The Tale of the Children of Húrin has, rather fairly, earned a reputation as being the grimmest and saddest of all Tolkien’s stories. Indeed, its presence in a mythological world permeated by the eucatastrophe may seem incongruous to first-time readers, used to the inherent hope and joy of Arda (and perhaps not yet cognizant of just how deeply tragic and bittersweet it often proves). The implications of its unyielding tragedy, of Túrin and the potentiality of his free will, and the justifiability of the various choices he makes along his long and destructive road are all themes that have been dealt with by many many fine scholars and authors, and so there is little need for me to relitigate any of this material here!
However, I was rereading it recently (specifically, the version of the tale presented in Unfinished Tales, arguably the best-realised single attempt at the story by JRR) and was struck by an extremely early passage in the tale, in which the young Túrin is gifted a knife for his birthday by his parents. The episode might be seen as chiefly serving the relationship between Túrin and Sador, the lamed servant of Húrin, but I noticed a few extremely compelling additional details within the event that I believe inform the overall story.
For the sake of ease, the bulk of the passage is quoted below:
On the morning of Túrin’s birthday Húrin gave his son a gift, an Elf-wrought knife, and the hilt and the sheath were silver and black; and he said: “Heir of the House of Hador, here is a gift for the day. But have a care! It is a bitter blade, and steel serves only those that can wield it. It will cut your hand as willingly as aught else.”
………
Then Túrin ran from the room and went away alone, and in his heart there was a warmth like the warmth of the sun upon the cold earth that sets growth astir. … And he went to Sador and cried: “Labadal, it is my birthday, the birthday of the heir of the House of Hador! And I have brought you a gift to mark the day. Here is a knife, just such as you need; it will cut anything that you wish, as fine as a hair.”
Then Sador was troubled, for he knew well that Túrin had himself received the knife that day; but men held it a grievous thing to refuse a free-given gift from any hand. He spoke then to him gravely: “You come of a generous kin, Túrin son of Húrin. I have done nothing to equal your gift, and I cannot hope to do better in the days that are left to me; but what I can do, I will.” And when Sador drew the knife from the sheath he said: “This is a gift indeed: a blade of elven steel. Long have I missed the feel of it.”
Húrin soon marked that Túrin did not wear the knife, and he asked him whether his warning had made him fear it. Then Túrin answered: “No; but I gave the knife to Sador the woodwright.”
“Do you then scorn your father’s gift?” said Morwen; and again Túrin answered: “No; but I love Sador, and I feel pity for him.”
Then Húrin said: “All three gifts were your own to give, Túrin: love, pity, and the knife the least.”
“Yet I doubt if Sador deserves them,” said Morwen. “He is self-maimed by his own want of skill, and he is slow with his tasks, for he spends much time on trifles unbidden.”
“Give him pity nonetheless,” said Húrin. “An honest hand and a true heart may hew amiss; and the harm may be harder to bear than the work of a foe.”
“But you must wait now for another blade,” said Morwen. “Thus the gift shall be a true gift and at your own cost.”
Nonetheless Túrin saw that Sador was treated more kindly thereafter, and was set now to the making of a great chair for the lord to sit on in his hall.
‘Narn i Hîn Húrin’ from ‘Unfinished Tales’ by J.R.R. Tolkienn
There are several things that I think are well worth observing in this sequence, not the least of which being the (to my mind) very clear illustration of Túrin’s character. Túrin, in giving the knife to Sador, demonstrates both a kindness and nobility of spirit, and a lack of forethought and care for consequence. One could say that he does the wrong thing, but for (some of) the right reasons. Húrin’s admonishment (“the knife the least”) is both an acknowledgement of Túrin’s having been within his rights to give away the knife, whilst also having done ill in failing to cherish the gift granted.
It may seem somewhat unfair to draw comparison between the child Túrin and the man he will mature into, but I think there’s something to be gained from it, too. For this habitual doing the wrong thing for the right reasons is a tendency that will haunt Túrin right up until his tragic end. Granted, a child should not necessarily ‘know better’ and an adult really should, and so it is uncharitable to think unkindly of Túrin in this moment. (Though also, one could argue that this observation is thus not a criticism of young Túrin for acting like the mature Túrin; rather, it reflects ill on Túrin that in his manhood he persists in making childish misjudgements!)
The broader point, though, is that this episode reveals Túrin’s habitual spontaneity and lack of thought, yet there is also a crucial and fascinating difference to be observed…not in the deed of the gifting itself, but in the consequences of the deed. Good comes of Túrin’s childish mistake. Sador is treated with greater love, is granted recognition through Túrin’s affection for him, and is set to a task both of high honour and within his craft.
Good, coming of error. This, of course, is a near-constant theme and pattern within Tolkien’s works, and his philosophies, as memorably expounded in Ainulindalë through Eru Ilúvatar’s statement that all “shall prove but mine instrument.” In the Legendarium, good often arises from evil in the latter’s despite.
Often. Yet not inevitably. For if there is any tale in which evil begets ever greater evil, it is The Children of Húrin. Over and over again, Túrin does the right thing, only for it to turn to ill…or he does the wrong thing, and things become much wronger…or he commits some understandable mistake whilst lacking necessary information and, y’know, marries his sister. Over and over again, Túrin makes rash and immature decisions that lead to further catastrophe.
Yet not here. In gifting the knife to Sador (admittedly, a very small “mistake”) Túrin brings about some little good. It’s a unique moment within the overall tale, and thus worthy of recognition. And of course, this episode occurs prior to the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Húrin’s capture, and the curse of Morgoth.
Then wrath mastered Morgoth, and he said: “Yet I may come at you, and all your accursed house; and you shall be broken on my will, though you all were made of steel.” And he took up a long sword that lay there and broke it before the eyes of Húrin, and a splinter wounded his face; but Húrin did not blench. Then Morgoth stretching out his long arm towards Dor-lómin cursed Húrin and Morwen and their offspring, saying: “Behold! The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world.”
Narn i Hîn Húrin
And in reinforcement of Morgoth’s new-declared curse and its weight upon the house of Húrin, there’s a single, easily missed passage in the following section, as Morwen prepares to send Túrin away to dwell in Doriath.
“But I shall leave you only with Sador, and blind Ragnir, and the old women,” said Túrin. “Did not my father say that I am the heir of Hador? The heir should stay in Hador’s house to defend it. Now I wish that I still had my knife!”
Narn i Hîn Húrin
Now I wish that I still had my knife. Suddenly, that simple noble and misinformed gesture of Túrin has led him to regret. Suddenly, he rues the small consequence of this small deed. And, of course, he now lies under the curse of Morgoth.
The exact nature of Morgoth’s curse is not an easy thing to parse, and I will not add to far superior material written concerning the question! But most Tolkien readers can at least agree that it is in some way tangible, that Morgoth’s dreadful power shapes the course of Túrin’s life and deeds. Indeed, the part of the tale immediately following Húrin’s capture, when Túrin is sent away to Doriath, concludes with the statement that “This was the first of the sorrows of Túrin.” It is not difficult to infer that Morgoth’s influence – both material and metaphysical – is the cause of that initial sorrow.
And, while the knife itself plays only a small role in that sorrow, I do think it’s a highly notable part, for the manner in which it twists from joy to regret. Túrin’s giving of the knife is in many ways consistent with the later errors of judgement that will define his life. Yet it is not until after Morgoth’s curse that Túrin rues his giving of it.
There’s another, perhaps more readily perceivable (on at least one layer) element to the knife and its broader relevance to Túrin’s life – namely, his father’s warning concerning it being a “bitter blade…that will cut your hand as willingly as aught else.” These words clearly, I think, anticipate Túrin’s own death on his own sword at the tragic conclusion of the tale.
Then he drew forth his sword, and said: “Hail Gurthang, iron of death, thou alone now remainest! But what lord or loyalty dost thou know, save the hand that wieldeth thee? From no blood wilt thou shrink! Wilt thou take Túrin Turambar? Wilt thou slay me swiftly?”
And from the blade rang a cold voice in answer: “Yea, I will drink thy blood, that I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay thee swiftly.”
Then Túrin set the hilts upon the ground, and cast himself upon the point of Gurthang, and the black blade took his life.
Narn i Hîn Húrin
The immediate correspondence is, I believe, plain to see. In giving the knife, Húrin observes that the “bitter blade” will “cut [Túrin’s] hand as willingly as aught else,” an observation marked and alluded to in Túrin’s ruinous words concerning Gurthang’s lack of lord or loyalty. This, at least, is not a difficult observation to make.
But I think there’s an additional, rather more interesting connection as well between Húrin’s warning and Túrin’s death; namely, Húrin’s warning to his son that the steel will serve only those who can wield it. This comment is fascinating to me in light of Túrin’s ultimate conversation with Gurthang.
For though Túrin does slay himself on his own sword, he does not seem to grant himself any agency in the doing of it. In asking Gurthang whether the sword will slay him, Túrin is denying himself the agency or authority of carrying out the deed himself. In other words, Túrin is in this moment so utterly powerless, so fully ruined and devoid of agency (or at least he perceives himself to be so) that he lacks even the power to direct his sword as he will. He is able to question the sword itself, and for the sword to accord with his own suicidal wish, but the fact of his posing the question at all reveals Túrin to be in this moment utterly incapable of realising his own will.
Whether Túrin is right in this belief is a question that need not be dealt with here. Likewise, whether Gurthang genuinely makes answer or if it is some figment or fantasy of the despairing Túrin is irrelevant. And, of course, it is self-evident that Túrin must feel himself powerless, feel that death is the best option, for him to elect to slay himself. But in light of his father’s comment concerning the ‘power’ inherent in the wielding of a blade, I think it’s fascinating to observe how Túrin denies himself agency in this moment (whether rightly or wrongly). If he were able to wield Gurthang himself, that would represent an actuality that Túrin genuinely believes he has lost. Hence, he surrenders agency to the sword, unable to himself wield the blade in fulfilment of his father’s words many years prior.
Somehow, I suspect that there may well be more to discuss concerning the gifted knife. It is, I think, an element of the tale that is often passed over in analyses (at least those that I am familiar with!), and not without reason, for there’s much that is worthwhile and complex to assess in The Children of Húrin. But I think the knife passage is itself fascinating for what it reveals of Túrin’s character and the interplay between that and Morgoth’s curse. And I do believe that Húrin’s paternal words of simple warning take on a far darker resonance, given not only Túrin’s death on the point of his own cold iron, but his utter despairing lack of agency in that tragic and disturbing moment.
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