The Lord of the Rings: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol (Part Five)

The Tale

‘And so Gollum found them hours later, when he returned, crawling and creeping down the path out of the gloom ahead.’ Frodo is propped up on Sam’s lap, ‘upon his white forehead lay one of Sam’s brown hands’, the other hand on Frodo’s chest. Both are fast asleep. Gollum looks at them, and something about their loving, vulnerable position seems to touch his heart.

‘The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired.’ A spasm passes over him, and he looks back up the path, then back at the hobbits and shaking his head; some interior debate is wracking his soul. He reaches out and softly touches Frodo’s knee, a trembling, almost caressing touch.

‘For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld a weary old hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.’

But at Gollum’s touch Frodo stirs and gives a little cry in his sleep. Sam is instantly awake and sees Gollum as it were ‘pawing at the Master.’ He is immediately suspicious and roughly asks Gollum what he’s up to. Gollum’s answer is soft. ‘Nothing, nothing … Nice Master!’ But Sam is having none of it. He asks Gollum where he’s been, sneaking off and sneaking back, and calls him ‘an old villain.’

This insulting affront snuffs out whatever spark of repentance Gollum might have been having. The green light flickers under his hooded eyes, and he draws back, ‘looking almost spider-like’ now. ‘The fleeting moment had passed, beyond recall.’ His inner tirade of hate, resentment, and self-pity pours forth.

Sneaking? The hobbits are always so polite with their language! Here he has worn himself out finding them a pass through the mountains, he’s tired and hungry and thirsty, and they call him a sneak! Very nice!

Sam feels a little remorseful, but not more trusting. He says he’s sorry but goes on to try to justify his snappishness. Gollum startled him out of his sleep, and he shouldn’t have been sleeping, and that made him extra ‘sharp.’ ‘Sorry. But where you have been to?’

Gollum’s eyes glint green. ‘Sneaking.’

Sam tries to drop the matter, and asks if it’s today or tomorrow? They should probably all be sneaking along together. Gollum says it’s tomorrow or would have been when the hobbits foolishly fell asleep. They are lucky to have Gollum sneaking around to watch.

‘I think we shall get tired of that word soon,’ said Sam.’ Very gently he wakes Frodo up, who smiles and comments it’s a little early to get up: it’s still dark. Sam replies that it’s always dark in this land, but Gollum has returned. They must move along on ‘the last lap.’

Frodo looks over and kindly asks if Smeagol has found any food or had any rest. Gollum replies there’s nothing for him; he’s a sneak. Frodo chides him for taking a bad name for himself, but Gollum says he has to take what he is given, and that was provided by ‘kind Master Samwise, the hobbit that knows so much.’ Frodo looks at Sam.

Sam confesses he did use the word, waking up all of a sudden and finding Gollum nearby. He’s already said he was sorry, but he soon won’t be if Gollum keeps it up.

Frodo says to let it pass. Then he turns to Gollum. He’s brought them to in sight of the pass, guided them to Mordor. If he thinks they can find their way from here, then their agreement could be said to be over. Can they find their way, and will Gollum go his own way, as he is free to do (as long as he doesn’t go to the Enemy or his minions)? ‘And one day I may reward you, I or those that remember me.’

‘No, no, not yet,’ Gollum whined. ‘O, no! They can’t find the way themselves, can they? O no indeed. There’s the tunnel coming. Smeagol must go on. No rest. No food. Not yet.’

Bits and Bobs

And so we have come to the last two pages of “The Stairs of Cirith Ungol,” a passage that Tolkien himself calls “perhaps the most tragic moment in the Tale … when Sam fails to note the complete change in Gollum’s tone and aspect … [Gollum’s] repentance is blighted and all Frodo’s pity is (in a sense) wasted … Sam could hardly have acted differently.’ – from a draft letter to Eileen Elgar, 1963. Gollum wins the inner debate over Smeagol, and his path is laid. ‘Smeagol must go on.’

Thinking of Gollum as ‘a weary old hobbit’ has always sparked a line of ‘might-have-beens’ about his ultimate fate. He has already come so far from being just a dark slimy thing, as he was in the first edition of The Hobbit. If he would have faithfully stuck with Frodo to the very Cracks of Doom, if he could have survived his Precious going into the Fire, what might have happened to him? It has been pointed out that (at least in the Jackson films) Gandalf brings along enough Eagles to rescue Gollum, if he had somehow made it.

My brothers and I have imagined a cleaned up, decently clothed Smeagol, with perhaps a skilled barber and a bit of dentistry, going back to live with Frodo at Bag-End in the Shire, a timid sort of reclusive invalid, maybe passed off as a long-lost relative. Then he would have surely later passed oversea with Frodo and Bilbo, in search of the ultimate healing that was offered to the Ringbearers. It is a nice little dream.

I know, of course, that it is Tolkien writing this passage, but it is feigned that is from the ‘memoirs of Frodo and his friends.’ How much of it was Sam and Frodo deducing what had happened while they were sleeping; particularly, how much of it was Sam later guessing and regretting his actions? Poor Sam. This part always reminds me of The Fool’s Prayer, by Edward Rowland Sill:

“These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.”

Oh Lord, be merciful to me, a fool.

The Lord of the Rings: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol (Part Four)

The Tale

‘In a dark crevice between two great pieces of rock they sat down: Frodo and Sam a little way within, and Gollum crouched upon the ground near the opening.’ The hobbits take what they expect to be their last meal before going into Mordor, maybe their last meal ever. They eat some of the food Faramir gave them and some lembas, and drink only enough water to moisten their mouths. Gollum eats nothing but accepts a mouthful of water.

Sam wonders if they’ll ever find water again. He guesses that even over in Mordor, they have to drink. ‘Orcs drink, don’t they?’ Frodo says that yes, they do, but not to speak of it. ‘Such drink is not for us.’ Sam opines that there isn’t any water up in these mountains, not any that he’s even heard trickling. And anyway, Faramir said not to drink any water in Morgul.

None flowing out of Morgul Vale, Frodo corrects him. They are above that now. Any water they find will be flowing into the Vale. Sam says he still wouldn’t drink it, not until he was dying of thirst. The place feels wicked; it even smells ‘queer’, and Sam doesn’t like that smell. Frodo doesn’t like anything about it; here, everything seems accursed. ‘But so our path is laid.’

‘Yes, that's so,' said Sam. 'And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually – their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on – and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same – like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?'
'I wonder,' said Frodo. 'But I don't know. And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to.'
'No, sir, of course not. Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours. But that's a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We've got – you've got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end?'
'No, they never end as tales,' said Frodo. 'But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended. Our part will end later – or sooner.’

Sam says that then they can have some rest and sleep. He laughs grimly. He explains he means real rest and sleep, not a metaphor for dying and being done with it. He’s always just been hoping; big plans are not his style. He realizes they’re in a ‘story’, but he also wonders if their tale will ever be written up, in ‘a great big book with red and black letters,’ and read out to generations. “Frodo was very brave, wasn’t he, dad?” “Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that’s saying a lot.”

Frodo laughs at this, a good clean clear laugh that seems to astonish the very rocks of that dark land. ‘Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth.’ Frodo laughs again, then says the children will want to hear about one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. Sam’s talk would make them laugh, and ‘Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam, would he, dad?’

Sam says he shouldn’t make fun; he was serious. Frodo assures him that so is he, but they’re getting ahead of themselves: they’re still in the tale, and a nasty dark part too, that might make the kids shudder and want to close the book. Sam’s not so sure. Bad things made into stories are different. Why, even Gollum might not be so bad in a tale. He used to like tales himself, by his own account. ‘I wonder if he thinks he’s the hero or the villain.’

Sam turns to ask Gollum if he wants to be the hero, but Gollum has crawled off quietly sometime while they were talking. They imagine he may have gone to find food again, but there’s nothing up here, ‘not unless there’s some kind of rock he fancies.’ Frodo says it’s no use wondering if he’ll be false to them now. They wouldn’t have got this far without him. Still, Sam would rather have him under his eye: he said the pass wasn’t watched and now they see a tower. What if he betrays them to the Orcs?

Frodo doesn’t think so, that would mean the Ring would get to Sauron and be beyond his reach forever. ‘No, if it’s anything, it will be some little trick of his own that he thinks is quite secret.’ Sam agrees, but doesn’t doubt that Gollum would turn him over to the Orcs ‘as gladly as kiss his hand.’ All his schemes have been about ‘the Precious for poor Smeagol.’ But why bringing them up here helps his plans is more than Sam can guess. He is Slinker and Stinker, and the closer they get to Mordor the stronger Stinker is getting.

Frodo believes the poor muddled creature doesn’t have one plain plan, but perhaps is just biding his time and waiting on chance. Sam says they need to ‘keep our eyes skinned’ till they cross over into Mordor. It wouldn’t do to be caught napping. But for now, they do need some rest. Frodo can be safe enough laying in his lap. Even if Sam drifts off himself, ‘no one could come pawing you without your Sam knowing it.’ Frodo sighs. Yes, even here he could sleep. And so, the two lie down.

Notes

Here Tolkien draws The Lord of the Rings closer into the orbit of his long-cherished stories of The Silmarillion, showing how it is still part of the ‘great stories’ that lie behind them. It is an interesting meditation upon the nature of ‘adventures,’ and how they seem to the people within them.

Sam also seems to have the same philosophy as the narrator of The Hobbit, when he talks about the dark parts of the tale as being intense and important: ‘Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway.’

A bit of Sam’s humble and non-acquisitive nature is demonstrated when he corrects himself from saying ‘we’ to ‘you’ when talking about having the phial of Galadriel. It is this care about what’s what that will help him resist the temptation of the Ring.

Of course, later in the tale, they are put into a song by a minstrel of Gondor, and the tale is recorded and told in the Red Book of Westmarch, which, in a deleted epilogue, Sam is shown reading to his children, so his hopes come true. ‘A big book with black and red letters’ might recall some editions of the Bible, which are printed with the words of Christ in red or even older editions with tables of feast days in red letters. From which we get the term 'a red letter day.'

‘As gladly as kiss his hand’ is a saying related to the phrase ‘as simple as kiss your hand,’ meaning that something is very simple and easy to do, not involving any great effort or sacrifice. “Keeping your eyes skinned (or as we might say, peeled)"merely means to keep your eyes open, lids wide, and attentive to what’s going on. Sam seems to love these little sayings; they are sprinkled throughout his speech and might be what Frodo perceives as what would make the children laugh.

Even the dark land about them seems to marvel at Frodo’s laugh. In Middle-earth, even someplace as wicked as Mordor seems to have an awareness and character.

This passage goes far to accentuate the affection and respect Frodo and Sam have for each other. In the congeniality of talking about tales, Sam can finally find a place in his heart to sympathize with Gollum, to think about his point of view. That is soon doused by suspicion, but is perhaps a hint of Sam’s growing pity towards ‘the poor muddled’ creature. 

There are only about three more pages in this chapter, but they are so important I think it best to leave them until next time.

The Lord of the Rings: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol (Part Three)

Frodo’s heart goes out to Faramir: will he get to Osgiliath before this mighty host cuts him off, and even if he does, can he possibly hold the fords against the King of the Nine Riders and his army? He weeps, thinking that now even if he accomplishes his task, the West will have fallen, and there will be no-one left to tell. ‘And still the host of Morgul crossed the bridge.’

Sam’s voice cuts into his horror, urging him to snap out of it, to wake up. The last of the army has passed on into darkness and the gates of Minas Morgul have closed. The nacreous light of the city is fading into silence and shade, but there is still a brooding presence there, watching, and the longer the hobbits stay there the more likely it is to spot them.

Frodo stands. The despair has not left him, but he no longer cowers under its weakness. He smiles grimly. Even if no-one ever knows what he does, he has to do what he has to do. If he can. He takes his staff of lebethron in one hand and thrusts the phial of Galadriel away next to his heart, hiding its light. ‘Then turning from the city of Morgul … he prepared to take the upward road.’

Gollum, who had crawled away out of sight when the gates had opened, comes crawling back, chastising them for standing exposed out there, saying they must make haste: the danger has not passed. They follow him along the climbing precipice until the come to the ‘first stair,’ steep as a ladder, though it has a wall now on either side. The steps are uneven, broken and breaking, and the higher they climb the more aware they are of the fall behind them.

Finally when they feel they can take no more, Gollum turns back and announces they have reached the top of the first stair. Frodo and Sam follow him and rest a bit in the deep dark passage above. Ahead of them is a passage going up, although at a gentler slope and with no steps. Gollum announces that they have passed the Straight Stair; now the Winding Stair is before them, longer, but not so difficult.

Sam asks, what after that? Didn’t he mention a tunnel of some kind? Oh, yes, says Gollum. But they can rest there before they try that. And if they get through the tunnel they will be nearly at the top. A chill wind is blowing down from the heights. Frodo, though sweaty from the climb, now shivers in the cold. This is no place to linger. They must climb on.

The passage seems to go on for miles, and all the time the wind freezes them or seeks to blow them over the edge. They know they are at the top when they can feel no wall on their right hand, only a chasm yawning there. In the flickering flaring red light from Mordor the tall peaks in front and to either side of them seem like ‘pillars holding up a vast sagging roof’ as they stand on a wide shelf of rock. Gollum leads them forward, staying close under the cliff, away from the chasm.

They are no longer climbing, but the path is broken with rocks and fallen stone and they must proceed slowly, with caution. The night and the path seem endless and they cannot tell how long ago it was when they left the Morgul Vale. At last they become aware of another wall looming before them.

‘Again they halted, and again they began to climb’, along a path like a snake winding to and fro up the cliffside. At one point it turns right at the cliffside, and Frodo can look down into the great ravine at the head of the Morgul Valley, a deep pit below them with the gleaming wraith road winding tiny at the bottom. ‘He turned hastily away.’

At long last they reach a final flight of the staircase, short and straight, leading to another level. In the red light of Mordor Frodo can see, ahead of them and high above, ‘the very crown of this bitter road.’ There, there are two cloven shoulders of stone, each crowned with a horn of stone. Looking closely, Frodo sees that the horn on the left is a tower, a red light gleaming at its top. He points this out to Sam.

Sam growls at Gollum. So his ‘secret path’ is guarded after all. Gollum concedes that all ways are watched, but perhaps this way less than the others; maybe they have all marched off to war. ‘But hobbits must try some way.’ Sam reluctantly agrees, but they must rest before they try this tunnel. They’ve been climbing for hours.

Frodo agrees. They must gather their strength for what seems the final push to get into Mordor. If they can just do that, the terrors of what must be done then can be faced; for now, they seem far ahead, and this the last lap. ‘All his mind was bent on getting through or over this impenetrable wall and guard. If once he could do that impossible thing, then somehow the errand would be accomplished, or so it seemed to him in that dark hour of weariness, still laboring in the stony shadows under Cirith Ungol.’

Bits and Bobs

Not much to note, except that Tolkien worked hard to pin down the appearance and approach to Cirith (at first spelled Kirith in his drafts, and always pronounced with a hard C) Ungol; his many sketches are reproduced in The War of the Ring (Volume 8 in The History of Middle-earth).

The Lord of the Rings: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol (Part Two)

 

The Tale

The rock beneath trembles and quivers, a great rumbling rolling through the ground under them, echoing in the mountains. From far over the black mountains a great red light leaps into the sky, lighting the low cloud cover. And the tower of Minas Morgul answers the signal with a flare of livid lightning and blue flame, leaping from the city and its surrounding hills. The earth groans.

Out of the city comes a great mingled cry as of birds of prey, the ‘shrill neighing of horses wild with rage and fear,’ and a rending shriek rising to a piercing screech beyond hearing. The hobbits put their hands over their ears and cast themselves to the ground. ‘The terrible cry ended, falling back through a long sickening wail to silence.’ Frodo looks up to the walls of the evil city. Its cavernous gate is open, looking like a gaping fanged mouth, and an army is pouring forth from it.

It comes in an endless black stream, lead by a great cavalry of horses. At the head rides one greater than all the rest: completely black but crowned with a flickering light. As it nears the bridge leading out of the fortress, Frodo gazes at the figure in dread.

‘Surely there was the Lord of the Nine Riders returned to earth to lead his ghastly host to battle? Here, yes here indeed was he haggard king whose cold hand had smitten down the Ring-bearer with his deadly knife. The old wound throbbed with pain and a great chill spread towards Frodo’s heart.’

 

The Rider halts just at the bridge, and the host stops behind him. Maybe it was the nearness of the Ring that troubles the wraith, the menace of a great power entering his domain. He looks back and forth, seeking the cause of his uneasiness. Frodo cannot move or stop staring: more than ever he feels the call for him to put on the Ring.

But now he feels no answering call in his will to put it on. He knows the Ring will only betray him, and he has not the power to match the Witch-king. But a great power from outside seems to be moving his hand toward the Ring against his will. With some effort he moves his hand to another object: the Phial of Galadriel, almost forgotten until now. Clutching it seems to drive the temptation from his mind, and he sighs and bows his head, released from the evil fascination of the Morgul-lord.

The Wraith-king spurs his horse forward and the host follows behind him. ‘Maybe the elven-hoods defied his unseen eyes, and the mind of his small enemy, being strengthened, had turned aside his thought.’ Anyway, he is in haste. His Master has given the call and he must march with war against the West.

Finally he passes, ‘like shadow into shadow.’ The army follows, rank on rank, in what seems an endless stream. ‘So great an army had never issued from that vale since the days of Isildur’s might; no host so fell and strong in arms had yet assailed the fords of Anduin; and yet it was but one and not the greatest of the hosts that Mordor now sent forth.’

Bits and Bobs

I think we can safely assume that the ‘red flash’ from Mordor comes from an eruption of Mount Doom, controlled by Sauron, who, as Galdor noted at the Council of Elrond, ‘can torture and destroy the very hills.’

The black horses of the host are no doubt bred from the beasts stolen from Rohan, where Saron’s agents always chose the black ones to take. They have been brought up to endure their unnatural riders, both orc and wraith, but they still squeal in pain and fear.

The Lord of the Nazgul wears ‘a helm like a crown,’ which to me recalls the famous headgear of Richard II the Lionheart.

Reproduction from a Famous Statue in London

Frodo’s will, though he still feels the temptation, has grown since their last encounter at the Ford of Bruinen. But the power of the Wraith still almost overcomes his body. Perhaps this is a foreshadowing of events to come at the very Crack of Doom, where Sauron’s (and the Ring’s) power is greatest. The Phial seems to strengthen Frodo and perhaps the elven-cloaks foil the Witch-king’s eyes, but they are headed to where ‘all other powers fail.’

The Witch-king can sense something, some power, but can’t pinpoint it as the Ring. Apparently, someone needs to be wearing it before anyone is ‘aware’ of it; Gollum, when he had it, was sheltered by being hidden under the mountains. As it is, the Wraith-lord can’t stop to investigate, the war (and Sauron’s command) is pushing him on.

Watchers of the Jackson films, note: the Witch-king sets forth on a horse. He is not yet remounted on a Fell-beast.

The Lord of the Rings: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol (Part One)

The Tale

After darkness falls on the Cross-roads, Gollum tugs at Frodo’s cloak, hissing with fear and impatient to get going. It is not a place to pause. They turn to the dark road to the east and leave the ring of trees, heading towards the mountains. The road rounds a great rock and then heads east again and starts to climb steeply.

Frodo and Sam trudge along. The burden of the Ring, lightened while they were in Ithilien, is getting heavier, bowing Frodo’s head as the way gets steeper. At last, when he looks up, there it is: the city of the Ringwraiths. The sight makes him cower.

Ahead, in a deep tilted valley of shadow, ‘high on a rocky seat upon the black knees of the Ephel Duath, stood the walls and tower of Minas Morgul.’ Though all is dark, it glows from within with a pale sickly corpse-light that illumines nothing. Windows gape like black eyes into the void. ‘[T]he topmost course of the tower revolved slowly, first one way and then another, a huge ghostly head leering into the night.’ Gollum silently pulls at the hobbits’ cloaks and urges them on down the road. They reluctantly follow.

The three come slowly to a white bridge passing over the stream winding through the valley towards the black mouth of the gate in the city walls.

The banks on either side are filled with pale white flowers that exude a sickening rotten smell; they are ‘beautiful and yet horrible of shape, like the demented forms in an uneasy dream.’ Carved figures stand at the head of the bridge, ‘human and bestial, but all corrupt and loathsome.’ The vapor rising off the stream beneath is deathly cold.

They are almost at the bridge when suddenly Frodo reels, mind darkening, and he stumbles toward it, as if drawn by some power. Sam and Gollum run after him and Sam grabs Frodo in his arms while Gollum whispers frantically that Master mustn’t go that way. And for once Sam agrees with him.

Frodo wrenches his gaze away from the pale city; the tower seems to fascinate him, like a snake to a bird, urging him to run forward to doom. As he pulls himself away the Ring resists him, tugging back, and for a moment his eyes go dark as he looks away from the ghastly tower.

Gollum, ‘crawling on the ground like a frightened animal’, is already fleeing into the gloom along the near bank of the stream, and Sam, guiding the stumbling Frodo, follows. They pass through a gap in the stone-wall by the waters and come to a faintly glowing path that fades winding up into darkness.

The hobbits trudge along side by side, with Gollum turning now and then to beckon them onward. His eyes gleam with a green-white light, ‘reflecting the noisome Morgul-sheen perhaps, or kindled by some answering mood within.’ As they rise above the poisonous vapors of the stream and the stench of the sickly flowers the hobbits’ heads clear, but now they are weary, limbs tired as if they had walked all night, from fighting the deadly allure of Morgul-vale.

At last, they must stop for a rest. They have climbed up to a bare lump of rock; from here their path turns up into the mountains, out of the immediate sight of the city. Frodo plunks himself down. He must rest before he attempts that climb. The Ring lies heavily on Frodo, and he is oppressed ‘as if a heavy spell was laid on his mind and body.’ Gollum grows frantic, ‘hissing behind his hand’ as if to keep the sound from unseen listeners in the air.’ This is not the best place to stop; if anyone comes to the bridge, they can see them!  Sam agrees, and Frodo wearily gets to his feet.

‘But it was too late.’

Bits and Bobs

Minas Morgul used to be Minas Ithil, the shining sister-city of Minas Anor (now Minas Tirith), but after being invested and corrupted by the Ringwraiths for centuries it has become a place of decay and delirium. Its wavering light lights nothing; its windows look into emptiness; it is the decaying skull of a city. It is the Tower of Black Sorcery (=Morgul), and as such exudes a spell-binding influence, a weariness and reluctance on those who get near to it, not unlike the ‘demonic oppression and obsession’ (steps down from full possession) of exorcism lore. It is particularly heavy on Frodo, who bears the Ring. One detail I always forget about Minas Morgul is that the top of the tower rotates.

The bridge into the Morgul-vale has figures ‘both bestial and human,’ but whether that means there are carvings of beasts and humans, or figures mingling aspects of the two, is ambiguous. For the LOTR movies, Alan Lee opted for creatures like Balrogs.

I tried to look up if a ‘stone-wall’ is any different than just a ‘stone wall’ but could find nothing.

“Noisome" has nothing to do with noise but means rather ‘having an extremely offensive smell; disagreeable; unpleasant.’ It is from the Middle English ‘noy’, a shortening of ‘annoy’. I remember seeing in an old Thor comic book the dragon Fafnir calling Thor a ‘noisome flea’, which in context obviously meant he made too much noise. This was corrected by a letter in the next issue.

Gollum’s extravagant efforts at stealth and silence show that he fears there might be unseen observers and listeners around and, considering that it is the city of the Ringwraiths, he’s probably not far wrong. Better to err on the side of caution. His terror even allows him to touch the Elven-cloaks in an effort to speed the hobbits along. Or perhaps their power is eclipsed by the dark sorcery of Morgul. 

Just before they pass out of the sight of the city, Frodo is overcome by a last blast of exhaustion, as if the spell of the tower (or is it the Ring?) is exerting a final effort. It delays them long enough for a new danger to begin.