Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun

(avg. read time: 7–14 mins.)

I will eventually return in this series to comment on the twelve volumes of The History of Middle-earth. Before that, though, I want to focus on some of Tolkien’s lesser-known works, such as his continuations of medieval works or translations of the same. These entries will be akin to what I have addressed in the following cases:

Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Beowulf, Part 1

Biblical and Theological Commentary on Tolkien’s Beowulf, Part 2

Biblical and Theological Commentary on The Battle of Maldon and The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, Beorhthelm’s Son

Biblical and Theological Commentary on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Pearl

Biblical and Theological Commentary on the Old English Exodus

Similarly, one should see Tolkien’s famous essay, particularly for how it presents the “monsters” in Beowulf and the era it represents: Biblical and Theological Commentary on “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics”

Today, I am focusing on Tolkien’s Lay of Aotrou and Itroun from 1930. The titular characters of this poem are “Lord” and “Lady” in their Breton equivalents. The title also entails that it is written in the fashion of a medieval “lay,” as some of his stories of Arda would be. The volume dedicated to the same also features his precursor “Corrigan” poems.¹

Theological Framework and Prayer

The tale as a whole is set in the framework of a Christian kingdom dealing with lingering demons that held dominion in the pagan past. This is exemplified by the Corrigan, a fairy of the Celtic world who was malevolent and sometimes represented as being a seductive female. In any case, she represented the cost of resorting to magic to solve life’s problems. We have discussed the references to magic in Tolkien’s stories elsewhere (see especially here, here, and here), but this story is less ambiguous in its negative presentation of the same. Magic here is more like how it is presented in Letter #131 as a way of illicitly transgressing creaturely limitations. In describing his mythology, Tolkien said it fundamentally conveys and addresses the problem of the relationship between Art (and sub-creation) and Primary Reality, he divided this fundamental concern into three categories of problems: Fall, Mortality, and Machine:

With Fall inevitably, and that motive occurs in several modes. With Mortality, especially as it affects art and the creative (or as I should say, sub-creative) desire which seems to have no biological function, and to be apart from the satisfactions of plain ordinary biological life, with which, in our world, it is indeed usually at strife. This desire is at once wedded to a passionate love of the real primary world, and hence filled with the sense of mortality, and yet unsatisfied by it. It has various opportunities of ‘Fall’. It may become possessive, clinging to the things made as its own, the sub-creator wishes to be the Lord and God of his private creation. He will rebel against the laws of the Creator – especially against mortality. Both of these (alone or together) will lead to the desire for Power, for making the will more quickly effective, – and so the Machine (or Magic). By the last I intend all use of external plans or devices (apparatus) instead of developments of the inherent inner powers or talents – or even the use of these talents with the corrupted motive of dominating: bulldozing the real world, or coercing other wills. The Machine is our more obvious modern form though more closely related to Magic than is usually recognised.

Likewise, biblical prohibitions against sorcery involved going beyond any inherent powers on the part of humans in appeal to and attempted manipulation (using formulae and divine names) of other supernormal powers to transgress creaturely limitations, rather than going to God in prayer. It was usually done as a shortcut or workaround to achieving one’s own ends and in one’s own sense of the proper time, rather than waiting upon the Lord, seeking his will, and waiting for his timing, all of which are essential exercises of faith, as we see throughout the Bible. Magic in this framework is a two-faced form of idolatry and pride. On the one hand, one generally seeks a power apart from God to accomplish a given purpose, either because they know it is improper to ask this of God or because they expect better, quicker results by going to another power than the one God they are supposed to worship. On the other hand, even as it involves appeal to another god or other power as the supposedly more dependable power, magic also works on the presumed ability to manipulate the deity to one’s own ends. Sometimes this presumption even involves YHWH, as there are magical texts that include this name. As such, magic operates on the conceit that one is not only appealing to a supernormal power, but that that power is to render service to oneself, and this for some purpose of transgressing creaturely limitation (a rather important theme for Tolkien, as examined in the series of commentaries on LOTR and The Silmarillion; also see here).

We see several prohibitions against such use and users of magic (Exod 22:18; Lev 19:26, 31; 20:6, 27; Deut 18:10–14). It was a sign of Israel’s faithlessness when they were found to be at work among the people (2 Kgs 9:22; 17:17; 21:6 // 2 Chr 33:6; 2 Kgs 23:24; cf. 1 Sam 15:23), and so they are condemned among the Prophets as well (Isa 2:6; 8:19–20; 44:25; 47:9, 12; Jer 14:14; 27:9; 29:8; Ezek 12:24; 13:6–9, 23; Mic 3:7; 5:12; Zech 10:2; Mal 3:5; cf. Isa 19:3; Nah 3:4). Of course, the most famous of these OT texts concerns the medium of En-dor in 1 Sam 28 (which I have commented on only briefly here). The condemnation of the same, as well as the opposition between these things and the way of God, carries over to the NT as well (Acts 8:9–11; 13:6–8; 16:16; 19:19; Gal 5:20; Rev 9:21; 18:23; 21:8; 22:15).

Aotrou, the titular lord of this story, finds a witch (only later revealed to be a Corrigan) to get her assistance for the infertility he and his wife face. Rather than remembering God’s past actions for some of the infertile, the promises for others, and accepting this as the will of God for now (if not permanently), he goes outside the covenantally proper means of addressing his problem. But because he takes this path, there is an added cost to doing so. The Corrigan will do as he wishes for a price that she will determine at a time of her choosing (p. 6).

She even works her magic so that Itroun gives birth to twin children. The people marvel at this fortune, though unaware of how it happened, as they reflect, “Would every prayer were answered twice / The half or nought must oft suffice / for humbler men, who wear their knees / more bare than lords, as oft one sees” (ll. 187–190, p. 10). Such can be the experience with prayer, hence one of the temptations to resort to illicit means like magic.

To use an excerpt of one of my books, I should note here that Tolkien writes such things, not only as a realistic reflection of how such characters could speak of prayer, but specifically as a praying man himself. Prayer would naturally be part of his regular Mass attendance and as part of a prescription for his confessions that he gave before receiving the Eucharist. More concretely, one of his earliest letters (Letter #5), shows Tolkien’s prayerful response to the death of his dear friend, Robert Gilson, in WW1. Aside from Letter #5, one can also find references to prayer in Tolkien’s correspondence in Letters #38a (July 1940), #42 (January 1941), #45 (June 1941), #53b (January 1944), #54 (January 1944), #64 (April 1944), #68 (May 1944), #89 (implicitly by reference to ritual; November 1944), #92 (December 1944), #94a (January 1945), #94c (January 1945), #96 (January 1945), #98a (April 1945), #99 (May 1945), #113 (Septuagesima [25 January] 1948), #115 (June 1948), #179a (December 1955), #191 (July 1956), #214a (February 1959), #214b (March 1959), #238 (July 1962), #242a (December 1962), #250 (November 1963), #306 (October 1968), #307a (December 1968) #310 (May 1969), #312 (November 1969), and #315 (January 1970). In Letter #54 he mentions a number of praises that he had learned and that he advised his son, Christopher, to learn while he was at war. Letter #113 also shows a keen attitude of repentance that comes from an experienced life of prayer and confession. Letter #191 specifically refers to the Lord’s Prayer.

On that note, one particularly amusing case of Tolkien praying was in an event related by George Sayer (a frequent source of stories about Tolkien). Tolkien visited George and Moira Sayer in 1952, and George showed him a tape recorder, which was a piece of technology completely alien to Tolkien. When he heard that it could record and play back voices, he joked that it sounded like the device was possessed. To perform an exorcism on it, he had Sayer record him saying the Lord’s Prayer in the dead language of Gothic, because why would he not?

He also discusses the topic of prayer in his fantasy in Letters #153, #156, #246, and #297. But as Tolkien himself lives at a later time than what he writes about (more on that in the next chapter), he had no trouble linking the prayers he knew with the languages of his fantasy outside the direct storytelling where traditional Christian prayers would be out of place. For example, outside of the scope of his stories, he translated the Lord’s Prayer/Pater Noster into his invented language of Quenya, a piece called Átaremma (“Our Father”). This went through at least six versions, which are published in the forty-third issue of Vinyar Tengwar. The final version is as follows:

Átaremma i ëa han ëa [who art beyond the universe]

na aire esselya,

aranielya na Tuluva,

na kare indómelya

cemende tambe Erumande.

Ámen anta sira ilaurëa massamma,

ar ámen apsene úcaremmar

siv’ emme apsenet tien i úcarer emmen.

Álame tulya úsahtienna

Mal áme etelehta ulcullo.

Násië.

(One should also note that he wrote Quenya translations of Ave Maria [Aia María; four versions], the Litany of Loreto [incomplete translation in Loreto], Sub Tumm Praesidium [Ortírielyanna], Gloria Patri [Alcar i Ataren], Gloria in Excelsis Deo [Alcar mi tarmenel na Erun], and a Sindarin translation of the Lord’s Prayer [Ae Adar Nín].)

Itroun likewise properly exemplifies a praying woman when she reflects with her husband, “‘Aotrou mine,’ she said, ‘’tis sweet / at last the heart’s desire to meet, / thus after waiting, after prayer, / thus after hope and nigh despair” (ll. 211–214; p. 10). She is unaware of the deal made with the Corrigan. But in her sincerity she does accurately articulate the experience of waiting for the Lord seen throughout the Bible and the extended history of faith, including in finally receiving what has long been prayed for.

Marks of Christendom

One day when Aotrou is out on a hunt, the Corrigan finds him and reveals herself. She now states the terms of her deal, demanding that Aotrou make love to her. Aotrou is thus put in a bind of either breaking his word as a noble knight or breaking his marriage vows to commit adultery with a supernatural abomination as payment for his illicit request. Aotrou chooses his marriage over his word to the Corrigan, and so the latter curses him to die in three days. He responds, “In three days I shall live at ease, / and die but when it God doth please / in eld, or in some time to come in the brave wars of Christendom” (ll. 337–340; p. 15).²

This is an explicit acknowledgment of the Christian era in which this poem is set and how at odds it is with the operations of the Corrigan. Aotrou rightly believes that God is the one in control of his fate, knowing his end from his beginning. However, Aotrou underestimates the severity of what he has done in his appealing to magic and a supernormal power in opposition to God. While the complex operations of Providence can sometimes avert disaster that otherwise seems inevitable, in this story, God does not prevent Aotrou from receiving the consequences of his actions any more than he prevented Israel from receiving the consequences of theirs that led to their exile. Aotrou does indeed die in three days (pp. 16–17). This is to serve an illustrative point of warning, lest reckless trafficking with the hostile powers be encouraged.

Additionally, some specific marks of this realm of Christendom should be noticed. One is the “sacring bell” sounded in the story (l. 350; p. 16). This is a bell Tolkien would have heard many times in his life as it is rung during the Elevation of the Host in Mass. When Aotrou’s corpse is laid to rest, the priests sing the Dirige, which is also featured as the closing of The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, Beorthelm’s Son. This chant entreats the Lord with the Latin mass of the Office of the Dead, including by invoking the words of Ps 5:7, 8, and 9. The wording is presented as the closing words of the latter story:

Dirige, Domine, in conspectu tuo viam meam. Introibo in domum tuam: adorabo ad templum sanctum tuum in timore tuo.

Domine, deduc me in iustitia tua: propter inimicos meos dirige in conspectu tuo viam meam.

Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto: sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum.

Dirige, Domine, in conspectu tuo viam meam.³

Of course, Itroun going to the church is also referenced (pp. 19–20). There is even a reference to the custom of “churching” (l. 459; p. 20), which has most often meant thanksgiving for surviving childbirth. But her own last narrated appearance at church is for her husband’s funeral, and she eventually dies of a broken heart.

The Conclusion

That brings us to the concluding lines of the poem:

Of lord and lady all is said:

God rest their souls, who now are dead!

Sad is the note and sad the lay,

but mirth we meet not every day.

God keep us all in hope and prayer

from evil rede and from despair,

by waters blest of Christendom

to dwell, until at last we come

to joy of Heaven where is queen

the maiden Mary pure and clean. (ll. 497–506; p. 21)

Within the story, the Corrigan has the last laugh. That in turn accentuates the tragic point of the dangers of magic to transgress creaturely limitations. It may or may not bring temporary benefits, but it brings dangerous entanglements and consequences with it. It is not a happy story, but many stories are not happy. And this one serves as a warning not to do as Aotrou had done. Hope and prayer mark a difficult of faithfulness in a world gone awry, but such are the means God uses to guide us away from despair that leads to evil rede (both “counsel” and “resolve/decision” as Tolkien sometimes uses it). Christians are called to live as Christians, and not as their (often) pagan forebears who conversed with such hostile powers. We are to live in this world in anticipation of what is to come in God’s promises (described here in terms of “Heaven,” but more accurately as the new creation described in the closing chapters of Isaiah, Revelation, and elsewhere).

Corrigan I

As I said previously, the volume that contains this poem also features Tolkien’s precursor Corrigan poems. The second one is essentially a rough draft of what would become this lay, and so no further comment is required for it. As for the first, it has a couple remarkable features for our purposes.

Mary is mentioned at the end of the main poem as a contrast to the Corrigan, as is not unusual in Catholic literature in regard to malevolent female characters (as with Lady Wisdom and Dame Folly in Proverbs). She is also invoked in this poem as there is a dialogue between Mary in heaven and a Mary on earth whose child has been kidnapped and replaced by a Corrigan changeling (but not of the Odo variety). This conversation also mentions the heavenly Mary’s child and the joy he brought (ll. 17–24; p. 35). Mary directs the earthly Mary to a hermit who advises her to lift the cross-hilt sword (l. 38; p. 36) in her house against the changeling, which will break the spell. This works because of the hostility of the Corrigan to all things Christian.

1. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun, Together with the Corrigan Poems, ed. Verlyn Flieger (Boston; New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017).

2. He likewise refers to the “waters of Christendome” in reference to his realm in l. 334.

3. Direct, O Lord, my way in your sight. I will enter your house: I will worship at your holy temple in awe of you.

O Lord, lead me in your justice: because of my enemies direct my way in your sight.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

Direct, O Lord, my way in your sight.