The Lord of the Rings: The Window on the West (Part Seven and Last)

The Tale

          Frodo is no longer sleepy and is willing to talk, telling many tales of their journey, steering away from the Ring and their mission but always emphasizing Boromir’s bravery and his part in the quest. He tells Faramir that his brother was so valiant as to be the last to leave the bridge of Khazad-dum, because Aragorn was forced to lead the way out. Faramir wonders if it would have been better for Boromir to fall there than go to the fate that awaited him at Rauros Falls. He wonders again, what might have happened there?

          Frodo turns that thought aside, and asks him how things going with Gondor and Minas Tirith, ‘the long-enduring’?

Faramir doubts if they can meet this new challenge from Mordor, unless more help comes to them, from Elves or other Men. Although their kingdoms were founded by Elendil and the Numenoreans, they have dwindled since their days of glory. The Men of Gondor have never loved the Darkness or the ‘evil arts’, but they still carry the infection that caused the downfall of Numenor in the old days: they ‘hungered after endless life unchanging.’

‘Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in cold high towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anarion had no heir.’

But the Line of Stewards that ruled after them were wiser and made peace and alliances with ‘the proud peoples of the North’, the Rohirrim, their ‘kin from afar off,’ like the Numenoreans one of the Three Houses of Men who fought Morgoth in the First Age, but who had never gone to the West, the Middle Peoples, Men of the Twilight.

‘For so we reckon Men in our lore, calling them the High, or Men of the West, which were Numenoreans; and the Middle Peoples, Men of the Twilight, such as are the Rohirrim and their kin that dwell still far off in the North, and the Wild, the Men of Darkness,’ such as ‘the wild Easterlings or the cruel Haradrim.’

But it is not so much a ‘racial’ division as a cultural one. The Gondoreans have been slipping from the ‘High’ into the ‘Twilight’ themselves; where the Rohirrim have been enhanced with arts and gentleness, the men of Gondor have come to see war and valor as an end to themselves, almost as a sport, and warriors are esteemed above men of other craft. Because Boromir was a hardy and valiant ‘man of prowess’ he was seen as the best man in Gondor. Faramir sighs and falls silent.

          Sam, who has warmed up to Faramir because he has referred to the Elves with reverence, asks him why he has not said much about the Elves. Faramir replies that he is no master of Elven-lore, and that’s another sign of Gondor’s decline. In the old days their fathers fought beside the Elves against Morgoth and so were rewarded with the island of Numenor. But since coming back to Middle-earth they have become more estranged from the Elder People, and fear and misdoubt them, like the Rohirrim. Though there are still some who go in secret in search of Lothlorien, though few return. Faramir himself thinks it dangerous for mortal men to seek the Elves now, though he envies them for having spoken with the White Lady.

The Lady Galadriel! The subject sets Sam off into poetic rhapsodies. ‘Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like a white daffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di’monds, soft as moonlight.  Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far-off as a snow-mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in springtime.’ Faramir remarks she must be lovely; indeed, perilously fair. Sam replies fair, yes, but only perilous because she’s so strong: you could wreck yourself on her like a ship on a rock, but it wouldn’t say it’s the rock’s fault. ‘Now, Boro –‘. Sam stops and turns red.

Faramir presses him. Would Sam say Boromir took his peril with him?

Sam begs his pardon and says Boromir was a fine man, but Sam watched him – just looking after his master and meaning nothing against him – since Rivendell, but he believes that is in Lorien that Boromir first faced his desires, that he wanted the Enemy’s Ring!

“Sam!’ Frodo is aghast. He’s been deep in his own thoughts, but Sam’s words have snapped him out of it. Sam goes white, realizing he’s done, then goes red and stands to face Faramir. Sam says he’s been a fool, but that’s no reason for Faramir to take advantage of them. He’s been talking very well, but handsome is as handsome does. ‘Now’s the chance to show your quality.’

Faramir answers him slowly and softly. So that’s the answer to all the riddles: the One Ring! Boromir tried to take it, they escaped him, and ran all the way into his arms! Here they are at his mercy. He stands up straight and tall, grey eyes glinting. The hobbits spring up in alarm, backs to the wall, hands going to their sword hilts. All the men in the cave stop and watch them in wonder.

But Faramir begins to laugh softly and sits down again. Then he becomes grave. ‘Alas for Boromir! It was too sore a trial!’ But Faramir will hold to his given word, though he didn’t know it was the Ring when he said ‘Not if I found it on the highway would I take it.’ He tells Sam to be at peace, for it was alright for him to reveal this thing and it may help his master in the long run. As for Faramir, he won’t even name ‘this thing’ again.

Things settle down again around them, and the hobbits sit. Faramir marvels that Frodo can carry ‘this thing’ with him and not use it; Hobbits are new to him, and he wonders what their land is like. Are they all like these two? Surely gardeners like Sam must be highly prized! But now they must rest, and he must sit and watch and think how best to help them on their way.

Frodo is overwhelmed with weariness after the shock of Sam’s slip-up. He can resist no more. He tells Faramir of their complete mission: to return the Ring to Mount Doom and destroy it. ‘I do not think I shall ever get there.’ Faramir gazes at him in silent astonishment, then Frodo sways, falling asleep. The man catches him and puts him to bed.

Sam hesitates a moment before following suit, then bows to Faramir. He took the test and showed his quality: the very highest. Faramir replies that praise from the praiseworthy is above all rewards. He is merely keeping his word. There was no lure to do otherwise.

‘Ah well, sir,’ said Sam, ‘you said my master had an elvish air … you have an air too, that reminds me of, of – well, Gandalf, of wizards.’

‘Maybe,’ said Faramir. ‘Maybe you discern from far away the air of Numenor. Good night!’

 

Bits and Bobs

I began this chapter back in January, but here we are at the end of it at last. Faramir gives much of the history of Gondor in brief, including the decay and degeneration that they’ve inherited from Numenor, the lust for ever more life beyond their natural bounds, the same sort of desire that fuels the modern quest for transhumanism, for the so-called ‘Singularity’ where artificial intelligence will merge with the human mind and become functionally immortal.

This is also the section that is most often quoted by those who hold that Tolkien and his work is racist. This division into High, Middle, and ‘Dark’ might seem so at first glance, but is more like classifying civilizations into Iron, Bronze, and Stone. It is their development that defines them, and they can be judged on a sliding scale. Gondor is slipping from the High. Men of the Dark are not so because of their skin color but because of their distance from and rejection of the Light from the Valar and the Elves.

Sam is full of his rusticisms and folk wisdom, using ‘daffadowndilly’ for daffodil and pronouncing 'di'monds' for diamonds, and phrases like the Gaffer’s ‘Whenever you open your big mouth you put your foot in it’ and ‘handsome is as handsome does.’ Do I need to note that handsome here is used in the sense of ‘high substantial quality’ and not merely good looks? He also comments after his praise of Galadriel that it needs a real poet – he’s only good for ‘a bit of comic rhyme.’ I love that later Faramir compliments him with the phrase ‘the praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards.’ Faramir, too, knows quality when he sees it.

Not like movie Faramir at all.