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

by C. S. Lewis

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  What makes betrayal, or treachery, worthy of such a punishment in Narnia? Is betrayal worse than other crimes, such as murder? Why or why not?

  AUGUST

  AUGUST 1

  Back to Narnia

  IT WAS AN EMPTY, SLEEPY, country station and there was hardly anyone on the platform except themselves. Suddenly Lucy gave a sharp little cry, like someone who has been stung by a wasp.

  “What’s up, Lu?” said Edmund—and then suddenly broke off and made a noise like “Ow!”

  “What on earth—” began Peter, and then he too suddenly changed what he had been going to say. Instead, he said, “Susan, let go! What are you doing? Where are you dragging me to?”

  “I’m not touching you,” said Susan. “Someone is pulling me. Oh—oh—oh—stop it!”

  Everyone noticed that all the others’ faces had gone very white.

  “I felt just the same,” said Edmund in a breathless voice. “As if I were being dragged along. A most frightful pulling—ugh! it’s beginning again.”

  “Me too,” said Lucy. “Oh, I can’t bear it.”

  “Look sharp!” shouted Edmund. “All catch hands and keep together. This is magic—I can tell by the feeling. Quick!”

  “Yes,” said Susan. “Hold hands. Oh, I do wish it would stop—oh!”

  Next moment the luggage, the seat, the platform, and the station had completely vanished. The four children, holding hands and panting, found themselves standing in a woody place—such a woody place that branches were sticking into them and there was hardly room to move. They all rubbed their eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Oh, Peter!” exclaimed Lucy. “Do you think we can possibly have got back to Narnia?”

  —Prince Caspian

  Edmund identifies the feeling they all share as magic. Do you believe in magic? When have you felt something so powerful it seemed magical?

  AUGUST 2

  A Very Good Answer

  COME HERE,” SAID THE LION. And she had to. She was almost between its front paws now, looking straight into its face. But she couldn’t stand that for long; she dropped her eyes.

  “Human Child,” said the Lion. “Where is the Boy?”

  “He fell over the cliff,” said Jill, and added, “Sir.” She didn’t know what else to call him, and it sounded cheek to call him nothing.

  “How did he come to do that, Human Child?”

  “He was trying to stop me from falling, Sir.”

  “Why were you so near the edge, Human Child?”

  “I was showing off, Sir.”

  “That is a very good answer, Human Child. Do so no more. ”

  —The Silver Chair

  Why is Jill’s response such a good answer? Could you have admitted to your weakness so quickly?

  AUGUST 3

  A Crazy Idea

  BUT AS THE SUN SLOWLY, slowly climbed up to the top of the sky and then slowly, slowly began going downward to the West, and no one came and nothing at all happened, [Shasta] began to get more and more anxious. And of course he now realized that when they arranged to wait for one another at the Tombs no one had said anything about How Long. He couldn’t wait here for the rest of his life! And soon it would be dark again, and he would have another night just like last night. A dozen different plans went through his head, all wretched ones, and at last he fixed on the worst plan of all. He decided to wait till it was dark and then go back to the river and steal as many melons as he could carry and set out for Mount Pire alone, trusting for his direction to the line he had drawn that morning in the sand. It was a crazy idea and if he had read as many books as you have about journeys over deserts he would never have dreamed of it. But Shasta had read no books at all.

  —The Horse and His Boy

  What drives Shasta to settle on the worst plan? When have you made a poor decision because no one else was there for you to talk to or bounce ideas off? Do you tend to make better decisions with another’s input or when you decide by yourself?

  AUGUST 4

  Eustace Is Lost

  SUDDENLY IT OCCURRED TO [EUSTACE] that he might have been lying there for hours. Perhaps the others had gone! Perhaps they had let him wander away on purpose simply in order to leave him behind! He leaped up in a panic and began the descent.

  At first he tried to do it too quickly, slipped on the steep grass, and slid for several feet. Then he thought this had carried him too far to the left—and as he came up he had seen precipices on that side. So he clambered up again, as near as he could guess to the place he had started from, and began the descent afresh, bearing to his right. After that things seemed to be going better. He went very cautiously, for he could not see more than a yard ahead, and there was still perfect silence all around him. It is very unpleasant to have to go cautiously when there is a voice inside you saying all the time, “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” For every moment the terrible idea of being left behind grew stronger. If he had understood Caspian and the Pevensies at all he would have known, of course, that there was not the least chance of their doing any such thing. But he had persuaded himself that they were all fiends in human form.

  “At last!” said Eustace as he came slithering down a slide of loose stones (scree, they call it) and found himself on the level. “And now, where are those trees? There is something dark ahead. Why, I do believe the fog is clearing.”

  It was. The light increased every moment and made him blink. The fog lifted. He was in an utterly unknown valley and the sea was nowhere in sight.

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Eustace realizes that he might have been left behind by the other passengers of the Dawn Treader, those whom he had so happily escaped only a short time ago. How must he feel? When have you felt the panic that comes with being left behind?

  AUGUST 5

  Doctor Cornelius’s True Identity

  BUT, DOCTOR,” SAID CASPIAN, “why do you say my race? After all, I suppose you’re a Telmarine too.”

  “Am I?” said the Doctor.

  “Well, you’re a Man anyway,” said Caspian.

  “Am I?” repeated the Doctor in a deeper voice, at the same moment throwing back his hood so that Caspian could see his face clearly in the moonlight.

  All at once Caspian realized the truth and felt that he ought to have realized it long before. Doctor Cornelius was so small, and so fat, and had such a very long beard. Two thoughts came into his head at the same moment. One was a thought of terror—“He’s not a real man, not a man at all, he’s a Dwarf, and he’s brought me up here to kill me.” The other was sheer delight—“There are real Dwarfs still, and I’ve seen one at last.”

  “So you’ve guessed it in the end,” said Doctor Cornelius. “Or guessed it nearly right. I’m not a pure Dwarf. I have human blood in me too. Many Dwarfs escaped in the great battles and lived on, shaving their beards and wearing high-heeled shoes and pretending to be men. They have mixed with your Telmarines. I am one of those, only a half-Dwarf, and if any of my kindred, the true Dwarfs, are still alive anywhere in the world, doubtless they would despise me and call me a traitor. But never in all these years have we forgotten our own people and all the other happy creatures of Narnia, and the long-lost days of freedom.”

  —Prince Caspian

  Why would a true Dwarf hate Doctor Cornelius? What is an example of a similar situation from our world? In light of the feelings of the true Dwarfs, is it surprising that Doctor Cornelius still longs for the restoration of the Old Things? Why or why not?

  AUGUST 6

  Jill Discovers the False Aslan

  WHAT?” SAID TIRIAN. “Where have you been? What have you done?”

  “Well, Sire,” said Jill. “As soon as I saw that you’d got the sentry out of the way I thought hadn’t I better have a look inside the stable and see what really is there? So I crawled along. It was as easy as anything to draw the bolt. Of course it was pitch black inside and smelled like any other stable.
Then I struck a light and—would you believe it?—there was nothing at all there but this old donkey with a bundle of lion-skin tied onto his back. So I drew my knife and told him he’d have to come along with me. As a matter of fact I needn’t have threatened him with the knife at all. He was very fed up with the stable and quite ready to come—weren’t you, Puzzle dear?”

  “Great Scott!” said Eustace. “Well I’m—jiggered. I was jolly angry with you a moment ago, and I still think it was mean of you to sneak off without the rest of us: but I must admit—well, I mean to say—well it was a perfectly gorgeous thing to do. If she was a boy she’d have to be knighted, wouldn’t she, Sire?”

  “If she was a boy,” said Tirian, “she’d be whipped for disobeying orders.” And in the dark no one could see whether he said this with a frown or a smile. Next minute there was a sound of rasping metal.

  “What are you doing, Sire?” asked Jewel sharply.

  “Drawing my sword to smite off the head of the accursed Ass,” said Tirian in a terrible voice. “Stand clear, girl.”

  “Oh don’t, please don’t,” said Jill. “Really, you mustn’t. It wasn’t his fault. It was all the Ape. He didn’t know any better. And he’s very sorry. He’s a nice Donkey. His name’s Puzzle. And I’ve got my arms round his neck.”

  “Jill,” said Tirian, “you are the bravest and most wood-wise of all my subjects, but also the most malapert and disobedient. Well: let the Ass live. What have you to say for yourself, Ass?”

  “Me, Sire?” came the Donkey’s voice. “I’m sure I’m very sorry if I’ve done wrong. The Ape said Aslan wanted me to dress up like that. And I thought he’d know. I’m not clever like him. I only did what I was told. It wasn’t any fun for me living in that stable. I don’t even know what’s been going on outside. He never let me out except for a minute or two at night. Some days they forgot to give me any water too.”

  —The Last Battle

  Despite the fact that King Tirian says Jill should be whipped for slipping away from her post and calls her “malapert and disobedient,” he still allows her opinion to alter his decision about Puzzle’s fate. Why do you think he changes his mind? Is this kind of flexibility a good quality in a King? Why or why not?

  AUGUST 7

  Of All the Poisonous Little Beasts

  [PETER] BEGAN LEADING the way forward into the forest. There were heavy darkish clouds overhead and it looked as if there might be more snow before night.

  “I say,” began Edmund presently, “oughtn’t we to be bearing a bit more to the left, that is, if we are aiming for the lamp-post?” He had forgotten for the moment that he must pretend never to have been in the wood before. The moment the words were out of his mouth he realized that he had given himself away. Everyone stopped; everyone stared at him. Peter whistled.

  “So you really were here,” he said, “that time Lu said she’d met you in here—and you made out she was telling lies.”

  There was a dead silence. “Well, of all the poisonous little beasts—” said Peter, and shrugged his shoulders and said no more. There seemed, indeed, no more to say, and presently the four resumed their journey; but Edmund was saying to himself, “I’ll pay you all out for this, you pack of stuck-up, self-satisfied prigs.”

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why do you think Edmund lied? What motivates you to tell untruths? Is lying sometimes easier than telling the truth?

  AUGUST 8

  Lucy Searches for the Magic Book

  WHEN LUCY WOKE UP the next morning it was like waking up on the day of an examination or a day when you are going to the dentist. It was a lovely morning with bees buzzing in and out of her open window and the lawn outside looking very like somewhere in England. She got up and dressed and tried to talk and eat ordinarily at breakfast. Then, after being instructed by the Chief Voice about what she was to do upstairs, she bid good-bye to the others, said nothing, walked to the bottom of the stairs, and began going up them without once looking back.

  It was quite light, that was one good thing. There was, indeed, a window straight ahead of her at the top of the first flight. As long as she was on that flight she could hear the tick-tock-tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the hall below. Then she came to the landing and had to turn to her left up the next flight; after that she couldn’t hear the clock any more.

  Now she had come to the top of the stairs. Lucy looked and saw a long, wide passage with a large window at the far end. Apparently the passage ran the whole length of the house. It was carved and paneled and carpeted and very many doors opened off it on each side. She stood still and couldn’t hear the squeak of a mouse, or the buzzing of a fly, or the swaying of a curtain, or anything—except the beating of her own heart.

  “The last doorway on the left,” she said to herself. It did seem a bit hard that it should be the last. To reach it she would have to walk past room after room. And in any room there might be the magician—asleep, or awake, or invisible, or even dead. But it wouldn’t do to think about that. She set out on her journey. The carpet was so thick that her feet made no noise. . . .

  Before she reached the last door on the left, Lucy was beginning to wonder whether the corridor had grown longer since she began her journey and whether this was part of the magic of the house. But she got to it at last. And the door was open.

  It was a large room with three big windows, and it was lined from floor to ceiling with books; more books than Lucy had ever seen before, tiny little books, fat and dumpy books, and books bigger than any church Bible you have ever seen, all bound in leather and smelling old and learned and magical. But she knew from her instructions that she need not bother about any of these. For the Book, the Magic Book, was lying on a reading-desk in the very middle of the room. She saw she would have to read it standing (and anyway there were no chairs) and also that she would have to stand with her back to the door while she read it. So at once she turned to shut the door.

  It wouldn’t shut.

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  What do you think is the hardest part of Lucy’s solitary journey? Why does having her back to an open door make her even more apprehensive? What makes you anxious the way Lucy is anxious about this task?

  AUGUST 9

  The Stars Never Lie

  NOW, ROONWIT,” said the King. “Do you bring us more news of Aslan?”

  Roonwit looked very grave, frowning a little.

  “Sire,” he said. “You know how long I have lived and studied the stars; for we Centaurs live longer than you Men, and even longer than your kind, Unicorn. Never in all my days have I seen such terrible things written in the skies as there have been nightly since this year began. The stars say nothing of the coming of Aslan, nor of peace, nor of joy. I know by my art that there have not been such disastrous conjunctions of the planets for five hundred years. It was already in my mind to come and warn your Majesty that some great evil hangs over Narnia. But last night the rumor reached me that Aslan is abroad in Narnia. Sire, do not believe this tale. It cannot be. The stars never lie, but Men and Beasts do. If Aslan were really coming to Narnia the sky would have foretold it. If he were really come, all the most gracious stars would be assembled in his honor. It is all a lie.”

  “A lie!” said the King fiercely. “What creature in Narnia or all the world would dare to lie on such a matter?” And, without knowing it, he laid his hand on his sword hilt.

  “That I know not, Lord King,” said the Centaur. “But I know there are liars on earth; there are none among the stars.”

  “I wonder,” said Jewel, “whether Aslan might not come though all the stars foretold otherwise. He is not the slave of the stars but their Maker. Is it not said in all the old stories that He is not a tame lion?”

  “Well said, well said, Jewel,” cried the King. “Those are the very words: not a tame lion. It comes in many tales.”

  —The Last Battle

  Why are Jewel and King Tirian reluctant to believe Roonwi
t, as certain as Roonwit sounds? Is there something you trust, as Roonwit trusts the stars?

  AUGUST 10

  Edmund Returns

  WHEN THE OTHER CHILDREN woke up next morning (they had been sleeping on piles of cushions in the pavilion) the first thing they heard—from Mrs. Beaver—was that their brother had been rescued and brought into camp late last night; and was at that moment with Aslan. As soon as they had breakfasted they all went out, and there they saw Aslan and Edmund walking together in the dewy grass, apart from the rest of the court. There is no need to tell you (and no one ever heard) what Aslan was saying, but it was a conversation which Edmund never forgot. As the others drew nearer Aslan turned to meet them, bringing Edmund with him.

  “Here is your brother,” he said, “and—there is no need to talk to him about what is past.”

  Edmund shook hands with each of the others and said to each of them in turn, “I’m sorry,” and everyone said, “That’s all right.” And then everyone wanted very hard to say something which would make it quite clear that they were all friends with him again—something ordinary and natural—and of course no one could think of anything in the world to say.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why is there no need for us to know what Aslan said to Edmund? Would Edmund’s apology be enough for you? Why or why not? Despite his apology, and their forgiveness, why is there still awkwardness?

  AUGUST 11

  Take of My Fruit for Others

  WHEN [DIGORY] HAD COME CLOSE UP to [the gates] he saw words written on the gold with silver letters; something like this:

  Come in by the gold gates or not at all,

  Take of my fruit for others or forbear,

  For those who steal or those who climb my wall

  Shall find their heart’s desire and find despair.