LotR -- Book 1 - Chapter 06 – The Old Forest

[mark12_30]

From my jottings and scribblings:

Early in the chapter, Frodo sings at the trees, but his will fails; His voice starts out strong, then fades, not because he is finished, but because the trees loom over him. This is a contrast to his Bombadil-summoning in the Barrow; there, his voice starts out weak, and ends up ringing out. 'Something' has changed by then.

Northward, and to the left of the path, the lad seemed to be drier and more open, climbing up to slopes where the trees were thinner, and pines and firs replaced the oaks and ashes and other strange and nameless trees of the denser wood.

"Nameless" generally is not a compliment in Tolkien's style. Good things get named, at least by the elves! "Nameless trees" implies to me that they are not nice trees.

The contrast between Sam and Frodo is interesting; Frodo, dreamy and almost 'drownded', must be pulled out of the Withywindle and the Willow-Roots by Sam (later, Frodo pulls Sam out of the Anduin.) Then as they consider Merry & Piipin's plight, Frodo is cautious and hesitant; Sam is 'fierce'. It is Sam who sets the fire, and threatens to gnaw on the tree. While Sam is stamping out the fire, Frodo is running crying 'help, help' and feeling 'desperate: lost and witless'. This is a major contrast to his later temptation and courage in the Barrow.

Goldberry's voice falls silver-- like Nimrodel-- "Her voice as falling silver fell into the shining pool." To me, this is one of the most moving parts of this chapter:

Then another clear voice, as young and as ancient as Spring, like the song of a glad water flowing down into the night from a bright morning in the hills, came falling like silver to meet them:

Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!

And with that song the Hobbits stood upon the threshold, and a golden light was all about them.

To me the final sentence is evocative because of the song before it and the voice that sang them into the light. What kind of voice must that be! And who writes such songs! It evokes another of my favorite lines, from further forward in the book, Many Meetings: "They spoke... ... of the fair things they had seen in the world together: of Elves, of the stars, of trees, and the gentle fall of the bright year in the woods."