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

  “Who?” said Digory in a faint voice; but he had already guessed the answer.

  “I,” said the Queen. “I, Jadis, the last Queen, but the Queen of the World.”

  The two children stood silent, shivering in the cold wind.

  “It was my sister’s fault,” said the Queen. “She drove me to it. May the curse of all the Powers rest upon her forever! At any moment I was ready to make peace—yes and to spare her life too, if only she would yield me the throne. But she would not. Her pride has destroyed the whole world. Even after the war had begun, there was a solemn promise that neither side would use Magic. But when she broke her promise, what could I do? Fool! As if she did not know that I had more Magic than she! She even knew that I had the secret of the Deplorable Word. Did she think—she was always a weakling—that I would not use it?”

  “What was it?” said Digory.

  “That was the secret of secrets,” said the Queen Jadis. “It had long been known to the great kings of our race that there was a word which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it. But the ancient kings were weak and soft-hearted and bound themselves and all who should come after them with great oaths never even to seek after the knowledge of that word. But I learned it in a secret place and paid a terrible price to learn it. I did not use it until she forced me to it. I fought to overcome her by every other means. I poured out the blood of my armies like water—”

  “Beast!” muttered Polly.

  “The last great battle,” said the Queen, “raged for three days here in Charn itself. For three days I looked down upon it from this very spot. I did not use my power till the last of my soldiers had fallen, and the accursed woman, my sister, at the head of her rebels was halfway up those great stairs that lead up from the city to the terrace. Then I waited till we were so close that we could see one another’s faces. She flashed her horrible, wicked eyes upon me and said, ‘Victory.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘Victory, but not yours.’ Then I spoke the Deplorable Word. A moment later I was the only living thing beneath the sun.”

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  What excuse does Jadis give for ending the world with a word? How have you witnessed the destructive power of pride?

  JUNE 6

  I Was the Lion

  ONCE MORE HE FELT the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. “There,” it said, “that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows.”

  Shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. . . .

  “I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice.

  “Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.

  “There was only one lion,” said the Voice.

  “What on earth do you mean? I’ve just told you there were at least two the first night, and—”

  “There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”

  —The Horse and His Boy

  Why did Aslan not reveal himself earlier? How would it feel to know that someone was watching over you in that way?

  JUNE 7

  The In-Between Place

  [DIGORY] WAS STANDING by the edge of a small pool—not more than ten feet from side to side—in a wood. The trees grew close together and were so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky. All the light was green light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the quietest wood you could possibly imagine. There were no birds, no insects, no animals, and no wind. You could almost feel the trees growing. The pool he had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of others—a pool every few yards as far as his eyes could reach. You could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. This wood was very much alive. When he tried to describe it afterward Digory always said, “It was a rich place: as rich as plumcake.”

  The strangest thing was that, almost before he had looked about him, Digory had half forgotten how he had come there. . . . He was not in the least frightened, or excited, or curious. If anyone had asked him “Where did you come from?” he would probably have said, “I’ve always been here.” That was what it felt like—as if one had always been in that place and never been bored although nothing had ever happened. . . .

  “What do we do now?” said Polly. “Take the guinea-pig and go home?”

  “There’s no hurry,” said Digory with a huge yawn.

  “I think there is,” said Polly. “This place is too quiet. It’s so—so dreamy. You’re almost asleep. If we once give in to it we shall just lie down and drowse forever and ever.”

  “It’s very nice here,” said Digory.

  “Yes, it is,” said Polly. “But we’ve got to get back.”

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  What kind of feeling does the in-between place evoke in Polly and Digory? How could such a state be dangerous? Have you ever felt paralyzed or overcome by lethargy while in an in-between place or stage in your life? How did you move past it?

  JUNE 8

  Father Christmas Arrives

  COME ON!” cried Mr. Beaver, who was almost dancing with delight. “Come and see! This is a nasty knock for the Witch! It looks as if her power is already crumbling.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Beaver?” panted Peter as they all scrambled up the steep bank of the valley together.

  “Didn’t I tell you,” answered Mr. Beaver, “that she’d made it always winter and never Christmas? Didn’t I tell you? Well, just come and see!”

  And then they were all at the top and did see.

  It was a sledge, and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch’s reindeer, and they were not white but brown. And on the sledge sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man in a bright red robe (bright as hollyberries) with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because, though you see people of his sort only in Narnia, you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world—the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it is rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn’t find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also solemn.

  “I’ve come at last,” said he. “She has kept me out for a long time, but I have got in at last. Aslan is on the move. The Witch’s magic is weakening.”

  And Lucy felt running through her that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  What is the connection between gladness and solemnness? Why must Lucy be solemn to experience that kind of gladness?

  JUNE 9

  Eustace’s Escape


  [EUSTACE] ROSE QUIETLY from his place and walked away among the trees, taking care to go slowly and in an aimless manner so that anyone who saw him would think he was merely stretching his legs. He was surprised to find how quickly the noise of conversation died away behind him and how very silent and warm and dark green the wood became. . . .

  The ground began sloping steeply up in front of him. The grass was dry and slippery but manageable if he used his hands as well as his feet, and though he panted and mopped his forehead a good deal, he plugged away steadily. This showed, by the way, that his new life, little as he suspected it, had already done him some good; the old Eustace, Harold and Alberta’s Eustace, would have given up the climb after about ten minutes.

  Slowly, and with several rests, he reached the ridge. Here he had expected to have a view into the heart of the island, but the clouds had now come lower and nearer and a sea of fog was rolling to meet him. He sat down and looked back. He was now so high that the bay looked small beneath him and miles of sea were visible. Then the fog from the mountains closed in all round him, thick but not cold, and he lay down and turned this way and that to find the most comfortable position to enjoy himself.

  But he didn’t enjoy himself, or not for very long. He began, almost for the first time in his life, to feel lonely. At first this feeling grew very gradually. And then he began to worry about the time. There was not the slightest sound. Suddenly it occurred to him 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.

  —The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

  After Eustace escapes from the hard work of repairing the damaged Dawn Treader and finds the solitude he has been seeking, why isn’t he able to enjoy himself? Have you ever sought to be alone only to find that you felt lonely? What is the difference between solitude and loneliness?

  JUNE 10

  Hunting Beasts for Sport

  THAT’S RIGHT,” said Trufflehunter. “You’re right, King Caspian. And as long as you will be true to Old Narnia you shall be my King, whatever they say. Long life to your Majesty.”

  “You make me sick, Badger,” growled Nikabrik. “The High King Peter and the rest may have been Men, but they were a different sort of Men. This is one of the cursed Telmarines. He has hunted beasts for sport. Haven’t you, now?” he added, rounding suddenly on Caspian.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I have,” said Caspian. “But they weren’t Talking Beasts.”

  “It’s all the same thing,” said Nikabrik.

  “No, no, no,” said Trufflehunter. “You know it isn’t. You know very well that the beasts in Narnia nowadays are different and are no more than the poor dumb, witless creatures you’d find in Calormen or Telmar. They’re smaller too. They’re far more different from us than the half-Dwarfs are from you.”

  —Prince Caspian

  Why would it make a difference whether the beasts Caspian hunted were Talking Beasts or dumb beasts? Would Caspian still be to blame if he hunted and killed a Talking Beast but didn’t realize it?

  JUNE 11

  Caring for Aslan’s Body

  AS SOON AS THE WOOD was silent again Susan and Lucy crept out onto the open hilltop. The moon was getting low and thin clouds were passing across her, but still they could see the shape of the Lion lying dead in his bonds. And down they both knelt in the wet grass and kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful fur—what was left of it—and cried till they could cry no more. And then they looked at each other and held each other’s hands for mere loneliness and cried again; and then again were silent. At last Lucy said,

  “I can’t bear to look at that horrible muzzle. I wonder, could we take it off?”

  So they tried. And after a lot of working at it (for their fingers were cold and it was now the darkest part of the night) they succeeded. And when they saw his face without it they burst out crying again and kissed it and fondled it and wiped away the blood and the foam as well as they could. And it was all more lonely and hopeless and horrid than I know how to describe.

  “I wonder, could we untie him as well?” said Susan presently. But the enemies, out of pure spitefulness, had drawn the cords so tight that the girls could make nothing of the knots.

  I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been—if you’ve been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you—you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again. At any rate that was how it felt to these two. Hours and hours seemed to go by in this dead calm, and they hardly noticed that they were getting colder and colder.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Have you ever experienced the kind of misery followed by quietness that Lucy and Susan feel? How do we allow ourselves to feel deep grief without it overwhelming us?

  JUNE 12

  The Mice and the Birds

  BUT AT LAST LUCY NOTICED two other things. One was that the sky on the east side of the hill was a little less dark than it had been an hour ago. The other was some tiny movement going on in the grass at her feet. At first she took no interest in this. What did it matter? Nothing mattered now! But at last she saw that whatever-it-was had begun to move up the upright stones of the Stone Table. And now whatever-they-were were moving about on Aslan’s body. She peered closer. They were little grey things.

  “Ugh!” said Susan from the other side of the Table. “How beastly! There are horrid little mice crawling over him. Go away, you little beasts.” And she raised her hand to frighten them away.

  “Wait!” said Lucy, who had been looking at them more closely still. “Can you see what they’re doing?”

  Both girls bent down and stared.

  “I do believe—” said Susan. “But how queer! They’re nibbling away at the cords!”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Lucy. “I think they’re friendly mice. Poor little things—they don’t realize he’s dead. They think it’ll do some good untying him.”

  It was quite definitely lighter by now. Each of the girls noticed for the first time the white face of the other. They could see the mice nibbling away; dozens and dozens, even hundreds, of little field mice. And at last, one by one, the ropes were all gnawed through. . . .

  In the wood behind them a bird gave a chuckling sound. It had been so still for hours and hours that it startled them. Then another bird answered it. Soon there were birds singing all over the place.

  It was quite definitely early morning now, not late night.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  When have you jumped to conclusions, only to realize that what you had thought was horrifying was actually helpful?

  JUNE 13

  Aslan Lives

  I’M SO COLD,” said Lucy.

  “So am I,” said Susan. “Let’s walk about a bit.”

  They walked to the eastern edge of the hill and looked down. The one big star had almost disappeared. The country all looked dark grey, but beyond, at the very end of the world, the sea showed pale. The sky began to turn red. They walked to and fro more times than they could count between the dead Aslan and the eastern ridge, trying to keep warm; and oh, how tired their legs felt. Then at last, as they stood for a moment looking out toward the sea and Cair Paravel (which they could now just make out) the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun. At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise—a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant’s plate.

  “What’s that?” said Lucy, clutching Susan’s arm.

  “I—I feel afraid to turn round,” said Susan; “something awful is happening.”

  “They’re doing something worse to Him,” said Lucy. “Come on!” And she turned, pulling Susan round with her.

&n
bsp; The rising of the sun had made everything look so different—all colors and shadows were changed—that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing. Then they did. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table.

  “Oh, it’s too bad,” sobbed Lucy; “they might have left the body alone.”

  “Who’s done it?” cried Susan. “What does it mean? Is it more magic?”

  “Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs. “It is more magic.” They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

  “Oh, Aslan!” cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad.

  “Aren’t you dead then, dear Aslan?” said Lucy.

  “Not now,” said Aslan.

  “You’re not—not a—?” asked Susan in a shaky voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ghost. Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead. The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her.

  “Do I look it?” he said.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why are the girls almost as frightened as glad? How does reading this passage make you feel?

  JUNE 14

  Such a Romp

  OH, YOU’RE REAL, you’re real! Oh, Aslan!” cried Lucy, and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.

  “But what does it all mean?” asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.

  “It means,” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward. And now—”