A Year with Aslan: Daily Reflections from The Chronicles of Narnia

by C. S. Lewis

  “Oh, well done, Su,” shouted the other children.

  “It wasn’t really any better than yours,” said Susan to the Dwarf. “I think there was a tiny breath of wind as you shot.”

  —Prince Caspian

  Why does Susan not enjoy arching against the Dwarf as much as Edmund enjoyed their earlier fencing match? Is one attitude preferable to the other? Why or why not?

  MAY 12

  My Humble Duty to Your Majesties

  OH, ARE YOU WOUNDED?” asked Lucy. “Do let me look.”

  “It’s not a sight for little girls,” began Trumpkin, but then he suddenly checked himself. “There I go talking like a fool again,” he said. “I suppose you’re as likely to be a great surgeon as your brother was to be a great swordsman or your sister to be a great archer.” He sat down on the steps and took off his hauberk and slipped down his little shirt, showing an arm hairy and muscular (in proportion) as a sailor’s though not much bigger than a child’s. There was a clumsy bandage on the shoulder which Lucy proceeded to unroll. Underneath, the cut looked very nasty and there was a good deal of swelling. “Oh, poor Trumpkin,” said Lucy. “How horrid.” Then she carefully dripped onto it one single drop of the cordial from her flask.

  “Hullo. Eh? What have you done?” said Trumpkin. But however he turned his head and squinted and whisked his beard to and fro, he couldn’t quite see his own shoulder. Then he felt it as well as he could, getting his arms and fingers into very difficult positions as you do when you’re trying to scratch a place that is just out of reach. Then he swung his arm and raised it and tried the muscles, and finally jumped to his feet crying, “Giants and junipers! It’s cured! It’s as good as new.” After that he burst into a great laugh and said, “Well, I’ve made as big a fool of myself as ever a Dwarf did. No offense, I hope? My humble duty to your Majesties all—humble duty. And thanks for my life, my cure, my breakfast—and my lesson.”

  The children all said it was quite all right and not to mention it.

  “And now,” said Peter, “if you’ve really decided to believe in us—”

  “I have,” said the Dwarf.

  “It’s quite clear what we have to do. We must join King Caspian at once.”

  “The sooner the better,” said Trumpkin. “My being such a fool has already wasted about an hour.”

  —Prince Caspian

  What does Peter mean when he asks the Dwarf if he now believes in them? What does it say about the Dwarf that he can admit he was wrong?

  MAY 13

  Invisible Enemies

  INVISIBLE ENEMIES,” muttered Caspian. “And cutting us off from the boat. This is an ugly furrow to plow.”

  “You’ve no idea what sort of creatures they are, Lu?” asked Edmund.

  “How can I, Ed, when I couldn’t see them?”

  “Did they sound like humans from their footsteps?”

  “I didn’t hear any noise of feet—only voices and this frightful thudding and thumping—like a mallet.”

  “I wonder,” said Reepicheep, “do they become visible when you drive a sword into them?”

  “It looks as if we shall find out,” said Caspian. “But let’s get out of this gateway. There’s one of these gentry at that pump listening to all we say.”

  They came out and went back on to the path where the trees might possibly make them less conspicuous. “Not that it’s any good really,” said Eustace, “trying to hide from people you can’t see. They may be all round us.”

  “Now, Drinian,” said Caspian. “How would it be if we gave up the boat for lost, went down to another part of the bay, and signaled to the Dawn Treader to stand in and take us aboard?”

  “Not depth for her, Sire,” said Drinian.

  “We could swim,” said Lucy.

  “Your Majesties all,” said Reepicheep, “hear me. It is folly to think of avoiding an invisible enemy by any amount of creeping and skulking. If these creatures mean to bring us to battle, be sure they will succeed. And whatever comes of it I’d sooner meet them face to face than be caught by the tail.”

  “I really think Reep is in the right this time,” said Edmund.

  “Surely,” said Lucy, “if Rhince and the others on the Dawn Treader see us fighting on the shore they’ll be able to do something.”

  “But they won’t see us fighting if they can’t see any enemy,” said Eustace miserably. “They’ll think we’re just swinging our swords in the air for fun.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  “Well,” said Caspian at last, “let’s get on with it. We must go and face them. Shake hands all round—arrow on the string, Lucy—swords out, everyone else—and now for it. Perhaps they’ll parley.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Why do they ultimately decide to face their enemies, even though they are invisible? What is the purpose of shaking hands before going into a battle situation? What kind of feeling might that build among the companions?

  MAY 14

  The Whole Truth

  AND SO, before they were half-way through Tashbaan, all their plans were ruined, and without even a chance to say good-bye to the others Shasta found himself being marched off among strangers and quite unable to guess what might be going to happen next. The Narnian King—for Shasta began to see by the way the rest spoke to him that he must be a king—kept on asking him questions; where he had been, how he had got out, what he had done with his clothes, and didn’t he know that he had been very naughty. Only the king called it “naught” instead of naughty.

  And Shasta said nothing in answer, because he couldn’t think of anything to say that would not be dangerous.

  “What! All mum?” asked the king. “I must plainly tell you, prince, that this hangdog silence becomes one of your blood even less than the scape itself. To run away might pass for a boy’s frolic with some spirit in it. But the king’s son of Archenland should avouch his deed; not hang his head like a Calormene slave.”. . .

  “This is perfectly dreadful,” thought Shasta. It never came into his head to tell these Narnians the whole truth and ask for their help. Having been brought up by a hard, closefisted man like Arsheesh, he had a fixed habit of never telling grown-ups anything if he could help it; he thought they would always spoil or stop whatever you were trying to do. . . . “I simply daren’t tell them I’m not Prince Corin now,” thought Shasta. “I’ve heard all their plans. If they knew I wasn’t one of themselves, they’d never let me out of this house alive. They’d be afraid I’d betray them to the Tisroc. They’d kill me. And if the real Corin turns up, it’ll all come out, and they will!” He had, you see, no idea of how noble and free-born people behave.

  —The Horse and His Boy

  Mistaking Shasta for the lost prince, the king tells him that not explaining why he ran away “becomes one of your blood even less than the scape itself.” What is the difference between his perspective on truth and Shasta’s? What changes could more honesty, with ourselves and with others around us, bring about in our world?

  MAY 15

  Jill and Eustace’s Task

  AND NOW HEAR YOUR TASK. Far from here in the land of Narnia there lives an aged king who is sad because he has no prince of his blood to be king after him. He has no heir because his only son was stolen from him many years ago, and no one in Narnia knows where that prince went or whether he is still alive. But he is. I lay on you this command, that you seek this lost prince until either you have found him and brought him to his father’s house, or else died in the attempt, or else gone back to your own world.”

  “How, please?” said Jill.

  “I will tell you, Child,” said the Lion. “These are the signs by which I will guide you in your quest. First; as soon as the Boy Eustace sets foot in Narnia, he will meet an old and dear friend. He must greet that friend at once; if he does, you will both have good help. Second; you must journey out of Narnia to the north till you come to the ruined city of the ancient giants. Third; you shall find a wr
iting on a stone in that ruined city, and you must do what the writing tells you. Fourth; you will know the lost prince (if you find him) by this, that he will be the first person you have met in your travels who will ask you to do something in my name, in the name of Aslan.”

  As the Lion seemed to have finished, Jill thought she should say something. So she said, “Thank you very much. I see.”

  “Child,” said Aslan, in a gentler voice than he had yet used, “perhaps you do not see quite as well as you think. But the first step is to remember.”

  —The Silver Chair

  Jill reacts quite calmly to the task and the signs Aslan gives her, at least outwardly. What does this tell us about Jill? How would you react to the Lion’s words? What might he mean by saying that perhaps she does not see as well as she thinks?

  MAY 16

  Making It All Up

  STILL PLAYING YOUR OLD GAME?” said Eustace Clarence, who had been listening outside the door and now came grinning into the room. Last year, when he had been staying with the Pevensies, he had managed to hear them all talking of Narnia and he loved teasing them about it. He thought of course that they were making it all up; and as he was far too stupid to make anything up himself, he did not approve of that.

  “You’re not wanted here,” said Edmund curtly.

  “I’m trying to think of a limerick,” said Eustace. “Something like this:

  “Some kids who played games about Narnia

  Got gradually balmier and balmier—”

  “Well, Narnia and balmier don’t rhyme, to begin with,” said Lucy.

  “It’s an assonance,” said Eustace.

  “Don’t ask him what an assy-thingummy is,” said Edmund. “He’s only longing to be asked. Say nothing and perhaps he’ll go away.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Why do Edmund’s and Lucy’s stories about Narnia make Eustace not like them very much? Do you normally think of someone with a great imagination as intelligent? Why or why not?

  MAY 17

  A Dark and Doubtful Enterprise

  BUT WHY, O MY FATHER,” said the Prince—this time in a much more respectful voice, “why should we think twice about punishing Narnia any more than about hanging an idle slave or sending a worn-out horse to be made into dog’s-meat? It is not the fourth size of one of your least provinces. A thousand spears could conquer it in five weeks. It is an unseemly blot on the skirts of your empire.”

  “Most undoubtedly,” said the Tisroc. “These little barbarian countries that call themselves free (which is as much as to say, idle, disordered, and unprofitable) are hateful to the gods and to all persons of discernment.”

  “Then why have we suffered such a land as Narnia to remain thus long unsubdued?”

  “Know, O enlightened Prince,” said the Grand Vizier, “that until the year in which your exalted father began his salutary and unending reign, the land of Narnia was covered with ice and snow and was moreover ruled by a most powerful enchantress.”

  “This I know very well, O loquacious Vizier,” answered the Prince. “But I know also that the enchantress is dead. And the ice and snow have vanished, so that Narnia is now wholesome, fruitful, and delicious.”

  “And this change, O most learned Prince, has doubtless been brought to pass by the powerful incantations of those wicked persons who now call themselves kings and queens of Narnia.”

  “I am rather of the opinion,” said Rabadash, “that it has come about by the alteration of the stars and the operation of natural causes.”

  “All this,” said the Tisroc, “is a question for the disputations of learned men. I will never believe that so great an alteration, and the killing of the old enchantress, were effected without the aid of strong magic. And such things are to be expected in that land, which is chiefly inhabited by demons in the shape of beasts that talk like men, and monsters that are half man and half beast. It is commonly reported that the High King of Narnia (whom may the gods utterly reject) is supported by a demon of hideous aspect and irresistible maleficence who appears in the shape of a Lion. Therefore the attacking of Narnia is a dark and doubtful enterprise, and I am determined not to put my hand out farther than I can draw it back.”

  —The Horse and His Boy

  The Tisroc believes the change in Narnia was wrought by sorcery, and the Prince believes it has come about by the stars and natural causes. What does each man’s idea show about him? What explanations would appeal to you to describe a change as dramatic as this one?

  MAY 18

  The True Sign of Maturity

  ASLAN, ASLAN. DEAR ASLAN,” sobbed Lucy. “At last.”

  The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws. He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue. His warm breath came all round her. She gazed up into the large wise face.

  “Welcome, child,” he said.

  “Aslan,” said Lucy, “you’re bigger.”

  “That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

  “Not because you are?”

  “I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

  —Prince Caspian

  What could it mean that Aslan appears bigger to Lucy? Over the years, how has your perception of certain things changed?

  MAY 19

  The Cabby Strikes Up a Hymn

  THIS IS NOT CHARN,” came the Witch’s voice. “This is an empty world. This is nothing.”

  And really it was uncommonly like Nothing. There were no stars. It was so dark that they couldn’t see one another at all and it made no difference whether you kept your eyes shut or opened. Under their feet there was a cool, flat something which might have been earth, and was certainly not grass or wood. The air was cold and dry and there was no wind.

  “My doom has come upon me,” said the Witch in a voice of horrible calmness.

  “Oh don’t say that,” babbled Uncle Andrew. “My dear young lady, pray don’t say such things. It can’t be as bad as that. Ah—Cabman—my good man—you don’t happen to have a flask about you? A drop of spirits is just what I need.”

  “Now then, now then,” came the Cabby’s voice, a good firm, hardy voice. “Keep cool, everyone, that’s what I say. No bones broken, anyone? Good. Well there’s something to be thankful for straight away, and more than anyone could expect after falling all that way. Now, if we’ve fallen down some diggings—as it might be for a new station on the Underground—someone will come and get us out presently, see! And if we’re dead—which I don’t deny it might be—well, you got to remember that worse things ’appen at sea and a chap’s got to die sometime. And there ain’t nothing to be afraid of if a chap’s led a decent life. And if you ask me, I think the best thing we could do to pass the time would be sing a ’ymn.”

  And he did. He struck up at once a harvest thanksgiving hymn, all about crops being “safely gathered in.” It was not very suitable to a place which felt as if nothing had ever grown there since the beginning of time, but it was the one he could remember best. He had a fine voice and the children joined in; it was very cheering. Uncle Andrew and the Witch did not join in.

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  What does the way each adult responds to the new world reveal about him or her? Whose response do you think your own would most closely imitate?

  MAY 20

  What Your Friends Really Think

  A LITTLE LATER she came to a spell which would let you know what your friends thought about you. . . . And all in a hurry, for fear her mind would change, she said the words (nothing will induce me to tell you what they were). Then she waited for something to happen.

  . . . And all at once she saw the very last thing she expected—a picture of a third-class carriage in a train, with two schoolgirls sitting in it. . . . Only now it was much more than a picture. It was alive. . . . Then gradually (like when the radio is “coming on”) she could hear what they were saying.


  “Shall I see anything of you this term?” said Anne, “or are you still going to be all taken up with Lucy Pevensie?”

  “Don’t know what you mean by taken up,” said Marjorie.

  “Oh yes, you do,” said Anne. “You were crazy about her last term.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” said Marjorie. “I’ve got more sense than that. Not a bad little kid in her way. But I was getting pretty tired of her before the end of term.”

  “Well, you jolly well won’t have the chance any other term!” shouted Lucy. “Two-faced little beast.” But the sound of her own voice at once reminded her that she was talking to a picture and that the real Marjorie was far away in another world.

  “Well,” said Lucy to herself, “I did think better of her than that. And I did all sorts of things for her last term, and I stuck to her when not many other girls would. And she knows it too. And to Anne Featherstone of all people! I wonder are all my friends the same? There are lots of other pictures. No. I won’t look at any more. I won’t, I won’t”—and with a great effort she turned over the page, but not before a large, angry tear had splashed on it.

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Would you have been able to resist the spell, or resist looking at the other pictures on the page? How are we sometimes better off not knowing everything? Why do we have such a desire to know all things?

  MAY 21

  You Have Been Eavesdropping

  CHILD,” [ASLAN] said, “I think you have been eavesdropping.”

  “Eavesdropping?”

  “You listened to what your two schoolfellows were saying about you.”

  “Oh that? I never thought that was eavesdropping, Aslan. Wasn’t it magic?”