Edith's Dance for J.R.R. Tolkien at Roos and the problem of war
- Miriam Ellis
- Jun 7
- 3 min read
War is the thief of beauty in the world. As is told in J.R.R. Tolkien's Letter Number 340 to his son Christopher:
"I never called Edith Lúthien — but she was the source of the story that in time became the chief part of the Silmarillion. It was first conceived in a small woodland glade filled with hemlocks at Roos in Yorkshire (where I was for a brief time in command of an outpost of the Humber Garrison in 1917, and she was able to live with me for a while.) In those days her hair was raven, her skin clear, her eyes brighter than you have seen them, and she could sing — and dance."
In this loving memory, I hear something of the poignancy of the ents remembering the enchanting qualities of the lost entwives, but as I worked at painting this small watercolor, a narrative emerged that struck me as symbolic of an even larger theme.
There, upon an old wall, sits a young Tolkien, slender, sporting a moustache, and wearing the drab uniform of war. His wife, Edith Bratt Tolkien, representing his ideal of earthly beauty, dances away from his outstretched hand. This is what war does. It separates humankind from the beauty of life. It sunders us from what we love. It threatens to steal away all that is good.
For a man as thinking and feeling as Tolkien, war was full of "animal horror", it was "stupid", "painful", "grim", and "ugly". It cost him his dearest friends and later put his beloved sons in ghastly danger. It ruined the green earth he reverenced. It is very hard to think of him having to endure such experiences, because we readers know that Tolkien was keenly sensitive to beauty. He had capacities for feeling and describing loveliness and gloriousness beyond the common run of folk. The fact that this scene of his bride dancing and singing in the momentarily-peaceful glade in East Yorkshire became the seed of his epic romance "Of Beren and Lúthien" is just one shining example of Tolkien's uncommon devotion to beauty. In trying to capture this private moment in time, I am reminded of the fact that Beren and Lúthien managed to outwit the makers of war, but Ronald and Edith simply had to try to endure the disastrous schemes of domination that fever the minds of warmongers. It is a problem every generation faces, that somehow, such plots are let loose upon the innocent world.
Such dilemmas bring me back to my hobbit priorities, seeking evidence of what we might have instead of war. We might have pure sunshine, making dappled light upon our paths in ever-changing patterns of interest. We might have flowers, like those Professor Tolkien remembered as hemlocks but which scholars suggest were likely cow parsley of the kind photographed in such marvelous abundance by Michael Flowers around Roos. We might have dancing and song, storytelling and fellowship. We might travel amongst the cultures of others in search of wisdom and delight, and welcome wanderers from other lands into our midst with kindness and curiosity instead of fear.
My English friends tell me that their villages are filled with very sad war memorials. As an artist, I can imagine a different reality in which our monuments might be to love, itself. In this glimpse of Beren and Lúthien paid tribute to in a stained glass window in an imagined library at Rivendell, we can see elven skill put to work to memorialize family love. Each of the figures is a part of Elrond's family tree, celebrating the multi-generational bonds that might strengthen us all to earnestly pursue beauty instead of war. I suppose I shall live all my days bewildered by the fact that some few people intentionally choose conflict when, instead, they might have libraries, and gardens, and lovely romance.
Ronald and Edith had tender hearts. They were devoted to one another for decades. When death parted them, Professor Tolkien didn't remarry (hobbits don't tend to do so). And while it is an act of honoring to celebrate how they mutually endured so much man-made ugliness and remained beautiful people, I confess to being disappointed that the world makes such courage necessary. It need not be that way. There are millions of flowers to know by name and to dance amongst. There are millions of songs to sing. My consolation for this dissatisfactory state of affairs in the world is the thought that, perhaps, even as I write this, Ronald and Edith are keeping company still, in a Paradise garden of lasting peace. It helps me recover my own strength to think of them escaping war, at last, and knowing only beauty, forever.
I hope you enjoy my watercolor tribute to this complex theme and to this beloved couple, and that you will share a moment with the newlyweds in this heartfelt video short.
