The Lord of the Rings
Chapter 1: A Long-Expected Party
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much excitement and chatter in the village of Hobbiton. Bilbo was rich, and his wealth was a matter of both envy and mystery to the folk of the Shire. He had been the wonder of the neighborhood for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return. The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with treasure.
And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigor to marvel at. Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety, he was much the same as at fifty. At ninety-nine, they began to call him well-preserved; but unchanged would have been nearer the mark. There were some who shook their heads and thought this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth.
"It will have to be paid for," they said. "It isn't natural, and trouble will come of it!"
The Shadow of the Past
But so far, trouble had not come; and as Mr. Baggins was generous with his money, most people were willing to forgive him for his oddities and his good fortune. He remained on visiting terms with his relatives (except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginses), and he had many devoted admirers among the hobbits of poor and unimportant families. But he had no close friends, until some of his younger cousins began to grow up.
The eldest of these, and Bilbo's favorite, was young Frodo Baggins. When Bilbo was ninety-nine, he adopted Frodo as his heir and brought him to live at Bag End; and the hopes of the Sackville-Bagginses were finally dashed. Bilbo and Frodo happened to have the same birthday, September 22nd.
"You had better come and live here, Frodo, my lad," said Bilbo one day; "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together." At that time Frodo was still in his tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.
Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses had given very lively combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but now it was understood that something quite exceptional was being planned for this autumn. Bilbo was going to be eleventy-one, 111, a rather curious number and a very respectable age for a hobbit (the Old Took himself had only reached 130); and Frodo was going to be thirty-three, 33, an important number: the date of his "coming of age."
The Arrival of Gandalf
Tongues began to wag in Hobbiton and Bywater; and the rumor of the coming event traveled all over the Shire. The history and character of Mr. Bilbo Baggins were once again the chief topic of conversation; and the older folk suddenly found their reminiscences in demand.
No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag End for forty years.
"A very nice well-spoken gentle-hobbit is Mr. Bilbo, as I've always said," the Gaffer declared.
But as September crept in, the talk became more practical. Carts began to arrive. One evening, a strange-looking cart, laden with odd-looking packages, rolled in. It was driven by an old man in a tall, pointed blue hat, with a long grey beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat. It was Gandalf the Grey.
The Night of the Party
The day finally arrived. The sun rose clear. The tents were pitched in the big field behind Bilbo's front door. There were pavilions for the feast, a special tent for the fireworks, and a massive kitchen tent where the smells of roasting meats and baking pies wafted across the Hill.
The dinner was magnificent. There were three courses, and the ale flowed like a river. When the fireworks began, even the most cynical hobbits were silenced. Gandalf had outdone himself. There were rockets that turned into flights of singing birds, squibs that wrote names in the sky in fire, and a final grand display: a mountain of fire that erupted into a red-golden dragon. The dragon passed over the heads of the guests with a roar, its eyes glowing, and vanished into the night over Bywater.
"That is the signal for supper!" said Bilbo.
After supper came the Speech. Most of the company were now in a tolerant mood, at that delightful stage which they called "filling up the corners." They were sipping their favorite drinks and nibbling at their favorite dainties, and their fears were forgotten. They were prepared to listen to anything, and to cheer at every full stop.
The Speech
Bilbo stood up on a chair. The light of the lanterns fell on his cheerful face; his golden buttons shone.
"My dear people," he began. "My dear Bagginses and Tooks, and my dear Brandybucks, and Grubb s, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots."
"Proudfeet!" shouted an elderly hobbit from the back of the pavilion. His name, of course, was Proudfoot, and he had his feet on the table.
"Proudfoots," repeated Bilbo. "Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today!"
"Hooray! Hooray!" they shouted, and hammered on the tables.
"I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am." Deafening cheers. Cries of "Yes!" and "No!" and "Hooray!"
"I have called you all together for a Purpose." Something in the way he said this caught their attention. "In fact, for Three Purposes!"
"First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits." There was a burst of applause.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
This was unexpected and rather difficult. There was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment.
"Secondly, to celebrate my birthday." Cheers again. "And Frodo's. He comes of age today."
"Thirdly and finally," he said, "I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT." He uttered this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up who could. "I regret to announce that — though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you — this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOODBYE!"
He stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked. When they opened their eyes, Bilbo's chair was empty.
The Departure
Bilbo Baggins was back in his hall at Bag End, chuckling to himself. He took off a small golden ring from his finger and slipped it into his pocket. He was already wearing his traveling clothes—a thick cloak and a hood.
He began to pack the last of his belongings. He felt a strange weight in his heart, but also a great lightness. For years, he had felt "stretched," as he put it, "like butter that has been scraped over too much bread." He needed a change. He needed to see the mountains again.
Before he could leave, a voice spoke from the shadows.
"Well, that was very dramatic," said Gandalf.
Bilbo started. "Oh, it's you, Gandalf. I thought you were still at the party."
"I was," said the wizard. "But I wanted to see you off. You're really going, then?"
"Yes, I am. I've reached the end of my tether. I want to see the wild again before I die. And the ring... I'm leaving it, as we agreed."
But as Bilbo reached for the envelope containing the ring, his hand hesitated. A shadow of anger passed over his face. "It's mine," he muttered. "My precious."
Gandalf's eyes flashed like lightning. The room seemed to grow dark, and the wizard drew himself up to a great height. "Do not say that again! It has been said before, and not by you. Let it go, Bilbo. You have had it too long."
Bilbo trembled. The spell of the ring was strong, but his friendship with Gandalf was older. With a sudden wrench of his will, he let the envelope fall onto the mantelpiece.
"I'm sorry, Gandalf," he whispered. "I don't know what came over me."
"I do," said Gandalf quietly. "But it is over now. Go, Bilbo. The road is waiting."
And so, with a song on his lips and a walking stick in his hand, the old hobbit stepped out into the starlit night, leaving the Shire and his "precious" behind.