Starflower
01-27-2005, 10:58 AM
Time yet again for another chapter discussion.
At the start of the chapter, we see the hobbits getting ready to leave on their adventure. Frodo was told by Gandalf to make for Bree, and to get there, the hobbits decide to cut through the Old Forest.
The very name of the place sounds ominous, and the hobbits' obvious reluctance to enter it makes the reader even more anxious as to what will happen.
'There!' said Merry. 'You have left the Shire, and are now outside, and
on the edge of the Old Forest.'
'Are the stories about it true?' asked Pippin.
'I don't know what stories you mean,' Merry answered. 'If you mean the
old bogey-stories Fatty's nurses used to tell him, about goblins and wolves
and things of that sort, I should say no. At any rate I don't believe them.
But the Forest _is_ queer. Everything in it is very much more alive, more
aware of what is going on, so to speak, than things are in the Shire. And the
trees do not like strangers. They watch you. They are usually content merely
to watch you, as long as daylight lasts, and don't do much. Occasionally the
most unfriendly ones may drop a branch, or stick a root out, or grasp at you
with a long trailer. But at night things can be most alarming, or so I am
told. I have only once or twice been in here after dark, and then only near
the hedge. I thought all the trees were whispering to each other, passing news and plots along in an unintelligible language; and the branches swayed and groped without any wind. They do say the trees do actually move, and can surround strangers and hem them in. In fact long ago they attacked the Hedge:they came and planted themselves right by it, and leaned over it. But the hobbits came and cut down hundreds of trees, and made a great bonfire in the Forest, and burned all the ground in a long strip east of the Hedge. After that the trees gave up the attack, but they became very unfriendly. There is still a wide bare space not far inside where the bonfire was made.'
'Is it only the trees that are dangerous?' asked Pippin.
'There are various queer things living deep in the Forest, and on the far
side,' said Merry, 'or at least I have heard so; but I have never seen any of
them. But something makes paths. Whenever one comes inside one finds open
tracks; but they seem to shift and change from time to time in a queer
fashion.
The hobbits wander through the Forest, and eventually they get lost.
The hobbits began to feel very hot. There were armies of flies of all
kinds buzzing round their ears, and the afternoon sun was burning on their
backs. At last they came suddenly into a thin shade; great grey branches
reached across the path. Each step forward became more reluctant than the
last. Sleepiness seemed to be creeping out of the ground and up their legs,
and falling softly out of the air upon their heads and eyes.
Frodo felt his chin go down and his head nod. Just in front of him Pippin
fell forward on to his knees. Frodo halted. 'It's no good,' he heard Merry
saying. 'Can't go another step without rest. Must have nap. It's cool under
the willows. Less flies!'
Frodo did not like the sound of this. 'Come on!' he cried. 'We can't have
a nap yet. We must get clear of the Forest first.' But the others were too far
gone to care. Beside them Sam stood yawning and blinking stupidly.
Suddenly Frodo himself felt sleep overwhelming him. His head swam. There
now seemed hardly a sound in the air. The flies had stopped buzzing. Only a
gentle noise on the edge of hearing, a soft fluttering as of a song half
whispered, seemed to stir in the boughs above. He lifted his heavy eyes and
saw leaning over him a huge willow-tree, old and hoary. Enormous it looked,
its sprawling branches going up like reaching arms with many long-fingered
hands, its knotted and twisted trunk gaping in wide fissures that creaked
faintly as the boughs moved. The leaves fluttering against the bright sky
dazzled him, and he toppled over, lying where he fell upon the grass.
Merry and Pippin are trapped by the Old Man Willow, and despite Frodo and Sam's brave efforts to free them, the situation seems hopeless.
Then, out of the Forest comes something completely unexpected:
soon there could be no doubt: someone was singing a song; a deep glad voice was singing carelessly and happily, but it was singing nonsense:
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
Half hopeful and half afraid of some new danger, Frodo and Sam now both
stood still. Suddenly out of a long string of nonsense-words (or so they
seemed) the voice rose up loud and clear and burst into this song:
Hey! Come merry dot! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is. River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! deny dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?
....then suddenly, hopping and dancing along the path, there appeared above the reeds an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band. With another hop and a bound there came into view a man, or so it seemed. At any rate he was too large and heavy for a hobbit, if not quite tall enough for one of the Big People, though he made noise enough for one, slumping along with great yellow boots on his thick legs, and charging through grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink. He had a blue coat and a long brown beard; his eyes were blue and bright, and his face was red as a ripe apple, but creased into a hundred wrinkles of laughter. In his hands
carried on a large leaf as on a tray a small pile of white water-lilies.
Tom rescues the poor batteres hobbits and takes them to his house.
At the start of the chapter, we see the hobbits getting ready to leave on their adventure. Frodo was told by Gandalf to make for Bree, and to get there, the hobbits decide to cut through the Old Forest.
The very name of the place sounds ominous, and the hobbits' obvious reluctance to enter it makes the reader even more anxious as to what will happen.
'There!' said Merry. 'You have left the Shire, and are now outside, and
on the edge of the Old Forest.'
'Are the stories about it true?' asked Pippin.
'I don't know what stories you mean,' Merry answered. 'If you mean the
old bogey-stories Fatty's nurses used to tell him, about goblins and wolves
and things of that sort, I should say no. At any rate I don't believe them.
But the Forest _is_ queer. Everything in it is very much more alive, more
aware of what is going on, so to speak, than things are in the Shire. And the
trees do not like strangers. They watch you. They are usually content merely
to watch you, as long as daylight lasts, and don't do much. Occasionally the
most unfriendly ones may drop a branch, or stick a root out, or grasp at you
with a long trailer. But at night things can be most alarming, or so I am
told. I have only once or twice been in here after dark, and then only near
the hedge. I thought all the trees were whispering to each other, passing news and plots along in an unintelligible language; and the branches swayed and groped without any wind. They do say the trees do actually move, and can surround strangers and hem them in. In fact long ago they attacked the Hedge:they came and planted themselves right by it, and leaned over it. But the hobbits came and cut down hundreds of trees, and made a great bonfire in the Forest, and burned all the ground in a long strip east of the Hedge. After that the trees gave up the attack, but they became very unfriendly. There is still a wide bare space not far inside where the bonfire was made.'
'Is it only the trees that are dangerous?' asked Pippin.
'There are various queer things living deep in the Forest, and on the far
side,' said Merry, 'or at least I have heard so; but I have never seen any of
them. But something makes paths. Whenever one comes inside one finds open
tracks; but they seem to shift and change from time to time in a queer
fashion.
The hobbits wander through the Forest, and eventually they get lost.
The hobbits began to feel very hot. There were armies of flies of all
kinds buzzing round their ears, and the afternoon sun was burning on their
backs. At last they came suddenly into a thin shade; great grey branches
reached across the path. Each step forward became more reluctant than the
last. Sleepiness seemed to be creeping out of the ground and up their legs,
and falling softly out of the air upon their heads and eyes.
Frodo felt his chin go down and his head nod. Just in front of him Pippin
fell forward on to his knees. Frodo halted. 'It's no good,' he heard Merry
saying. 'Can't go another step without rest. Must have nap. It's cool under
the willows. Less flies!'
Frodo did not like the sound of this. 'Come on!' he cried. 'We can't have
a nap yet. We must get clear of the Forest first.' But the others were too far
gone to care. Beside them Sam stood yawning and blinking stupidly.
Suddenly Frodo himself felt sleep overwhelming him. His head swam. There
now seemed hardly a sound in the air. The flies had stopped buzzing. Only a
gentle noise on the edge of hearing, a soft fluttering as of a song half
whispered, seemed to stir in the boughs above. He lifted his heavy eyes and
saw leaning over him a huge willow-tree, old and hoary. Enormous it looked,
its sprawling branches going up like reaching arms with many long-fingered
hands, its knotted and twisted trunk gaping in wide fissures that creaked
faintly as the boughs moved. The leaves fluttering against the bright sky
dazzled him, and he toppled over, lying where he fell upon the grass.
Merry and Pippin are trapped by the Old Man Willow, and despite Frodo and Sam's brave efforts to free them, the situation seems hopeless.
Then, out of the Forest comes something completely unexpected:
soon there could be no doubt: someone was singing a song; a deep glad voice was singing carelessly and happily, but it was singing nonsense:
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
Half hopeful and half afraid of some new danger, Frodo and Sam now both
stood still. Suddenly out of a long string of nonsense-words (or so they
seemed) the voice rose up loud and clear and burst into this song:
Hey! Come merry dot! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is. River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! deny dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?
....then suddenly, hopping and dancing along the path, there appeared above the reeds an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band. With another hop and a bound there came into view a man, or so it seemed. At any rate he was too large and heavy for a hobbit, if not quite tall enough for one of the Big People, though he made noise enough for one, slumping along with great yellow boots on his thick legs, and charging through grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink. He had a blue coat and a long brown beard; his eyes were blue and bright, and his face was red as a ripe apple, but creased into a hundred wrinkles of laughter. In his hands
carried on a large leaf as on a tray a small pile of white water-lilies.
Tom rescues the poor batteres hobbits and takes them to his house.