|
A
Christmas (Yule) Carol, by Peachy Dickens. Much abridged.
Shagrat was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt
whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the Witch-King,
the Mouth of Sauron, the Chief Orc of his Patrol, and the Orc who Cleaned the
Bathrooms. Gorbag signed it. And Gorbag's name was good upon letters, or for
anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Shagrat was as dead as a door-nail.
Gorbag knew he was dead? Of course he did. Did he care? No.
Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Gorbag. A squeezing,
wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous Orc! Hard and sharp as flint,
from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and
self-contained, and solitary. Even the Nazgul's Fellbeasts appeared to know him;
and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up
courtyards; and then would wag their tails as though they said, 'No eye at all
is better than an evil Eye, dark master!'
Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Yule Eve -- Gorbag sat
in his tower.
'A merry Yule, Gorbag! Eru save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was Gandalf the
Wizard.
'Pah!' said Gorbag, 'Humbug!'
'Yule a humbug, Gorbag!' said Gandalf. 'You don't mean that, I am sure?'
'I do,' said Gorbag. 'Merry Yule! What right have you to be merry? What reason
have you to be merry?'
'Don't be cross, Gorbag,' said the wizard.
'What else can I be,' returned the orc, ‘Merry Yule! Out upon merry Yule. If I
could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Yule' on his lips,
should be boiled with his own cheesecake, and buried with a stake of linden
through his heart!'
'Gorbag!' pleaded Gandalf.
'Istari!' returned the orc, sternly, 'keep Yule in your own way, and let me keep
it in mine.'
‘Come! Dine with me tomorrow.'
‘Good afternoon,' said Gorbag.
Gandalf sighed, and glanced at Gorbag’s hammock; and vanished.
‘Humbug,’ muttered Gorbag, and climbed into his hammock. It was late at
night. The clock struck one.
And the curtains of his hammock were drawn aside by a hand.
There stood a jolly Hobbit, glorious to see, who bore a glowing spade.
'I am the Hobbit of Yule Past,' said the Hobbit.
It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle. Its feet, observable beneath
the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; its golden-brown curls were
free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery
voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle
was an antique belt; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up
with rust.
'Grab my shirt, Mr. Orc, sir!'
Gorbag did as he was told, and held it fast. The walls of his tower disappeared,
and he was in a quiet place that reminded him of - why, it couldn’t be - the
Shire!
'Good gracious!' said Gorbag, clasping his hands together, as he looked about
him. 'This is a hobbit smial!'
On the threshold of the door the Hobbit smiled. Two hobbits came tearing in.
'What has ever got your precious uncle then?' said one of the hobbits. ‘Where
is he, Frodo?’
‘There's Bilbo coming,' cried another. ‘Hide!’
In came the uncle; and swept Frodo upon his shoulder.
“A merry Yule to us all, my dears. Eru bless us!'
Which all the hobbits re-echoed.
'Eru bless us every one!' said Frodo, the last of all.
He sat very close to his uncle's side upon his little stool. Bilbo held his
little hand in his, as if he loved the lad, and wished to keep him by his side,
and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
‘Hobbit,' said Gorbag, with an interest he had never felt before, 'tell me
what becomes of Frodo.'
'I see a vacant seat,' replied the Hobbit,' in the chimney-corner, and a desk
without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the
Future, the hobbit will die.'
'No, no,' said Gorbag. 'Oh, no, kind Hobbit! say he will be spared.'
'If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race,'
returned the Hobbit, 'will find him here.'
Gorbag hung his head to hear such harsh words, and was overcome with grief.
When he looked about again, the clock struck two.
Gorbag beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the
ground, towards him.
It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its
form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand.
'I am in the presence of the Ringwraith of Yule Past?' said Gorbag.
The Wraith answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
Again they entered Bag End; the dwelling he had visited before; and found some
of the hobbits - older now - seated round the fire.
Quiet. Very quiet. The hobbits were as still as statues in one corner. But
surely they were very quiet!
Then the two young hobbits went to the third and said 'Don't take on so, Sam.
Don't be grieved!'
'No, I won’t,' returned Sam. 'I wish I could have gone. But I promised him
that I would stay here with Rosie. My poor master!' cried Sam. 'My Mr. Frodo!'
In his agony, Gorbag caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he
was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Wraith, stronger yet, repulsed
him.
“Isn’t there any comfort to be had?” Gorbag wailed.
Holding up his hands in a last prayer, he saw the phantom vanish, and the clock
struck three. Another figure drifted into sight.
It was a strange figure-like a child: yet not so like a child as like a hobbit,
viewed through some supernatural medium. Its hair, which was dark and curling,
contrasted with the tenderest bloom on the skin. Its legs and feet, most
delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the
purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which
was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh linden in its hand. But the strangest
thing about it was, that its eyes were blue.
'Who, and what are you?' Gorbag whispered.
'I am the Hobbit of Yule Future.'
It put out its hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.
'Rise! and walk with me!'
As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open
country road, with fields on either hand, and a round door in a hill.
He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected
with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten.
'Your lip is trembling,' said the Hobbit. 'And what is that upon your cheek?'
Gorbag muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple;
and begged the Hobbit to lead him where he would.
They walked in, and were surrounded by pretty hobbit-lasses. As they came,
Gorbag wondered who they were. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see
them? Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past? Why
was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Yule?
The Hobbit touched him on the arm, and pointed to an Orc in a hammock, intent
upon a cookie.
‘I wish,' Gorbag muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about
him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: 'but it's too late now.'
'What is the matter?' asked the Hobbit.
'Nothing,' said Gorbag. 'Nothing.'
The Hobbit smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, 'Let us
see another Orc!'
Gorbag was alone in a tower room. It was morning. And the room was his own. The
hammock was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own,
to make amends in!
'Bag End West!' Gorbag gasped, as he scrambled out of his hammock. 'I am as
light as a feather, I am as happy as a Valar, I am as merry as a Brandybuck. I
am as giddy as a drunken orc. A merry Yule to everybody!'
He dressed himself all in his best, and at last got out to Bag End West. The
Haremites were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them; and walking with
his hands behind him, Gorbag regarded every one with a delighted smile. He
looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured
lasses said, 'Good morning, Gorby! A merry Yule to you!'
Frodo was there too, looking healthy and rested and completely unconscious of
having drifted about like a Ghost. They were all looking at the table (which was
spread out in great array).
'Gandalf!' said Gorbag.
'Why bless me!' cried Gandalf, 'who's that?'
'It's I. Gorbag. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in?'
Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in five
minutes. Nothing could be heartier. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful
unanimity, wonderful happiness!
'Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,' said Gorbag, giving Frodo such a dig in
the waistcoat that he staggered back into the mantelpiece; 'and therefore I am
about to stay here with all of you!'
Gorbag was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more. He became
as good a friend, as good a guard, and as good an orc, as any orc had been
before. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh,
and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever
happened on this isle, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of
laughter in the outset.
He had no further intercourse with Hobbits (which is a relief, but the Haremites
and Frodo did), and he lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, except for
cookies; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Yule well, if
any orc alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of
us! And so, as Frodo observed, Eru bless Us, Every One!
|