lord_rings.qxd

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  ‘What did you blush for, Sam?’ said Pippin. ‘You soon broke down. Anyone would have thought you had a guilty conscience. I hope it was nothing worse than a wicked plot to steal one of my blankets.’

  ‘I never thought no such thing’, answered Sam, in no mood for jest.

  ‘If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn’t got nothing on, and I didn’t like it. She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with-with a bit of garden of my own.’

  ‘That’s funny’, said Merry. ‘Almost exactly what I felt myself; only, only well, I don’t think I’ll say any more’, he ended lamely. All of them, it seemed, had fared alike: each had felt that he was offered a choice between a shadow full of fear that lay ahead, and something that he greatly desired: clear before his mind it lay, and to get it he had only to turn aside from the road and leave the Quest and the war against Sauron to others.

  ‘And it seemed to me, too’, said Gimli, ‘that my choice would remain secret and known only to myself.’

  ‘To me it seemed exceedingly strange’, said Boromir. ‘Maybe it was only a test, and she thought to read our thoughts for her own good purpose; but almost I should have said that she was tempting us, and offering what she pretended to have the power to give. It need not be said that I refused to listen. The Men of Minas Tirith are true to their word.’ But what he thought that the Lady had offered him Boromir did not tell. And as for Frodo, he would not speak, though Boromir pressed him with questions. ‘She held you long in her gaze, Ringbearer’, he said.

  ‘Yes’, said Frodo; ‘but whatever came into my mind then I will keep there.’

  ‘Well, have a care!’ said Boromir. ‘I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes.’

  ‘Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel!’ said Aragorn sternly. ‘You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man bring it hither himself. Then let him beware! But tonight I shall sleep without fear for the first time since I left Rivendell. And may I sleep deep, and forget 363

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  for a while my grief! I am weary in body and in heart.’ He cast himself down upon his couch and fell at once into a long sleep. The others soon did the same, and no sound or dream disturbed their slumber. When they woke they found that the light of day was broad upon the lawn before the pavilion. and the fountain rose and fell glittering in the sun. They remained some days in Lothlórien, so far as they could tell or remember. All the while that they dwelt there the sun shone clear, save for a gentle rain that fell at times, and passed away leaving all things fresh and clean. The air was cool and soft, as if it were early spring, yet they felt about them the deep and thoughtful quiet of winter. It seemed to them that they did little but eat and drink and rest, and walk among the trees; and it was enough.

  They had not seen the Lord and Lady again, and they had little speech with the Elvenfolk; for few of these knew or would use the Westron tongue. Haldir had bidden them farewell and gone back again to the fences of the North, where great watch was now kept since the tidings of Moria that the Company had brought. Legolas was away much among the Galadhrim, and after the first night he did not sleep with the other companions, though he returned to eat and talk with them. Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change. Now as the companions sat or walked together they spoke of Gandalf, and all that each had known and seen of him came clear before their minds. As they were healed of hurt and weariness of body the grief of their loss grew more keen. Often they heard nearby Elvish voices singing, and knew that they were making songs of lamentation for his fall, for they caught his name among the sweet sad words that they could not understand.

  Mithrandir, Mithrandir sang the Elves, O Pilgrim Grey! For so they loved to call him. But if Legolas was with the Company, he would not interpret the songs for them, saying that he had not the skill, and that for him the grief was still too near, a matter for tears and not yet for song. It was Frodo who first put something of his sorrow into halting words. He was seldom moved to make song or rhyme; even in Rivendell he had listened and had not sung himself, though his memory was stored with many things that others had made before him. But now as he sat beside the fountain in Lórien and heard about him the voices of the Elves, his thought took shape in a song that seemed fair to him; yet when he tried to repeat it to Sam only snatches remained, faded as a handful of withered leaves.

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  When evening in the Shire was grey

  his footsteps on the Hill were heard;

  before the dawn he went away

  on journey long without a word.

  From Wilderland to Western shore,

  from northern waste to southern hill,

  through dragon-lair and hidden door

  and darkling woods he walked at will.

  With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,

  with mortal and immortal folk,

  with bird on bough and beast in den,

  in their own secret tongues he spoke.

  A deadly sword, a healing hand,

  a back that bent beneath its load;

  a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,

  a weary pilgrim on the road.

  A lord of wisdom throned he sat,

  swift in anger, quick to laugh;

  an old man in a battered hat

  who leaned upon a thorny staff.

  He stood upon the bridge alone

  and Fire and Shadow both defied;

  his staff was broken on the stone,

  in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

  ‘Why, you’ll be beating Mr. Bilbo next!’ said Sam.

  ‘No, I am afraid not’, said Frodo. ‘But that is the best I can do yet.’

  ‘Well, Mr. Frodo, if you do have another go, I hope you’ll say a word about his fireworks’, said Sam. ‘Something like this:

  The finest rockets ever seen:

  they burst in stars of blue and green,

  or after thunder golden showers

  came falling like a rain of flowers.

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  Though that doesn’t do them justice by a long road.’

  ‘No, I’ll leave that to you, Sam. Or perhaps to Bilbo. But-well. I can’t talk of it any more. I can’t bear to think of bringing the news to him.’

  One evening Frodo and Sam were walking together in the cool twilight. Both of them felt restless again. On Frodo suddenly the shadow of parting had fallen: he knew somehow that the time was very near when he must leave Lothlórien.

  ‘What do you think of Elves now, Sam?’ he said. ‘I asked you the same question once before-it seems a very long while ago; but you have seen more of them since then.’

  ‘I have indeed!’ said Sam. ‘And I reckon there’s Elves and Elves. They’re all elvish enough, but they’re not all the same. Now these folk aren’t wanderers or homeless, and seem a bit nearer to the likes of us: they seem to belong here, more even than Hobbits do in the Shire. Whether they’ve made the land, or the land’s made them, it’s hard to say, if you take my meaning. It’s wonderfully quiet here. Nothing seems to be going on, and nobody seems to want it to. If there’s any magic about, it’s right down deep, where I can’t lay my hands on it, in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘You can see and feel it everywhere’, said Frodo.

  ‘Well’, said Sam, ‘you can’t see nobody working it. No fireworks like poor Gandalf used to show. I wonder we don’t see nothing of the Lord and Lady in all these days. I fancy now that she could do some wonderful things, if she had a mind. I’d dearly love to see some Elf-magic, Mr. Frodo!

  ‘I wouldn’t’, said Frodo. ‘I am content. And I don’t miss Gandalf �
�s fireworks, but his bushy eyebrows, and his quick temper, and his voice.’

  ‘You’re right’, said Sam. ‘And don’t think I’m finding fault. I’ve often wanted to see a bit of magic like what it tells of in old tales, but I’ve never heard of a better land than this. It’s like being at home and on a holiday at the same time, if you understand me. I don’t want to leave. All the same, I’m beginning to feel that if we’ve got to go on, then we’d best get it over.

  ‘It’s the job that’s never started as takes longest to finish, as my old gaffer used to say. And I don’t reckon that these folk can do much more to help us, magic or no. It’s when we leave this land that we shall miss Gandalf worse, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I am afraid that’s only too true, Sam’, said Frodo. ‘Yet I hope very much that before we leave we shall see the Lady of the Elves again.’

  Even as he spoke, they saw, as if she came in answer to their words, the Lady Galadriel approaching. Tall and white and fair she walked beneath the trees. She spoke no word, but beckoned to them.

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  Turning aside, she led them toward the southern slopes of the hill of Caras Galadhon, and passing through a high green hedge they came into an enclosed garden. No trees grew there, and it lay open to the sky. The evening star had risen and was shining with white fire above the western woods. Down a long flight of steps the Lady went into a deep green hollow, through which ran murmuring the silver stream that issued from the fountain on the hill. At the bottom, upon a low pedestal carved like a branching tree, stood a basin of silver. wide and shallow, and beside it stood a silver ewer.

  With water from the stream Galadriel filled the basin to the brim, and breathed on it, and when the water was still again she spoke. ‘Here is the Mirror of Galadriel’, she said. ‘I have brought you here so that you may look in it, if you will.’

  The air was very still, and the dell was dark, and the Elf-lady beside him was tall and pale. ‘What shall we look for, and what shall we see?’ asked Frodo, filled with awe.

  ‘Many things I can command the Mirror to reveal’, she answered, ‘and to some I can show what they desire to see. But the Mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stranger and more profitable than things which we wish to behold. What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, things that yet may be. But which it is that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?’

  Frodo did not answer.

  ‘And you?’ she said, turning to Sam. ‘For this is what your folk would call magic. I believe; though I do not understand clearly what they mean; and they seem also to use the same word of the deceits of the Enemy. But this, if you will, is the magic of Galadriel. Did you not say that you wished to see Elf-magic?’

  ‘I did’, said Sam, trembling a little between fear and curiosity. ‘I’ll have a peep, Lady, if you’re willing.’

  ‘And I’d not mind a glimpse of what’s going on at home’, he said in an aside to Frodo. ‘It seems a terrible long time that I’ve been away. But there, like as not I’ll only see the stars, or something that I won’t understand.’

  ‘Like as not’, said the Lady with a gentle laugh. ‘But come, you shall look and see what you may. Do not touch the water!’

  Sam climbed up on the foot of the pedestal and leaned over the basin. The water looked hard and dark. Stars were reflected in it. 367

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  ‘There’s only stars, as I thought’, he said. Then he gave a low gasp, for the stars went out. As if a dark veil had been withdrawn, the Mirror grew grey, and then clear. There was sun shining, and the branches of trees were waving and tossing in the wind. But before Sam could make up his mind what it was that he saw, the light faded; and now he thought he saw Frodo with a pale face lying fast asleep under a great dark cliff. Then he seemed to see himself going along a dim passage, and climbing an endless winding stair. It came to him suddenly that he was looking urgently for something, but what it was he did not know. Like a dream the vision shifted and went back, and he saw the trees again. But this time they were not so close, and he could see what was going on: they were not waving in the wind, they were falling, crashing to the ground.

  ‘Hi!’ cried Sam in an outraged voice. ‘There’s that Ted Sandyman acutting down trees as he shouldn’t. They didn’t ought to be felled: it’s that avenue beyond the Mill that shades the road to Bywater. I wish I could get at Ted, and I’d fell him!’

  But now Sam noticed that the Old Mill had vanished, and a large redbrick building was being put up where it had stood. Lots of folk were busily at work. There was a tall red chimney nearby. Black smoke seemed to cloud the surface of the Mirror.

  ‘There’s some devilry at work in the Shire’, he said. ‘Elrond knew what he was about when he wanted to send Mr. Merry back.’ Then suddenly Sam gave a cry and sprang away. ‘I can’t stay here’, he said wildly. ‘I must go home. They’ve dug up Bagshot Row, and there’s the poor old gaffer going down the Hill with his bits of things on a barrow. I must go home!’

  ‘You cannot go home alone’, said the Lady. ‘You did not wish to go home without your master before you looked in the Mirror, and yet you knew that evil things might well be happening in the Shire. Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them. The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds.’

  Sam sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. ‘I wish I had never come here, and I don’t want to see no more magic’, he said and fell silent. After a moment he spoke again thickly, as if struggling with tears.

  ‘No, I’ll go home by the long road with Mr. Frodo, or not at all’, he said.

  ‘But I hope I do get back some day. If what I’ve seen turns out true, somebody’s going to catch it hot!’

  ‘Do you now wish to look, Frodo?’ said the Lady Galadriel. ‘You did not wish to see Elf-magic and were content.’

  ‘Do you advise me to look?’ asked Frodo.

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  ‘No’, she said. ‘I do not counsel you one way or the other. I am not a counsellor. You may learn something, and whether what you see be fair or evil, that may be profitable, and yet it may not. Seeing is both good and perilous. Yet I think, Frodo, that you have courage and wisdom enough for the venture, or I would not have brought you here. Do as you will!’

  ‘I will look’, said Frodo, and he climbed on the pedestal and bent over the dark water. At once the Mirror cleared and he saw a twilit land. Mountains loomed dark in the distance against a pale sky. A long grey road wound back out of sight. Far away a figure came slowly down the road, faint and small at first, but growing larger and clearer as it approached. Suddenly Frodo realized that it reminded him of Gandalf. He almost called aloud the wizard’s name, and then he saw that the figure was clothed not in grey but in white, in a white that shone faintly in the dusk; and in its hand there was a white staff. The head was so bowed that he could see no face, and presently the figure turned aside round a bend in the road and went out of the Mirror’s view. Doubt came into Frodo’s mind: was this a vision of Gandalf on one of his many lonely journeys long ago, or was it Saruman?

  The vision now changed. Brief and small but very vivid he caught a glimpse of Bilbo walking restlessly about his room. The table was littered with disordered papers; rain was beating on the windows. Then there was a pause, and after it many swift scenes followed that Frodo in some way knew to be parts of a great history in which he had become involved. The mist cleared and he saw a sight which he had never seen before but knew at once: the Sea. Darkness fell. The sea rose and raged in a great storm. Then he saw against t
he Sun, sinking blood-red into a wrack of clouds, the black outline of a tall ship with torn sails riding up out of the West. Then a wide river flowing through a populous city. Then a white fortress with seven towers. And then again a ship with black sails, but now it was morning again, and the water rippled with light, and a banner bearing the emblem of a white tree shone in the sun. A smoke as of fire and battle arose, and again the sun went down in a burning red that faded into a grey mist; and into the mist a small ship passed away, twinkling with lights. It vanished, and Frodo sighed and prepared to draw away.

  But suddenly the Mirror went altogether dark, as dark as if a hole had opened in the world of sight, and Frodo looked into emptiness. In the black abyss there appeared a single Eye that slowly grew. until it filled nearly all the Mirror. So terrible was it that Frodo stood rooted, unable to cry out or to withdraw his gaze. The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself 369

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  glazed, yellow as a cat’s, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.

  Then the Eye began to rove, searching this way and that; and Frodo knew with certainty and horror that among the many things that it sought he himself was one. But he also knew that it could not see him-not yet, not unless he willed it. The Ring that hung upon its chain about his neck grew heavy, heavier than a great stone, and his head was dragged downwards. The Mirror seemed to be growing hot and curls of steam were rising from the water. He was slipping forward.

  ‘Do not touch the water!’ said the Lady Galadriel softly. The vision faded, and Frodo found that he was looking at the cool stars twinkling in the silver basin. He stepped back shaking all over and looked at the Lady.

  ‘I know what it was that you last saw’, she said; ‘for that is also in my mind. Do not be afraid! But do not think that only by singing amid the trees, nor even by the slender arrows of elven-bows, is this land of Lothlórien maintained and defended against its Enemy. I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought. But still the door is closed!