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

by C. S. Lewis

  And that would have been the very end of the story if it hadn’t been that they felt they really must explain to the Professor why four of the coats out of his wardrobe were missing. And the Professor, who was a very remarkable man, didn’t tell them not to be silly or not to tell lies, but believed the whole story. “No,” he said, “I don’t think it will be any good trying to go back through the wardrobe door to get the coats. You won’t get into Narnia again by that route. Nor would the coats be much use by now if you did! Eh? What’s that? Yes, of course you’ll get back to Narnia again someday. Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia. But don’t go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you’re not looking for it. And don’t talk too much about it even among yourselves. And don’t mention it to anyone else unless you find that they’ve had adventures of the same sort themselves. What’s that? How will you know? Oh, you’ll know all right. Odd things they say—even their looks—will let the secret out. Keep your eyes open. Bless me, what do they teach them at these schools?”

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why can they only get back to Narnia when they aren’t looking to do so? What else in life is like that?

  SEPTEMBER 19

  Our Crowning Glory

  HAIL, ASLAN!” came his shrill voice. “I have the honor—” But then he suddenly stopped.

  The fact was that he still had no tail—whether that Lucy had forgotten it or that her cordial, though it could heal wounds, could not make things grow again. Reepicheep became aware of his loss as he made his bow; perhaps it altered something in his balance. He looked over his right shoulder. Failing to see his tail, he strained his neck further till he had to turn his shoulders and his whole body followed. But by that time his hind-quarters had turned too and were out of sight. Then he strained his neck looking over his shoulder again, with the same result. Only after he had turned completely round three times did he realize the dreadful truth.

  “I am confounded,” said Reepicheep to Aslan. “I am completely out of countenance. I must crave your indulgence for appearing in this unseemly fashion.”

  “It becomes you very well, Small One,” said Aslan.

  “All the same,” replied Reepicheep, “if anything could be done . . . Perhaps her Majesty?” and here he bowed to Lucy.

  “But what do you want with a tail?” asked Aslan.

  “Sir,” said the Mouse, “I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one. But a tail is the honor and glory of a Mouse.”

  “I have sometimes wondered, friend,” said Aslan, “whether you do not think too much about your honor.”

  “Highest of all High Kings,” said Reepicheep, “permit me to remind you that a very small size has been bestowed on us Mice, and if we did not guard our dignity, some (who weigh worth by inches) would allow themselves very unsuitable pleasantries at our expense. That is why I have been at some pains to make it known that no one who does not wish to feel this sword as near his heart as I can reach shall talk in my presence about Traps or Toasted Cheese or Candles: no, Sir—not the tallest fool in Narnia!” Here he glared very fiercely up at Wimbleweather, but the Giant, who was always a stage behind everyone else, had not yet discovered what was being talked about down at his feet, and so missed the point.

  “Why have your followers all drawn their swords, may I ask?” said Aslan.

  “May it please your High Majesty,” said the second Mouse, whose name was Peepiceek, “we are all waiting to cut off our own tails if our Chief must go without his. We will not bear the shame of wearing an honor which is denied to the High Mouse.”

  “Ah!” roared Aslan. “You have conquered me. You have great hearts. Not for the sake of your dignity, Reepicheep, but for the love that is between you and your people, and still more for the kindness your people showed me long ago when you ate away the cords that bound me on the Stone Table (and it was then, though you have long forgotten it, that you began to be Talking Mice), you shall have your tail again.”

  —Prince Caspian

  Why does Aslan capitulate and give Reepicheep his tail back? When does being concerned about your honor keep you from thinking about what really matters?

  SEPTEMBER 20

  Aslan and Tash

  PLEASE,” SAID THE LAMB, “I can’t understand. What have we to do with the Calormenes? We belong to Aslan. They belong to Tash. They have a god called Tash. They say he has four arms and the head of a vulture. They kill Men on his altar. I don’t believe there’s any such person as Tash. But if there was, how could Aslan be friends with him?”

  All the animals cocked their heads sideways and all their bright eyes flashed toward the Ape. They knew it was the best question anyone had asked yet.

  The Ape jumped up and spat at the Lamb.

  “Baby!” he hissed. “Silly little bleater! Go home to your mother and drink milk. What do you understand of such things? But the others, listen. Tash is only another name for Aslan. All that old idea of us being right and the Calormenes wrong is silly. We know better now. The Calormenes use different words but we all mean the same thing. Tash and Aslan are only two different names for you know Who. That’s why there can never be any quarrel between them. Get that into your heads, you stupid brutes. Tash is Aslan: Aslan is Tash.”

  You know how sad your own dog’s face can look sometimes. Think of that and then think of all the faces of those Talking Beasts—all those honest, humble, bewildered Birds, Bears, Badgers, Rabbits, Moles, and Mice—all far sadder than that. Every tail was down, every whisker drooped. It would have broken your heart with very pity to see their faces.

  —The Last Battle

  Why is it so horrifying to the Narnians to hear the Ape say that Aslan and Tash are the same?

  SEPTEMBER 21

  His Majesty Cannot

  FRIENDS,” SAID CASPIAN, “we have now fulfilled the quest on which you embarked. The seven lords are all accounted for, and as Sir Reepicheep has sworn never to return, when you reach Ramandu’s land you will doubtless find the Lords Revilian and Argoz and Mavramorn awake. To you, my Lord Drinian, I entrust this ship, bidding you sail to Narnia with all the speed you may, and above all not to land on the Island of Deathwater. And instruct my regent, the Dwarf Trumpkin, to give to all these, my shipmates, the rewards I promised them. They have been earned well. And if I come not again it is my will that the Regent, and Master Cornelius, and Trufflehunter the Badger, and the Lord Drinian choose a King of Narnia with the consent—”

  “But, Sire,” interrupted Drinian, “are you abdicating?”

  “I am going with Reepicheep to see the World’s End,” said Caspian.

  A low murmur of dismay ran through the sailors.

  “We will take the boat,” said Caspian. “You will have no need of it in these gentle seas and you must build a new one on Ramandu’s Island. And now—”

  “Caspian,” said Edmund suddenly and sternly, “you can’t do this.”

  “Most certainly,” said Reepicheep, “his Majesty cannot.”

  “No indeed,” said Drinian.

  “Can’t?” said Caspian sharply, looking for a moment not unlike his uncle Miraz.

  “Begging your Majesty’s pardon,” said Rynelf from the deck below, “but if one of us did the same it would be called deserting.”

  “You presume too much on your long service, Rynelf,” said Caspian.

  “No, Sire! He’s perfectly right,” said Drinian.

  “By the Mane of Aslan,” said Caspian, “I had thought you were all my subjects here, not my schoolmasters.”

  “I’m not,” said Edmund, “and I say you can not do this.”

  “Can’t again,” said Caspian. “What do you mean?”

  “If it please your Majesty, we mean shall not,” said Reepicheep with a very low bow. “You are the King of Narnia. You break faith with all your subjects, and especially Trumpkin, if you do not return. You shall not please yourself with adventures as if yo
u were a private person. And if your Majesty will not hear reason it will be the truest loyalty of every man on board to follow me in disarming and binding you till you come to your senses.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Why are the words from the others so hard for Caspian to hear? Why is it important that Caspian not continue to the World’s End?

  SEPTEMBER 22

  What Is the Good of Anything?

  [CASPIAN] STOOD IRRESOLUTE for a moment and then shouted out to the ship in general.

  “Well, have your way. The quest is ended. We all return. Get the boat up again.”

  “Sire,” said Reepicheep, “we do not all return. I, as I explained before—”

  “Silence!” thundered Caspian. “I’ve been lessoned but I’ll not be baited. Will no one silence that Mouse?”

  “Your Majesty promised,” said Reepicheep, “to be a good lord to the Talking Beasts of Narnia.”

  “Talking beasts, yes,” said Caspian. “I said nothing about beasts that never stop talking.” And he flung down the ladder in a temper and went into the cabin, slamming the door.

  But when the others rejoined him a little later they found him changed; he was white and there were tears in his eyes.

  “It’s no good,” he said. “I might as well have behaved decently for all the good I did with my temper and swagger. Aslan has spoken to me. No—I don’t mean he was actually here. He wouldn’t fit into the cabin, for one thing. But that gold lion’s head on the wall came to life and spoke to me. It was terrible—his eyes. Not that he was at all rough with me—only a bit stern at first. But it was terrible all the same. And he said—he said—oh, I can’t bear it. The worst thing he could have said. You’re to go on—Reep and Edmund, and Lucy, and Eustace; and I’m to go back. Alone. And at once. And what is the good of anything?”

  “Caspian, dear,” said Lucy. “You knew we’d have to go back to our own world sooner or later.”

  “Yes,” said Caspian with a sob, “but this is sooner.”

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  Why is Caspian so upset that he has to go back and the others are to go on to the End of the World? How do you sometimes want your story to look like others’ stories?

  SEPTEMBER 23

  Why Can’t I See Him?

  IT IS A TERRIBLE THING to have to wake four people, all older than yourself and all very tired, for the purpose of telling them something they probably won’t believe and making them do something they certainly won’t like. . . .

  She went to Peter first and shook him. “Peter,” she whispered in his ear, “wake up. Quick. Aslan is here. He says we’ve got to follow him at once.”

  “Certainly, Lu. Whatever you like,” said Peter unexpectedly. This was encouraging, but as Peter instantly rolled round and went to sleep again it wasn’t much use.

  Then she tried Susan. Susan did really wake up, but only to say in her most annoying grown-up voice, “You’ve been dreaming, Lucy. Go to sleep again.”

  She tackled Edmund next. It was very difficult to wake him, but when at last she had done it he was really awake and sat up.

  “Eh?” he said in a grumpy voice. “What are you talking about?”

  She said it all over again. . . .

  “Aslan!” said Edmund, jumping up. “Hurray! Where?”. . .

  “There. There. Don’t you see? Just this side of the trees.”

  Edmund stared hard for a while and then said, “No. There’s nothing there. You’ve got dazzled and muddled with the moonlight. One does, you know. I thought I saw something for a moment myself. It’s only an optical what-do-you-call-it.”

  “I can see him all the time,” said Lucy. “He’s looking straight at us.”

  “Then why can’t I see him?”

  “He said you mightn’t be able to.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what he said.”

  “Oh, bother it all,” said Edmund. “I do wish you wouldn’t keep on seeing things. But I suppose we’ll have to wake the others.”

  —Prince Caspian

  Whose attitude do you think would be closest to your own if you were woken by Lucy? What do you think Edmund means when he says he wishes she’d stop seeing things?

  SEPTEMBER 24

  Help for the Journey

  YES SIR,” SAID DIGORY AGAIN. He hadn’t the least idea of how he was to climb the cliff and find his way among all the mountains, but he didn’t like to say that for fear it would sound like making excuses. But he did say, “I hope, Aslan, you’re not in a hurry. I shan’t be able to get there and back very quickly.”

  “Little son of Adam, you shall have help,” said Aslan. He then turned to the Horse who had been standing quietly beside them all this time, swishing his tail to keep the flies off, and listening with his head on one side as if the conversation were a little difficult to understand.

  “My dear,” said Aslan to the Horse, “would you like to be a winged horse?”

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  How do you think Digory feels to know that he does not have to go on his journey alone? How does having a companion help us complete certain tasks?

  SEPTEMBER 25

  Giant Rumblebuffin

  THE WHOLE CROWD of liberated statues surged back into the courtyard. And it was then that someone (Tumnus, I think) first said,

  “But how are we going to get out?” for Aslan had got in by a jump and the gates were still locked.

  “That’ll be all right,” said Aslan; and then, rising on his hind-legs, he bawled up at the Giant. “Hi! You up there,” he roared. “What’s your name?”

  “Giant Rumblebuffin, if it please your honor,” said the Giant, once more touching his cap.

  “Well then, Giant Rumblebuffin,” said Aslan, “just let us out of this, will you?”

  “Certainly, your honor. It will be a pleasure,” said Giant Rumblebuffin. “Stand well away from the gates, all you little ’uns.” Then he strode to the gate himself and bang—bang—bang—went his huge club. The gates creaked at the first blow, cracked at the second, and shivered at the third. Then he tackled the towers on each side of them and after a few minutes of crashing and thudding both the towers and a good bit of the wall on each side went thundering down in a mass of hopeless rubble; and when the dust cleared it was odd, standing in that dry, grim, stony yard, to see through the gap all the grass and waving trees and sparkling streams of the forest, and the blue hills beyond that and beyond them the sky.

  “Blowed if I ain’t all in a muck sweat,” said the Giant, puffing like the largest railway engine. “Comes of being out of condition. I suppose neither of you young ladies has such a thing as a pocket-handkerchee about you?”

  “Yes, I have,” said Lucy, standing on tip-toes and holding her handkerchief up as far as she could reach.

  “Thank you, Missie,” said Giant Rumblebuffin, stooping down. Next moment Lucy got rather a fright for she found herself caught up in mid-air between the Giant’s finger and thumb. But just as she was getting near his face he suddenly started and then put her gently back on the ground muttering, “Bless me! I’ve picked up the little girl instead. I beg your pardon, Missie, I thought you was the handkerchee!”

  “No, no,” said Lucy, laughing, “here it is!” This time he managed to get it but it was only about the same size to him that a saccharine tablet would be to you, so that when she saw him solemnly rubbing it to and fro across his great red face, she said, “I’m afraid it’s not much use to you, Mr. Rumblebuffin.”

  “Not at all. Not at all,” said the giant politely. “Never met a nicer handkerchee. So fine, so handy. So—I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “What a nice giant he is!” said Lucy to Mr. Tumnus.

  “Oh, yes,” replied the Faun. “All the Buffins always were. One of the most respected of all the giant families in Narnia. Not very clever, perhaps (I never knew a giant that was), but an old family. With traditions, you know. If he’d bee
n the other sort she’d never have turned him into stone.”

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  What about being an old family with traditions might be threatening to the Witch?

  SEPTEMBER 26

  The Darkness over the Sea

  ABOUT NINE THAT MORNING, very suddenly, it was so close that they could see that it was not land at all, nor even, in an ordinary sense, a mist. It was a Darkness. It is rather hard to describe, but you will see what it was like if you imagine yourself looking into the mouth of a railway tunnel—a tunnel either so long or so twisty that you cannot see the light at the far end. And you know what it would be like. For a few feet you would see the rails and sleepers and gravel in broad daylight; then there would come a place where they were in twilight; and then, pretty suddenly, but of course without a sharp dividing line, they would vanish altogether into smooth, solid blackness. It was just so here. For a few feet in front of their bows they could see the swell of the bright greenish-blue water. Beyond that, they could see the water looking pale and grey as it would look late in the evening. But beyond that again, utter blackness as if they had come to the edge of moonless and starless night.

  Caspian shouted to the boatswain to keep her back, and all except the rowers rushed forward and gazed from the bows. But there was nothing to be seen by gazing. Behind them was the sea and the sun, before them the Darkness.

  “Do we go into this?” asked Caspian at length.

  “Not by my advice,” said Drinian.

  “The Captain’s right,” said several sailors.

  “I almost think he is,” said Edmund.

  Lucy and Eustace didn’t speak but they felt very glad inside at the turn things seemed to be taking. But all at once the clear voice of Reepicheep broke in upon the silence.

  “And why not?” he said. “Will someone explain to me why not?”

  No one was anxious to explain, so Reepicheep continued: