the Gnomes, and behold they are but newly fled. Now came that grievous news to the Gods and the other Elves, and at first none believed. Nonetheless the tidings came still unto them, and by many different messengers. Some were of the Teleri, who had heard the speech of Fëanor in the square of Kôr and had seen the Noldoli depart thence with all the goods they might convey; others were of the Solosimpi, and these brought the dire tidings of the swanships’ rape and the dread kinslaughter of the Haven, and the blood that lay on the white shores of Alqaluntë.
Lastly came some hotfoot from Mandos who had gazed upon that sad throng nigh the strands of Amnor, and the Gods knew that the Gnomes were far abroad, and Varda and all the Elves wept, for now seemed the darkness black indeed and that more than the outward light of the fair Trees was slain.
Strange is to tell that albeit Aulë had loved the Noldoli above all the Elves and had taught them all they knew and given them great stores of wealth, now was his heart most turned against them, for he deemed them ingrate in that they had bidden him no farewell, and for their ill deeds among the Solosimpi he was grieved to the heart. “Speak not,” said he, “the name of the Noldoli ever again unto me,” and albeit he gave still his love to those few faithful Gnomes who remained still about his halls, yet did he name them thereafter “Eldar”.
But the Teleri and the Solosimpi having wept at first, when the onslaught of the Haven became known to all dried their tears and horror and anguish held their hearts, and they too spake seldom of the Noldoli, save sadly or in whispers behind closed doors; and those few of the Noldoli that remained behind were named the Aulenossë or kindred of Aulë, or were taken into the other kindreds, and the Gnome-folk has no place or name remaining now in all Valinor.
Now is it to tell that after a great while it seemed to Manwë that the hunt of the Gods availed nothing, and that surely Melko is now escaped out of Valinor; wherefore he sent Sorontur into the world, and Sorontur came not back for long, and still Tulkas and many others ranged the land, but Manwë stood beside the darkened Trees and his heart was very heavy as he pondered deep and gloomily, but at that time could he see little light of hope. Suddenly there is a sound of wings in that place, for Sorontur King of Eagles is come again on strong wings through the dusk, and behold alighting on the boughs of darkened Silpion he tells how Melko is now broken into the world and many evil spirits are gathered to him: “but,” quoth he, “methinks never more will Utumna open unto him, and already is he busy making himself new dwellings in that region of the North where stand the Iron Mountains very high and terrible to see. Yet O Manwë Lord of the Air, other tidings have I also for thy ear, for lo! as I winged my way homeward hither over the black seas and over the unkindly lands a sight I saw of greatest wonder and amaze: a fleet of white ships that drifted empty in the gales, and some were burning with bright fires, and as I marvelled behold I saw a great concourse of folk upon the shores of the Great Lands, and they gazed all westward, but some were still wandering in the ice—for know, this was at that place where are the crags of Helkaraksë and the murderous waters of Qerkaringa flowed of old, which now are stopped with ice. Swooping methought I heard the sound of wailing and of sad words spoken in the Eldar tongue; and this tale do I bring to thee for thy unravelling.”
But Manwë knew thereby that the Noldoli were gone for ever and their ships burned or abandoned, and Melko too was in the world, and the hunt of no avail; and belike it is in memory of those deeds that it has ever been a saying in the mouths of Elves and Men that those burn their boats who put all hope from them of change of mind or counsel. Therefore now Manwë lifted up his unmeasurable voice calling to the Gods, and all those about the wide lands of Valinor hearkened and returned.
There first came Tulkas weary and dust-covered, for none had leapt about that plain as he. Seven times had he encompassed all its width and thrice had he scaled the mountain-wall, and all those measureless slopes and pastures, meads and forests, he had traversed, burnt by his desire to pu
nish the spoiler of Valinor. There came Lórien and leaned against the withered bole of Silpion, and wept the wrack of his quiet gardens by the trampling hunt; there too was Meássë and with her Makar, and his hand was red for he had come upon twain of Melko’s comrades as they fled, and he slew them as they ran, and he alone had aught of joy in those ill times. Ossë was there and his beard of green was torn and his eyes were dim, and he gasped leaning on a staff and was very much athirst, for mighty as he was about the seas and tireless, such desperate travail on the bosom of Earth spent his vigour utterly.
Salmar and Ómar stood by and their instruments of music made no sound and they were heavy of heart, yet not so bitterly as was Aulë, lover of the earth and of all things made or gained by good labour therefrom, for of all the Gods he had loved Valmar most wholly and Kôr and all their treasures, and the smile of the fair plains without, and its ruin cut his heart. With him was Yavanna, Earth-queen, and she had hunted with the Gods and was spent; but Vána and Nessa wept as maidens still beside the founts of gold Kulullin.
Ulmo alone came not to the Trees, but went down to the beach of Eldamar, and there he stood gazing into the gloom far out to sea, and he called often with his most mighty voice as though he would draw back those truants to the bosom of the Gods, and whiles he played deep longing music on his magic conches, and to him alone, lest it be7 Varda lady of the stars, was the going of the Gnomes a greater grief than even the ruin of the Trees. Aforetime had Ulmo loved the Solosimpi very dearly, yet when he heard of their slaughter by the Gnomes he grieved indeed but anger hardened not his heart, for Ulmo was foreknowing more than all the Gods, even than great Manwë, and perchance he saw many of the things that should spring from that flight and the dread pains of the unhappy Noldoli in the world, and the anguish wherewith they would expiate the blood of Kópas, and he would that it need not be.
The Book of Lost Tales, Part One Page 24