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

by C. S. Lewis

  “Oh yes. Now?” said Lucy, jumping up and clapping her hands.

  “Oh, children,” said the Lion, “I feel my strength coming back to me. Oh, children, catch me if you can!” He stood for a second, his eyes very bright, his limbs quivering, lashing himself with his tail. Then he made a leap high over their heads and landed on the other side of the Table. Laughing, though she didn’t know why, Lucy scrambled over it to reach him. Aslan leaped again. A mad chase began. Round and round the hilltop he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs. It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why might playing be the first thing Aslan does after coming back to life? Does this surprise you? Why or why not?

  JUNE 15

  I’ll Be Nobody

  WHEN ARAVIS HAD FINISHED telling her story, Lasaraleen said, “But, darling, why don’t you marry Ahoshta Tarkaan? Everyone’s crazy about him. My husband says he is beginning to be one of the greatest men in Calormen. He has just been made Grand Vizier now old Axartha has died. Didn’t you know?”

  “I don’t care. I can’t stand the sight of him,” said Aravis.

  “But, darling, only think! Three palaces, and one of them that beautiful one down on the lake at Ilkeen. Positively ropes of pearls, I’m told. Baths of asses’ milk. And you’d see such a lot of me.”

  “He can keep his pearls and palaces as far as I’m concerned,” said Aravis.

  “You always were a queer girl, Aravis,” said Lasaraleen. “What more do you want?”

  In the end, however, Aravis managed to make her friend believe that she was in earnest, and even to discuss plans [for getting Aravis to Narnia]. . . .

  . . . [Lasaraleen] kept on telling Aravis that Narnia was a country of

  perpetual snow and ice inhabited by demons and sorcerers, and she was mad to think of going there. “And with a peasant boy, too!” said Lasaraleen. “Darling, think of it! It’s not Nice.” Aravis had thought of it a good deal, but she was so tired of Lasaraleen’s silliness by now that, for the first time, she began to think that traveling with Shasta was really rather more fun than fashionable life in Tashbaan. So she only replied, “You forget that I’ll be nobody, just like him, when we get to Narnia. And anyway, I promised.”

  “And to think,” said Lasaraleen, almost crying, “that if only you had sense you could be the wife of a Grand Vizier!”

  —The Horse and His Boy

  What about Lasaraleen’s conversation do you think makes Aravis prefer to be a nobody? What exactly do you think Aravis means by being nobody? Have you ever felt being a nobody was a good thing? Why or why not?

  JUNE 16

  Your Ignorance Is Pardoned

  CASPIAN ORDERED HORSES, of which there were a few in the castle, though very ill-groomed, and he, with Bern and Drinian and a few others, rode out into the town and made for the slave market. It was a long low building near the harbor and the scene which they found going on inside was very much like any other auction; that is to say, there was a great crowd and Pug, on a platform, was roaring out in a raucous voice:

  “Now, gentlemen, lot twenty-three. Fine Terebinthian agricultural laborer, suitable for the mines or the galleys. Under twenty-five years of age. Not a bad tooth in his head. Good, brawny fellow. Take off his shirt, Tacks, and let the gentlemen see. There’s muscle for you! Look at the chest on him. Ten crescents from the gentleman in the corner. You must be joking, sir. Fifteen! Eighteen! Eighteen is bid for lot twenty-three. Any advance on eighteen? Twenty-one. Thank you, sir. Twenty-one is bidden—”

  But Pug stopped and gaped when he saw the mail-clad figures who had clanked up to the platform.

  “On your knees, every man of you, to the King of Narnia,” said the Duke. . . .

  “Your life is forfeit, Pug, for laying hands on our royal person yesterday,” said Caspian. “But your ignorance is pardoned. The slave trade was forbidden in all our dominions quarter of an hour ago. I declare every slave in this market free. . . . Every man who has bought a slave today must have his money back. Pug, bring out your takings to the last minim.” (A minim is the fortieth part of a crescent.)

  “Does your good Majesty mean to beggar me?” whined Pug.

  “You have lived on broken hearts all your life,” said Caspian, “and if you are beggared, it is better to be a beggar than a slave.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Despite the fact that Pug sold him as a slave only the day before, Caspian pardons him. Though he is ignorant of the law, is Pug ignorant of the results of his actions? Who in our world could be accused of “having lived on broken hearts”?

  JUNE 17

  Now That I Know You

  TUMNUS [SAID], “I had orders from the White Witch that if ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood, I was to catch them and hand them over to her. And you are the first I ever met. And I’ve pretended to be your friend and asked you to tea, and all the time I’ve been meaning to wait till you were asleep and then go and tell Her.”

  “Oh, but you won’t, Mr. Tumnus,” said Lucy. “You won’t, will you? Indeed, indeed you really mustn’t.”

  “And if I don’t,” said he, beginning to cry again, “she’s sure to find out. And she’ll have my tail cut off, and my horns sawn off, and my beard plucked out, and she’ll wave her wand over my beautiful cloven hoofs and turn them into horrid solid hoofs like a wretched horse’s. And if she is extra and specially angry she’ll turn me into stone and I shall be only a statue of a Faun in her horrible house until the four thrones at Cair Paravel are filled—and goodness knows when that will happen, or whether it will ever happen at all.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Tumnus,” said Lucy. “But please let me go home.”

  “Of course I will,” said the Faun. “Of course I’ve got to. I see that now. I hadn’t known what Humans were like before I met you. Of course I can’t give you up to the Witch; not now that I know you. But we must be off at once. I’ll see you back to the lamp-post.”

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why does Tumnus change his mind? Have you ever thought you’d be able to do something only to realize in the face of it that you could not?

  JUNE 18

  Quick!

  AND NOW, round that point there came into sight a boat. When it had cleared the point, it turned and began coming along the channel toward them. There were two people on board, one rowing, the other sitting in the stern and holding a bundle that twitched and moved as if it were alive. Both these people seemed to be soldiers. . . . The children drew back from the beach into the wood and watched without moving a finger.

  “This’ll do,” said the soldier in the stern when the boat had come about opposite to them.

  “What about tying a stone to his feet, Corporal?” said the other, resting on his oars.

  “Garn!” growled the other. “We don’t need that, and we haven’t brought one. He’ll drown sure enough without a stone, as long as we’ve tied the cords right.” With these words he rose and lifted his bundle. Peter now saw that it was really alive and was in fact a Dwarf, bound hand and foot but struggling as hard as he could. Next moment he heard a twang just beside his ear, and all at once the soldier threw up his arms, dropping the Dwarf into the bottom of the boat, and fell over into the water. He floundered away to the far bank and Peter knew that Susan’s arrow had struck his helmet. He turned and saw that she was very pale but was already fitting a second arrow to the string. But it was never used. As soon as he saw his companion fall, the other soldier, with a loud cry, jumped out of the boat on th
e far side, and he also floundered through the water (which was apparently just in his depth) and disappeared into the woods of the mainland.

  “Quick! Before she drifts!” shouted Peter. . . . In a few seconds they had hauled [the boat] to the bank and lifted the Dwarf out, and Edmund was busily engaged in cutting his bonds with the pocket-knife.

  —Prince Caspian

  No one hesitates to step in and try to save the Dwarf. Why is such quick action warranted? When is it appropriate to stop and consider and when should we just act on instinct?

  JUNE 19

  Only Noise

  WHEN THE LION had first begun singing, long ago when it was still quite dark, [Uncle Andrew] had realized that the noise was a song. And he had disliked the song very much. It made him think and feel things he did not want to think and feel. Then, when the sun rose and he saw that the singer was a lion (“only a lion,” as he said to himself) he tried his hardest to make believe that it wasn’t singing and never had been singing—only roaring as any lion might in a zoo in our own world. “Of course it can’t really have been singing,” he thought, “I must have imagined it. I’ve been letting my nerves get out of order. Who ever heard of a lion singing?” And the longer and more beautifully the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed. Uncle Andrew did. He soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan’s song. Soon he couldn’t have heard anything else even if he had wanted to. And when at last the Lion spoke and said, “Narnia, awake,” he didn’t hear any words: he heard only a snarl. And when the Beasts spoke in answer, he heard only barkings, growlings, baying, and howlings.

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  Why would Uncle Andrew want to make himself “stupider”? How do we close ourselves off from what we do not want to experience or know? When have you closed yourself off from something right in front of you?

  JUNE 20

  The Invisible Soldiers’ Request

  WELL, THEN, to put it in a nutshell,” said the Chief

  Voice, “we’ve been waiting for ever so long for a nice little

  girl from foreign parts, like it might be you, Missie—that would go upstairs and go to the magic book and find the spell that takes off the invisibleness, and say it. And we all swore that the first strangers as landed on this island (having a nice little girl with them, I mean, for if they hadn’t it’d be another matter) we wouldn’t let them go away alive unless they’d done the needful for us. And that’s why, gentlemen, if your little girl doesn’t come up to scratch, it will be our painful duty to cut all your throats. Merely in the way of business, as you might say, and no offense, I hope.”. . .

  “But why do you want me to do this?” asked Lucy. “Why can’t one of your own people? Haven’t you got any girls?”

  “We dursen’t, we dursen’t,” said all the Voices. “We’re not going upstairs again.”

  “In other words,” said Caspian, “you are asking this lady to face some danger which you daren’t ask your own sisters and daughters to face!”

  “That’s right, that’s right,” said all the Voices cheerfully. “You couldn’t have said it better. Eh, you’ve had some education, you have. Anyone can see that.”

  “Well, of all the outrageous—” began Edmund, but Lucy interrupted.

  “Would I have to go upstairs at night, or would it do in daylight?”

  “Oh, daylight, daylight, to be sure,” said the Chief Voice. “Not at night. No one’s asking you to do that. Go upstairs in the dark? Ugh.”

  “All right, then, I’ll do it,” said Lucy. “No,” she said, turning to the others, “don’t try to stop me. Can’t you see it’s no use? There are dozens of them there. We can’t fight them. And the other way there is a chance.”

  “But a magician!” said Caspian.

  “I know,” said Lucy. “But he mayn’t be as bad as they make out. Don’t you get the idea that these people are not very brave?”

  “They’re certainly not very clever,” said Eustace.

  “Look here, Lu,” said Edmund. “We really can’t let you do a thing like this. Ask Reep, I’m sure he’ll say just the same.”

  “But it’s to save my own life as well as yours,” said Lucy. “I don’t want to be cut to bits with invisible swords any more than anyone else.”

  “Her Majesty is in the right,” said Reepicheep. “If we had any assurance of saving her by battle, our duty would be very plain. It appears to me that we have none. And the service they ask of her is in no way contrary to her Majesty’s honor, but a noble and heroical act. If the Queen’s heart moves her to risk the magician, I will not speak against it.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  What would you say if you were in Lucy’s place? In Caspian’s or Edmund’s? What would you think of people who asked you to help them by taking a risk they weren’t willing to take themselves?

  JUNE 21

  The Underground March

  THE COLD LIGHT came from a large ball on top of a long pole, and the tallest of the gnomes carried this at the head of the procession. By its cheerless rays they could see that they were in a natural cavern; the walls and roof were knobbed, twisted, and gashed into a thousand fantastic shapes, and the stony floor sloped downward as they proceeded. It was worse for Jill than the others, because she hated dark, underground places. And when, as they went on, the cave got lower and narrower, and when, at last, the light-bearer stood aside, and the gnomes, one by one, stooped down (all except the very smallest ones) and stepped into a little dark crack and disappeared, she felt she could bear it no longer.

  “I can’t go in there, I can’t! I can’t! I won’t!” she panted. The Earthmen said nothing but they all lowered their spears and pointed them at her.

  “Steady, Pole,” said Puddleglum. “Those big fellows wouldn’t be crawling in there if it didn’t get wider later on. And there’s one thing about this underground work, we shan’t get any rain.”

  “Oh, you don’t understand. I can’t,” wailed Jill.

  “Think how I felt on that cliff, Pole,” said Scrubb. “You go first, Puddleglum, and I’ll come after her.”

  “That’s right,” said the Marsh-wiggle, getting down on his hands and knees. “You keep a grip on my heels, Pole, and Scrubb will hold on to yours. Then we’ll all be comfortable.”

  “Comfortable!” said Jill. But she got down and they crawled in on their elbows. It was a nasty place. You had to go flat on your face for what seemed like half an hour, though it may really have been only five minutes. It was hot. Jill felt she was being smothered. But at last a dim light showed ahead, the tunnel grew wider and higher, and they came out, hot, dirty, and shaken, into a cave so large that it scarcely seemed a cave at all.

  —The Silver Chair

  How do Puddleglum and Scrubb help Jill face her fears? What scares you in the same way that dark, confined places scare Jill? Has anyone helped you face your fears?

  JUNE 22

  Let the Prince Win His Spurs

  THAT, O MAN,” said Aslan, “is Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are the firstborn and you will be High King over all the rest.”

  And once more Peter said nothing, for at that moment a strange noise woke the silence suddenly. It was like a bugle, but richer.

  “It is your sister’s horn,” said Aslan to Peter in a low voice; so low as to be almost a purr, if it is not disrespectful to think of a Lion purring.

  For a moment Peter did not understand. Then, when he saw all the other creatures start forward and heard Aslan say with a wave of his paw, “Back! Let the Prince win his spurs,” he did understand, and set off running as hard as he could to the pavilion. And there he saw a dreadful sight.

  The Naiads and Dryads were scattering in every direction. Lucy was running toward him as fast as her short legs would carry
her and her face was as white as paper. Then he saw Susan make a dash for a tree, and swing herself up, followed by a huge grey beast. At first Peter thought it was a bear. Then he saw that it looked like an Alsatian, though it was far too big to be a dog. Then he realized that it was a wolf—a wolf standing on its hind legs, with its front paws against the tree-trunk, snapping and snarling. All the hair on its back stood up on end. Susan had not been able to get higher than the second big branch. One of her legs hung down so that her foot was only an inch or two above the snapping teeth. Peter wondered why she did not get higher or at least take a better grip; then he realized that she was just going to faint and that if she fainted she would fall off.

  Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do. He rushed straight up to the monster and aimed a slash of his sword at its side. That stroke never reached the Wolf. Quick as lightning it turned round, its eyes flaming, and its mouth wide open in a howl of anger. If it had not been so angry that it simply had to howl it would have got him by the throat at once. As it was—though all this happened too quickly for Peter to think at all—he had just time to duck down and plunge his sword, as hard as he could, between the brute’s forelegs into its heart. Then came a horrible, confused moment like something in a nightmare. He was tugging and pulling and the Wolf seemed neither alive nor dead, and its bared teeth knocked against his forehead, and everything was blood and heat and hair. A moment later he found that the monster lay dead and he had drawn his sword out of it and was straightening his back and rubbing the sweat off his face and out of his eyes. He felt tired all over.