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[MR TUMNUS THE FAUN] took out from its case on the dresser a strange little flute that looked as if it were made of straw and began to play. And the tune he played made Lucy want to cry and laugh and dance and go to sleep all at the same time. It must have been hours later when she shook herself and said:
“Oh, Mr Tumnus – I’m so sorry to stop you, and I do love that tune – but really, I must go home. I only meant to stay for a few minutes.”
“It’s no good now, you know,” said the Faun, laying down its flute and shaking its head at her very sorrowfully.
“No good?” said Lucy, jumping up and feeling rather frightened. “What do you mean? I’ve got to go home at once. The others will be wondering what has happened to me.” But a moment later she asked, “Mr Tumnus! Whatever is the matter?” for the Faun’s brown eyes had filled with tears and then the tears began trickling down its cheeks, and soon they were running off the end of its nose; and at last it covered its face with its hands and began to howl.
“Mr Tumnus! Mr Tumnus!” said Lucy in great distress. “Don’t! Don’t! What is the matter? Aren’t you well? Dear Mr Tumnus, do tell me what is wrong.” But the Faun continued sobbing as if its heart would break. And even when Lucy went over and put her arms round him and lent him her handkerchief, he did not stop. He merely took the handkerchief and kept on using it, wringing it out with both hands whenever it got too wet to be any more use, so that presently Lucy was standing in a damp patch.
“Mr Tumnus!” bawled Lucy in his ear, shaking him. “Do stop. Stop it at once! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a great big Faun like you. What on earth are you crying about?”
“Oh – oh – oh!” sobbed Mr Tumnus. “I’m crying because I’m such a bad Faun.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad Faun at all,” said Lucy. “I think you are a very good Faun. You are the nicest Faun I’ve ever met.”
“Oh – oh – you wouldn’t say that if you knew,” replied Mr Tumnus between his sobs. “No, I’m a bad Faun. I don’t suppose there ever was a worse Faun since the beginning of the world.”
“But what have you done?” asked Lucy.
“My old father, now,” said Mr Tumnus; “that’s his picture over the mantelpiece. He would never have done a thing like this.”
“A thing like what?” said Lucy.
“Like what I’ve done,” said the Faun. “Taken service under the White Witch. That’s what I am. I’m in the pay of the White Witch.”
“The White Witch? Who is she?”
“Why, it is she that has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!”
“How awful!” said Lucy. “But what does she pay you for?”
“That’s the worst of it,” said Mr Tumnus with a deep groan. “I’m a kidnapper for her, that’s what I am. Look at me, Daughter of Eve. Would you believe that I’m the sort of Faun to meet a poor innocent child in the wood, one that had never done me any harm, and pretend to be friendly with it, and invite it home to my cave, all for the sake of lulling it asleep and then handing it over to the White Witch?”
“No,” said Lucy. “I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”
“But I have,” said the Faun.
“Well,” said Lucy rather slowly (for she wanted to be truthful and yet not be too hard on him), “well, that was pretty bad. But you’re so sorry for it that I’m sure you will never do it again.”
“Daughter of Eve, don’t you understand?” said the Faun. “It isn’t something I have done. I’m doing it now, this very moment.”
– The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Why do you think the Faun confesses to Lucy? When has your conscience prevented you from doing something you fully intended to do?
FEBRUARY 11
A Disagreeable Condition
HWIN SAID it looked to her as if the safest thing was to go right through the city itself from gate to gate because one was less likely to be noticed in the crowd. But she approved of the idea of disguise as well. She said, “Both the humans will have to dress in rags and look like peasants or slaves. And all Aravis’s armour and our saddles and things must be made into bundles and put on our backs, and the children must pretend to drive us and people will think we’re only pack-horses.”
“My dear Hwin!” said Aravis rather scornfully. “As if anyone could mistake Bree for anything but a war horse however you disguised him!”
“I should think not, indeed,” said Bree, snorting and letting his ears go ever so little back.
“I know it’s not a very good plan,” said Hwin. “But I think it’s our only chance. And we haven’t been groomed for ages and we’re not looking quite ourselves (at least, I’m sure I’m not). I do think if we get well plastered with mud and go along with our heads down as if we’re tired and lazy – and don’t lift our hoofs hardly at all – we might not be noticed. And our tails ought to be cut shorter: not neatly, you know, but all ragged.”
“My dear Madam,” said Bree. “Have you pictured to yourself how very disagreeable it would be to arrive in Narnia in that condition?”
“Well,” said Hwin humbly (she was a very sensible mare), “the main thing is to get there.”
– The Horse and His Boy
What is at the heart of Bree’s reluctance to accept Hwin’s plan? How do such feelings block out common sense? How do you allow similar feelings to get in your way?
FEBRUARY 12
Always a Way Through
DO NOT FLY TOO HIGH,” said Aslan. “Do not try to go over the tops of the great ice-mountains. Look out for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them. There will always be a way through. And now, begone with my blessing.”
– The Magician’s Nephew
Do you believe, as Aslan asserts, that there is always a way through? How have you seen this to be true in your own life?
FEBRUARY 13
The Solitary Journey
IF YOU GO BACK to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me – what will happen? There is only one way of finding out.”
“Do you mean that is what you want me to do?” gasped Lucy.
“Yes, little one,” said Aslan.
“Will the others see you too?” asked Lucy.
“Certainly not at first,” said Aslan. “Later on, it depends.”
“But they won’t believe me!” said Lucy.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Aslan. . . .
Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up.
“I’m sorry, Aslan,” she said. “I’m ready now.”
“Now you are a lioness,” said Aslan. “And now all Narnia will be renewed. But come. We have no time to lose.”
He got up and walked with stately, noiseless paces back to the belt of dancing trees through which she had just come: and Lucy went with him, laying a rather tremulous hand on his mane. . . .
“Now, child,” said Aslan, when they had left the trees behind them, “I will wait here. Go and wake the others and tell them to follow. If they will not, then you at least must follow me alone.”
– Prince Caspian
Why doesn’t Aslan care whether Lucy’s siblings believe her? Have you ever felt like you had to move forward on your own, without the support of others?
FEBRUARY 14
The Slave Dealer and Reepicheep
THEN THE FOUR HUMAN PRISONERS were roped together, not cruelly but securely, and made to march down to the shore. Reepicheep was carried. He had stopped biting on a threat of having his mouth tied up, but he had a great deal to say, and Lucy really wondered how any man could bear to have the things said to him which were said to the slave dealer by the Mouse. But the slave dealer, far from objecting, only said “Go on” whenever Reepicheep paused for breath, occasionally adding, “It’s as good as a play,” or, “Blimey, you can’t help almost thinking it knows what it’s saying!” or, “Was it one of you what trained it?” This so infuriated Reepicheep that in the end the number of things he thought of saying all at once nearly suffocated him and he became silent.
– The Voyage of theDawn Treader
Is Reepicheep brave or foolish to speak so boldly to the slave dealer? What is it about the dealer’s response that infuriates Reepicheep so much? When have you been so angry that you were at a loss for words?
FEBRUARY 15
The Two Lords Plot
AN HOUR LATER two great lords in the army of Miraz, the Lord Glozelle and the Lord Sopespian, strolling along their lines and picking their teeth after breakfast, looked up and saw coming down to them from the wood the Centaur and Giant Wimbleweather, whom they had seen before in battle, and between them a figure they could not recognize. Nor indeed would the other boys at Edmund’s school have recognized him if they could have seen him at that moment. For Aslan had breathed on him at their meeting and a kind of greatness hung about him.
“What’s to do?” said the Lord Glozelle. “An attack?”
“A parley, rather,” said Sopespian. “See, they carry green branches. They are coming to surrender most likely.”
“He that is walking between the Centaur and the Giant has no look of surrender in his face,” said Glozelle. “Who can he be? It is not the boy Caspian.”
“No indeed,” said Sopespian. “This is a fell warrior, I warrant you, wherever the rebels have got him from. He is (in your Lordship’s private ear) a kinglier man than ever Miraz was. And what mail he wears! None of our smiths can make the like.”
“I’ll wager my dappled Pomely he brings a challenge, not a surrender,” said Glozelle.
“How then?” said Sopespian. “We hold the enemy in our fist here. Miraz would never be so hare-brained as to throw away his advantage on a combat.”
“He might be brought to it,” said Glozelle in a much lower voice.
“Softly,” said Sopespian. “Step a little aside here out of earshot of those sentries. Now. Have I taken your Lordship’s meaning aright?”
“If the King undertook wager of battle,” whispered Glozelle, “why, either he would kill or be killed.”
“So,” said Sopespian, nodding his head.
“And if he killed we should have won this war.”
“Certainly. And if not?”
“Why, if not, we should be as able to win it without the King’s grace as with him. For I need not tell your Lordship that Miraz is no very great captain. And after that, we should be both victorious and kingless.”
“And it is your meaning, my Lord, that you and I could hold this land quite as conveniently without a King as with one?”
Glozelle’s face grew ugly. “Not forgetting,” said he, “that it was we who first put him on the throne. And in all the years that he has enjoyed it, what fruits have come our way? What gratitude has he shown us?”
“Say no more,” answered Sopespian.
– Prince Caspian
Why do the two lords feel the way they do towards King Miraz? When is it appropriate to break loyalty with a King or ruler and when is it betrayal?
FEBRUARY 16
The Two Lords Goad Miraz
AS TOUCHING THE CHALLENGE,” [said Miraz,] “I suppose there is only one opinion between us?”
“I suppose so, indeed, Sire,” said Glozelle.
“And what is that?” asked the King.
“Most infallibly to refuse it,” said Glozelle. “For though I have never been called a coward, I must plainly say that to meet that young man in battle is more than my heart would serve me for. And if (as is likely) his brother, the High King, is more dangerous than he – why, on your life, my Lord King, have nothing to do with him.”
“Plague on you!” cried Miraz. “It was not that sort of counsel I wanted. Do you think I am asking you if I should be afraid to meet this Peter (if there is such a man)? Do you think I fear him? I wanted your counsel of the policy of the matter; whether we, having the advantage, should hazard it on a wager of battle.”
“To which I can only answer, your Majesty,” said Glozelle, “that for all reasons the challenge should be refused. There is death in the strange knight’s face.”
“There you are again!” said Miraz, now thoroughly angry. “Are you trying to make it appear that I am as great a coward as your Lordship?”
“Your Majesty may say your pleasure,” said Glozelle sulkily.
“You talk like an old woman, Glozelle,” said the King. “What say you, my Lord Sopespian?”
“Do not touch it, Sire,” was the reply. “And what your Majesty says of the policy of the thing comes in very happily. It gives your Majesty excellent grounds for a refusal without any cause for questioning your Majesty’s honour or courage.”
“Great Heaven!” exclaimed Miraz, jumping to his feet. “Are you also bewitched today? Do you think I am looking for grounds to refuse it? You might as well call me coward to my face.”
The conversation was going exactly as the two lords wished, so they said nothing.
“I see what it is,” said Miraz, after staring at them as if his eyes would start out of his head, “you are as lily-livered as hares yourselves and have the effrontery to imagine my heart after the likeness of yours! Grounds for a refusal, indeed! Excuses for not fighting! Are you soldiers? Are you Telmarines? Are you men? And if I do refuse it (as all good reasons of captaincy and martial policy urge me to do) you will think, and teach others to think, I was afraid. Is it not so?”
“No man of your Majesty’s age,” said Glozelle, “would be called coward by any wise soldier for refusing the combat with a great warrior in the flower of his youth.”
“So I’m to be a dotard with one foot in the grave, as well as a dastard,” roared Miraz. “I’ll tell you what it is, my Lords. With your womanish counsels (ever shying from the true point, which is one of policy) you have done the very opposite of your intent. I had meant to refuse it. But I’ll accept it. Do you hear, accept it! I’ll not be shamed because some witchcraft or treason has frozen both your bloods.”
– Prince Caspian
What tactics do the two lords use to convince Miraz to accept Peter’s challenge of a single, person-to-person combat? When have you allowed yourself to be convinced by peer pressure to do something you might otherwise not have done?
FEBRUARY 17
