by Miguel
2. The illegible word begins Expl but the remainder does not seem to be (Expl) anatton.
3. Cf. the outline given on p. 112: 'two Barrow-wights come [?galloping] after them, but stop every time Tom Bombadil turns and looks at them.'
4. In a very early form of the chapter 'Many Meetings' (a passage retained word for word in FR, pp. 231 - 2) Bingo says to Gandalf at Rivendell: 'You seem to know a great deal already. I have not spoken to the others about the Barrow. At first it was too horrible, and afterwards there were other things to think about. How did you know about it?' And Gandalf replies: 'You have talked long in your sleep, Bingo.' But I doubt that this is relevant.
5. The 'dark tower' of the Necromancer is referred to by Gandalf in the text given in Chapter III (p. 81), and indeed goes back to The Hobbit, where at the end of Chapter VII 'Queer Lodgings' Gandalf speaks of the 'dark tower' of the Necromancer, in the south of Mirkwood. But it is difficult to feel sure where at this stage my father imagined the Dark Tower to stand. Tom Bombadil says (p. 129) that he 'is not master of the Riders that come out of the Black Land far beyond his country', and the name Mordor had certainly arisen: cf. the second version of The Fall of Numenor (V.29, 31), 'And they came at last even to Mordor the Black Country, where Sauron, that is in the Gnomish tongue named Thu, has rebuilt his fortresses.' See further p. 218 note 17.
6. My father first put 'an old village which had an inn', but the change to 'the old village of Bree, on the west side of Bree-hill. It had an inn' was almost certainly made as he wrote (and 'Prancing Pony' above 'White Horse' likewise). This is where the name first appears, based on Brill in Buckinghamshire, a place which he knew well, for it sits on a hill in the Little Kingdom of Farmer Giles of Ham (see Carpenter, Biography, p. 160). The name Brill is derived from the old British word bre 'hill', to which the English added their own word hyll; cf. LR Appendix F (p. 414), and the Guide to the Names in The Lard of the Rings (in Lobdell, A Tolkien Compass, 1975), entry Archet.
VIII. ARRIVAL AT BREE.
My father continued on into a description of the Breelanders without a break. Subsequently he wrote over the original pencilled text in ink, and in that form, necessarily, I give it here.(1)
Little in a sense - it had perhaps some 50 houses on the hillside, and a large inn because of the goings and comings on the Road (though those were now less than they had once been). But it was actually a village built by Big People - mainly (the nearest settled habitation of that large and mysterious race to the Shire). Not many lived as far West as that in those days, and the Bree-folk (together with the neighbouring villages of Staddle and Crick) were an odd and rather isolated community, belonging to nobody but themselves (and more accustomed to dealing with hobbits, dwarves, and the other odd inhabitants of the world than Big People were or are). They were brown-faced, dark-haired, broad, shortish, cheerful and independent. They nor any one else knew why or when they had settled where they were. The land thereabouts and for many miles eastward was pretty empty in those days. There were hobbits about, of course - some higher up on the slopes of Bree-hill itself, and many in the valley of Combe on the east side. For not all hobbits lived in the Shire by any means. But the Outsiders were a rustic, not to say (though in the Shire it was often said) uncivilized sort. Some were in fact no better than tramps and wanderers, ready to dig a hole in any bank, and to stay there just as long or short a time as it suited them. So the folk of Bree were, you see, familiar enough with hobbits, civilized or otherwise - for Brandywine Bridge was not so far off. But our hobbits were not familiar with Bree-folk, and the houses seemed strange, large and tall (almost hillocks), as they trotted in on their ponies.
My father then struck this out, and began again. He was still numbering the pages continuously from the beginning of Chapter VI (the story of the Barrow-wight), but when he reached Bingo's song at the inn he realised that he was well into a new chapter, and wrote in 'VII' at this point, i.e. at the beginning of this new account of the people of Bree. Once again there is no title.
The manuscript of this chapter is an exceedingly complicated document: pencil overlaid with ink (sometimes remaining partly legible, sometimes not at all), pencil not overlaid but struck through, pencil allowed to stand, and fresh composition in ink, together with riders on slips and complex directions for insertions. There is no reason to suppose that the 'layers' are significantly separated in time, but the story was evolving as my father wrote: and the only way to present a coherent text is to give the manuscript in its last form. The chapter is given almost in full, since although much was retained it can only be seen clearly from a complete text just what the story was; but for convenience I divide it into two chapters in this book, breaking the narrative at the point where FR Chapter 9 'At the Sign of The Prancing Potty' ends and 10 'Strider' begins.
The interrelations of chapter-structure in the following part of the story are inevitably complex, and can best be seen from a table:
It will be seen at the beginning of this text that the presence of Men at Bree had been temporarily abandoned, and the description of their appearance in the rejected passage just given is now applied to the hobbits of the Bree-land; the innkeeper is a hobbit, and the Prancing Pony has a round front door leading into the side of Bree-hill.
They were hobbit-folk of course that lived in Bree (and the neighbouring villages of Combe and Archet).(2) Not all the hobbits lived in the Shire by any means, but the Outsiders were a rustic, not to say (though in the Shire it was often said) uncivilized lot, and not held in much account. There were probably a good many more of them scattered about in the West of the world in those days than people in the Shire imagined, though many were indeed no better than tramps and wanderers, ready to dig a rough hole in any bank, and stay only as long as it suited them. The villagers of Bree, Combe, and Archet, however, were settled folk (in reality not more rustic than most of their distant relations in Hobbiton) - but they were rather odd and independent, and belonged to nobody but themselves. They were browner-skinned, darker- haired, slightly stouter, a good deal broader (and perhaps a trifle tougher) than the average hobbit of the Shire. Neither they nor anyone else knew why or when they had settled just there; but there they were, moderately prosperous and content. The land all round about was very empty for leagues and leagues in those days, and few folk (Big or Little) would be seen in a day's march. Owing to the Road the inn at Bree was fairly large; but the comings and goings, East or West, were less than they had been, and the inn was now chiefly used as a meeting-place for the idle, talkative, sociable or inquisitive inhabitants of the villages and the odd inhabitants of the wilder country round about.
When our four hobbits at last rode into Bree they were very glad. The inn door was open. It was a large round door leading into the side of Bree-hill, at which the road turned, looping to the right, and disappeared in the darkness. Light streamed into the road from the door, over which there was a lamp swinging and beneath that a sign - a fat white pony standing on his hind legs. Over the door was painted in white letters: The Prancing Pony by Barnabas Butterbur.(3) Someone was singing a song inside.
As the hobbits got off their ponies the song ended and there was a burst of laughter. Bingo stepped inside, and nearly bumped into the largest and fattest hobbit that he had ever set eyes on in all his days in the well-fed Shire. It was obviously Mr Butterbur himself. He had on a white apron and was scuttling out of one door and in through another with a tray full of full mugs. 'Can we... ?' said Bingo.
'Half a moment if you please,' the landlord shouted over his shoulder, and vanished into a babel of voices and a cloud of smoke beyond the door. In a moment he was out again wiping his hands on his apron. 'Good evening, master,' he said. 'What may you be wanting? '
'Beds for four and stabling for five ponies,' said Bingo, 'if that can be managed. We have come far today. Are you Mr Butterbur, perhaps? '
'That's right,' he answered, 'Barnabas is my name, Barnabas Butterbur at your service - if it is possible. But the
house is nearly full, and so are the stables.'
'I was afraid it might be,' said Bingo. 'I hear it is an excellent house. We were specially recommended to stop here by our friend Tom Bombadil.'
'In that case anything can be managed!' said Mr Butterbur, slapping his thighs and beaming. 'Come right inside! And how is the old fellow? Mad and merry, but merrier than mad, I'll be bound! Why didn't he come along too, and then we should have had some fun! Hi! Nob!(4) Come here! Where are you, you woolly- footed slow-coach? Take the guests' bags! Where's Bob? You don't know? Well, find out! Double sharp. I haven't got six legs, nor six arms, nor six eyes either. Tell Bob.there's five ponies that have to be stabled. And well, mind you. Well, you must make room then, if they have to go in bedrooms!(5) Come right inside, sirs, all of you. Pleased to meet you! What names did you say? Mr Hill, Mr Rivers, Mr Green, and Mr Brown.(6) Can't say I have heard those names before, but I am pleased to meet you and hear them now.' Bingo had made them up, of course, on the spur of the moment, suddenly feeling that it would not be at all wise to publish their real names in a hobbit-inn on the high road. Hill, Rivers, Green, Brown sounded much stranger as names to hobbits than they do to us, and Mr Butterbur had his own reasons for thinking them unlikely. However, he said nothing about that yet. 'But there,' he went on, 'I dare say there are lots of queer names and queer folk that we never hear of in these parts. We don't see so many Shire-folk in these days. Time was when the Tooks, now, often came along to have a crack with me or my old dad. Rare good people were the Tooks. They say they had Bree blood in 'em, and were not quite like other Shire-folk, but I don't know the rights of it. But there! I must be running off. But wait a minute now! Four riders and five ponies? Let me see, what does that remind me of? Never mind, it will come back. All in good time. One thing drives out another, as they say. I am a bit busy tonight. Lots of folk have dropped in, unexpected. Hi, Nob! Take these bags to the guests' rooms. That's right. Seven to ten down the west passage. Be quick now! And will you be wanting supper? You will. I thought so. Soon, I shouldn't wonder. Very well, masters, soon it shall be. This way now! Here's a room will suit you nicely, I hope. Excuse me, now. I must be trotting. 'Tis hard work for two legs, but I don't get thinner. I'll look in again later. If you want anything, ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come. If he don't, shout!
Off he went, leaving them feeling a little breathless. He had not stopped talking to them (mixed with the giving of orders and instructions to other scuttling hobbits in the passages) from the time that he welcomed Bingo, until he ushered them into a small but cosy private parlour. There was a bit of bright fire burning; there were some very comfortable chairs, and there was a round table, already spread with a white cloth. On it was a large hand- bell. But Nob, a small round curly-haired red-faced hobbit, came bustling back long before they thought of using it.
'Will you be wanting anything to drink, masters?' he asked. 'Or shall I show you your rooms, while supper is making?'
They were washed, and in the middle of a good deep mug of beer each, before Mr Butterbur came trotting in again, followed by Nob. A fine smell came with them. In a twinkling the table was laid. Hot soup, cold meats, new loaves, mounds of butter, cheese and fresh fruits, all the good solid plain food dear to hobbit-hearts, was set before them in plenty. They went at it with a will - not without a passing thought (in Bingo's mind especially) that it had to be paid for, and that they had no endless store of money. The time would come all too soon when they would have to pass good inns (even if they could find them).(7) Mr Butterbur hovered round for a bit, and then prepared to leave. 'I don't know whether you would care to join the company after supper,' he said, standing in the door. 'But perhaps you would rather find your beds. Still, the company would be pleased to welcome you, if you had a mind. We don't get travellers from the Shire - outsiders we call 'em, begging your pardon - too often in these days; and we like to hear the news, or any new song you may have in mind. But as you like, sirs. Ring the bell, if you wish for anything.'
There was nothing omitted that they could wish for, so they did not need to ring the bell. So refreshed and encouraged did they feel at the end of their supper (about 55 minutes steady going, not hindered by unnecessary talk) that they decided to join the company. At least Odo, Frodo, and Bingo did. Merry said he thought it would be too stuffy. 'I shall either sit here quietly by the fire, or else go out for a snuff of the air outside. Mind your Ps and Qs, and don't forget that you are supposed to be escaping in secret, and are Mr Hill, Mr Green, and Mr Brown."All right,' they said. 'Mind yourself! Don't get lost, and don't forget that it is safest indoors.' Then they went and joined the company in the big meeting-room of the inn. The gathering was large, as they discovered as soon as their eyes became used to the light. This came chiefly from a large fire on a wide hearth, for the rather dim rays of three lamps hanging from the roof were clouded with smoke. Barnabas Butterbur was standing near the fire. He introduced them, so quickly that they did not catch half the names he mentioned, nor discover to whom the names they caught belonged. There seemed to be several Mugworts (an odd name to their way of thinking), and also other rather botanical names like Rushlight, Heathertoes, Ferny, and Appledore (not to mention Butterbur)(8); there were also some (to hobbits) natural names like Banks, Longholes, Brockhouse, Sandheaver, and Tunnelly, which were not unknown among the more rustic inhabitants of the Shire.
But they got on well enough without surnames (which were very little used in that company). On the other side the company, as soon as they discovered that the strangers were from the Shire, were disposed to be friendly, and curious. Bingo had not attempted to conceal where they came from, knowing that their clothes and talk would give them away at once. But he gave out that he was interested in history and geography, at which there was much wagging of heads (although neither of these words were familiar in Bree-dialect); and that he was writing a book (at which there was silent astonishment); and that he and his friends were going to try and find out something about the various scattered eastern hobbits. At this a regular chorus of voices broke out, and if Bingo had really been going to write such a book (and had had many ears and sufficient patience) he would have learned a good deal in a few minutes, and also obtained lots of advice on who to apply to for more and profounder information.
But after a time, as Bingo did not show any sign of writing a book on the spot, the company returned to more recent and engaging topics, and Bingo sat in a corner, listening and looking round. Odo and Frodo made themselves very quickly at home, and were soon (rather to Bingo's disquiet) giving lively accounts of recent events in the Shire. There was some laughter and wagging of heads, and some questions. Suddenly Bingo noticed that a queer-looking, brown-faced hobbit, sitting in the shadows behind the others, was also listening intently. He had an enormous mug (more like a jug) in front of him, and was smoking a broken- stemmed pipe right under his rather long nose. He was dressed in dark rough brown cloth, and had a hood on, in spite of the warmth, - and, very remarkably, he had wooden shoes! Bingo could see them sticking out under the table in front of him.
'Who is that over there?' said Bingo, when he got a chance to whisper to Mr Butterbur. 'I don't think you introduced him.' 'Him?' said Barnabas, cocking an eye without turning his head. 'O! that is one of the wild folk - rangers we call 'em. He has been coming in now and again (in autumn and winter mostly) the last few years; but he seldom talks. Not but what he can tell some rare tales when he has a mind, you take my word. What his right name is I never heard, but he's known round here as Trotter. You can hear him coming along the road in those shoes: clitter-clap - when he walks on a path, which isn't often. Why does he wear 'em? Well, that I can't say. But there ain't no accounting for East or West, as we say here, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon.' Mr Butterbur was called away at that moment, or he might have whispered on in that fashion indefinitely.
Bingo found Trotter looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that was said. Presently the Ra
nger, with a click and a jerk of his hand, invited Bingo to come over to him; and as Bingo sat down beside him he threw back his hood, showing a long shaggy head of hair, some of which hung over his forehead. But it did not hide a pair of keen dark eyes. 'I'm Trotter,' he said in a low voice. 'I am very pleased to meet you, Mr - Hill, if old Barnabas had your name right?'(9) 'He had,' said Bingo, rather stiffly: he was feeling far from comfortable under the stare of those dark eyes.
'Well, Mr Hill,' said Trotter, 'if I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much. Drink, fire, and chance meetings are well enough, but - well, this is not the Shire. There are queer folk about - though I say it as shouldn't,' he added with a grin, seeing Bingo's look. 'And there have been queer travellers through Bree not long back,' he went on, peering at Bingo's face. Bingo peered back, but Trotter made no further sign. He seemed suddenly to be listening to Odo. Odo was now giving a comic account of the Farewell Party, and was just reaching Bingo's disappearing act. There was a hush of expectation. Bingo felt seriously annoyed. What was the good of vanishing out of the Shire, if the ass went away and gave their. names to a mixed crowd in an inn on the highway! Even now Odo had said enough to set shrewd wits (Trotter's for instance) guessing; and it would soon become obvious that 'Hill' was no other than Bolger-Baggins (of Bag-end Underhill). And Bingo somehow felt that it would be dangerous, even disastrous, if Odo mentioned the Ring.
'You had better do something quick! ' said Trotter in his ear. Bingo jumped on the table, and began to talk. The attention was shifted from Odo at once, and several of the hobbits laughed and clapped (thinking possibly that Mr Hill had been taking as much ale as was good for him). Bingo suddenly felt very nervous, and found himself, as was his habit when making a speech, fingering the things in his pocket. Vaguely he felt the chain and the Ring there, and jingled it against a few copper coins; but this did not help him much, and after a few suitable words, as they would have said in the Shire (such as 'We are all very much gratified by the kindness of your reception', and things of that sort), he stopped and coughed. 'A song! A song!' they shouted. 'Come on now, Master, sing us something.' In desperation Bingo began an absurd song, which Bilbo had been fond of (he probably wrote it).(10)