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Authors: J. R. R. Tolkien
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last moon of Autumn on
the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin’s Day when the last moon of Autumn and the sun are in the sky together. But
this will not help us much, I fear, for it passes our skill in these days to guess when such a time will come again.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Gandalf. “Is there any more writing?”
“None to be seen by this moon,” said Elrond, and he gave the map back to Thorin; and then they went down to the water to see
the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer’s eve.
The next morning was a midsummer’s morning as fair and fresh as could be dreamed: blue sky and never a cloud, and the sun
dancing on the water. Now they rode away amid songs of farewell and good speed, with their hearts ready for more adventure,
and with a knowledge of the road they must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond.
Chapter
IV
OVER HILL AND UNDER HILL
There were many paths that led up into those mountains, and many passes over them. But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions
and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers. The dwarves and
the hobbit, helped by the wise advice of Elrond and the knowledge and memory of Gandalf, took the right road to the right
pass.
Long days after they had climbed out of the valley and left the Last Homely House miles behind, they were still going up and
up and up. It was a hard path and a dangerous path, a crooked way and a lonely and a long. Now they could look back over the
lands they had left, laid out behind them far below. Far, far away in the West, where things were blue and faint, Bilbo knew
there lay his own country of safe and comfortable things, and his little hobbit-hole. He shivered. It was getting bitter cold
up here, and the wind came shrill among the rocks. Boulders, too, at times came galloping down the mountain-sides, let loose
by mid-day sun upon the snow, and passed among them (which was lucky), or over their heads (which was alarming). The nights
were comfortless and chill, and they did not dare to sing or talk too loud, for the echoes were uncanny, and the silence seemed
to dislike being broken—except by the noise of water and the wail of wind and the crack of stone.
“The summer is getting on down below,” thought Bilbo, “and haymaking is going on and picnics. They will be harvesting and
blackberrying, before we even begin to go down the other side at this rate.” And the others were thinking equally gloomy thoughts,
although when they had said good-bye to Elrond in the high hope of a midsummer morning, they had spoken gaily of the passage
of the mountains, and of riding swift across the lands beyond. They had thought of coming to the secret door in the Lonely
Mountain, perhaps that very next last moon of Autumn—“and perhaps it will be Durin’s Day” they had said. Only Gandalf had
shaken his head and said nothing. Dwarves had not passed that way for many years, but Gandalf had, and he knew how evil and
danger had grown and thriven in the Wild, since the dragons had driven men from the lands, and the goblins had spread in secret
after the battle of the Mines of Moria. Even the good plans of wise wizards like Gandalf and of good friends like Elrond go
astray sometimes when you are off on dangerous adventures over the Edge of the Wild; and Gandalf was a wise enough wizard
to know it.
He knew that something unexpected might happen, and he hardly dared to hope that they would pass without fearful adventure
over those great tall mountains with lonely peaks and valleys where no king ruled. They did not. All was well, until one day
they met a thunderstorm—more than a thunderstorm, a thunder-battle. You know how terrific a really big thunderstorm can be down in the land and in a river-valley; especially at times when two great thunderstorms meet and clash.
More terrible still are thunder and lightning in
the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin’s Day when the last moon of Autumn and the sun are in the sky together. But
this will not help us much, I fear, for it passes our skill in these days to guess when such a time will come again.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Gandalf. “Is there any more writing?”
“None to be seen by this moon,” said Elrond, and he gave the map back to Thorin; and then they went down to the water to see
the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer’s eve.
The next morning was a midsummer’s morning as fair and fresh as could be dreamed: blue sky and never a cloud, and the sun
dancing on the water. Now they rode away amid songs of farewell and good speed, with their hearts ready for more adventure,
and with a knowledge of the road they must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond.
Chapter
IV
OVER HILL AND UNDER HILL
There were many paths that led up into those mountains, and many passes over them. But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions
and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers. The dwarves and
the hobbit, helped by the wise advice of Elrond and the knowledge and memory of Gandalf, took the right road to the right
pass.
Long days after they had climbed out of the valley and left the Last Homely House miles behind, they were still going up and
up and up. It was a hard path and a dangerous path, a crooked way and a lonely and a long. Now they could look back over the
lands they had left, laid out behind them far below. Far, far away in the West, where things were blue and faint, Bilbo knew
there lay his own country of safe and comfortable things, and his little hobbit-hole. He shivered. It was getting bitter cold
up here, and the wind came shrill among the rocks. Boulders, too, at times came galloping down the mountain-sides, let loose
by mid-day sun upon the snow, and passed among them (which was lucky), or over their heads (which was alarming). The nights
were comfortless and chill, and they did not dare to sing or talk too loud, for the echoes were uncanny, and the silence seemed
to dislike being broken—except by the noise of water and the wail of wind and the crack of stone.
“The summer is getting on down below,” thought Bilbo, “and haymaking is going on and picnics. They will be harvesting and
blackberrying, before we even begin to go down the other side at this rate.” And the others were thinking equally gloomy thoughts,
although when they had said good-bye to Elrond in the high hope of a midsummer morning, they had spoken gaily of the passage
of the mountains, and of riding swift across the lands beyond. They had thought of coming to the secret door in the Lonely
Mountain, perhaps that very next last moon of Autumn—“and perhaps it will be Durin’s Day” they had said. Only Gandalf had
shaken his head and said nothing. Dwarves had not passed that way for many years, but Gandalf had, and he knew how evil and
danger had grown and thriven in the Wild, since the dragons had driven men from the lands, and the goblins had spread in secret
after the battle of the Mines of Moria. Even the good plans of wise wizards like Gandalf and of good friends like Elrond go
astray sometimes when you are off on dangerous adventures over the Edge of the Wild; and Gandalf was a wise enough wizard
to know it.
He knew that something unexpected might happen, and he hardly dared to hope that they would pass without fearful adventure
over those great tall mountains with lonely peaks and valleys where no king ruled. They did not. All was well, until one day
they met a thunderstorm—more than a thunderstorm, a thunder-battle. You know how terrific a really big thunderstorm can be down in the land and in a river-valley; especially at times when two great thunderstorms meet and clash.
More terrible still are thunder and lightning in
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