The Spell Begins
To Break
N
ow we must go back to Mr and Mrs Beaver and the three
other children. As soon as Mr Beaver said, “There’s no
time to lose,” everyone began bundling themselves into
coats, except Mrs Beaver, who started picking up sacks
and laying them on the table and said: “Now, Mr Beaver, just reach
down that ham. And here’s a packet of tea, and there’s sugar, and
some matches. And if someone will get two or three loaves out of the
crock over there in the corner.”
“What are you doing, Mrs Beaver?” exclaimed Susan.
“Packing a load for each of us, dearie,” said Mrs Beaver very coolly.
“You didn’t think we’d set out on a journey with nothing to eat, did
you?”
“But we haven’t time!” said Susan, buttoning the collar of her coat.
“She may be here any minute.”
“That’s what I say,” chimed in Mr Beaver.
“Get along with you all,” said his wife. “Think it over, Mr Beaver. She
can’t be here for quarter of an hour at least.”
“But don’t we want as big a start as we can possibly get,” said Peter,
“if we’re to reach the Stone Table before her?”
“You’ve got to remember
that, Mrs Beaver,” said Susan. “As soon as
she has looked in here and finds we’re gone she’ll be off at top speed.”
“That she will,” said Mrs Beaver. “But we can’t get there before her
Clive Staples Lewis54
whatever we do, for she’ll be on a sledge and we’ll be walking.”
“Then — have we no hope?” said Susan.
“Now don’t you get fussing, there’s a dear,” said Mrs Beaver, “but
just get half a dozen clean handkerchiefs out of the drawer. ‘Course
we’ve got a hope. We can’t get there before her but we can keep under
cover and go by ways she won’t expect and perhaps we’ll get
through.”
“That’s true enough, Mrs Beaver,” said her husband. “But it’s time
we were out of this.”
“And don’t you start fussing either, Mr Beaver,” said his wife. “There.
That’s better. There’s five loads and the smallest for the smallest of us:
that’s you, my dear,” she added, looking at Lucy.
“Oh, do please come on,” said Lucy.
“Well, I’m nearly ready now,” answered Mrs Beaver at last, allowing
her husband to help her into; her snow-boots. “I suppose the sewing
machine’s took heavy to bring?”
“Yes. It
is,” said Mr Beaver. “A great deal too heavy. And you don’t
think you’ll be able to use it while we’re on the run, I suppose?”
“I can’t abide the thought of that Witch fiddling with it,” said Mrs
Beaver, “and breaking it or stealing it, as likely as not.”
“Oh, please, please, please, do hurry!” said the three children. And
so at last they all got outside and Mr Beaver locked the door (“It’ll
delay her a bit,” he said) and they set off, all carrying their loads over
their shoulders.
The snow had stopped and the moon had come out when they
began their journey. They went in single file — first Mr Beaver, then
Lucy, then Peter, then Susan, and Mrs Beaver last of all. Mr Beaver led
them across the dam and on to the right bank of the river and then
along a very rough sort of path among the trees right down by the
river-bank. The sides of the valley, shining in the moonlight, towered
up far above them on either hand. “Best keep down here as much as
possible,” he said. “She’ll have to keep to the top, for you couldn’t
bring a sledge down here.”
It would have been a pretty enough scene to look at it through a
window from a comfortable armchair; and even as things were, Lucy
enjoyed it at first. But as they went on walking and walking — and
walking and as the sack she was carrying felt heavier and heavier, she
began to wonder how she was going to keep up at all. And she
55The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe
stopped looking at the dazzling brightness of the frozen river with all
its waterfalls of ice and at the white masses of the tree-tops and the
great glaring moon and the countless stars and could only watch the
little short legs of Mr Beaver going pad-pad-pad-pad through the snow
in front of her as if they were never going to stop. Then the moon
disappeared and the snow began to fall once more. And at last Lucy
was so tired that she was almost asleep and walking at the same time
when suddenly she found that Mr Beaver had turned away from the
river-bank to the right and was leading them steeply uphill into the
very thickest bushes. And then as she came fully awake she found
that Mr Beaver was just vanishing into a little hole in the bank which
had been almost hidden under the bushes until you were quite on top
of it. In fact, by the time she realised what was happening, only his
short flat tail was showing.
Lucy immediately stooped down and crawled in after him. Then she
heard noises of scrambling and puffing and panting behind her and in
a moment all five of them were inside.
“Wherever is this?” said Peter’s voice, sounding tired and pale in the
darkness. (I hope you know what I mean by a voice sounding pale.)
“It’s an old hiding-place for beavers in bad times,” said Mr Beaver,
“and a great secret. It’s not much of a place but we must get a few
hours’ sleep.”
“If you hadn’t all been in such a plaguey fuss when we were starting,
I’d have brought some pillows,” said Mrs Beaver.
It wasn’t nearly such a nice cave as Mr Tumnus’s, Lucy thought —
just a hole in the ground but dry and earthy. It was very small so that
when they all lay down they were all a bundle of clothes together, and
what with that and being warmed up by their long walk they were
really rather snug. If only the floor of the cave had been a little
smoother! Then Mrs Beaver handed round in the dark a little flask out
of which everyone drank something — it made one cough and splutter
a little and stung the throat, but it also made you feel deliciously warm
after you’d swallowed it and everyone went straight to sleep.
It seemed to Lucy only the next minute (though really it was hours
and hours later) when she woke up feeling a little cold and dreadfully
stiff and thinking how she would like a hot bath. Then she felt a set of
long whiskers tickling her cheek and saw the cold daylight coming in
through the mouth of the cave. But immediately after that she was
Clive Staples Lewis56
very wide awake indeed, and so was everyone else. In fact they were
all sitting up with their mouths and eyes wide open listening to a sound
which was the very sound they’d all been thinking of (and sometimes
imagining they heard) during their walk last night. It was a sound of
jingling bells.
Mr Beaver was out of the cave like a flash the moment he heard it.
Perhaps you think, as Lucy thought for a moment, that this was a very
silly thing to do? But it was really a very sensible one. He knew he
could scramble to the top of the bank among bushes and brambles
without being seen; and he wanted above all things to see which way
the Witch’s sledge went. The others all sat in the cave waiting and
wondering. They waited nearly five minutes. Then they heard some-
thing that frightened them very much. They heard voices. “Oh,”
thought Lucy, “he’s been seen. She’s caught him!”
Great was their surprise when a little later, they heard Mr Beaver’s
voice calling to them from just outside the cave.
“It’s all right,” he was shouting. “Come out, Mrs Beaver. Come out,
Sons and Daughters of Adam. It’s all right! It isn’t
Her!” This was bad
grammar of course, but that is how beavers talk when they are
excited; I mean, in Narnia — in our world they usually don’t talk at all.
So Mrs Beaver and the children came bundling out of the cave, all
blinking in the daylight, and with earth all over them, and looking very
frowsty and unbrushed and uncombed and with the sleep in their eyes.
“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.
57The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe
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.
“And now,” said Father Christmas, “for your presents. There is a
new and better sewing machine for you, Mrs Beaver. I will drop it in
your house as, I pass.”
“If you please, sir,” said Mrs Beaver, making a curtsey. “It’s locked
up.”
“Locks and bolts make no difference to me,” said Father Christmas.
“And as for you, Mr Beaver, when you get home you will find your dam
finished and mended and all the leaks stopped and a new sluice-gate
fitted.”
Mr Beaver was so pleased that he opened his mouth very wide and
then found he couldn’t say anything at all.
“Peter, Adam’s Son,” said Father Christmas.
“Here, sir,” said Peter.
“These are your presents,” was the answer, “and they are tools not
toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well.”
With these words he handed to Peter a shield and a sword. The shield
was the colour of silver and across it there ramped a red lion, as bright
as a ripe strawberry at the moment when you pick it. The hilt of the
sword was of gold and it had a sheath and a sword belt and everything
it needed, and it was just the right size and weight for Peter to use.
Peter was silent and solemn as he received these gifts, for he felt they
were a very serious kind of present.
“Susan, Eve’s Daughter,” said Father Christmas. “These are for
you,” and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little
ivory horn. “You must use the bow only in great need,” he said, “for I
Clive Staples Lewis58
do not mean you to fight in the battle. It does not easily miss. And
when you put this horn to your lips; and blow it, then, wherever you
are, I think help of some kind will come to you.”
Last of all he said, “Lucy, Eve’s Daughter,” and Lucy came forward.
He gave her a little bottle of what looked like glass (but people said
afterwards that it was made of diamond) and a small dagger. “In this
bottle,” he said, “there is cordial made of the juice of one of the fire-
flowers that grow in the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your
friends is hurt, a few drops of this restore them. And the dagger is to
defend yourself at great need. For you also are not to be in battle.”
“Why, sir?” said Lucy. “I think — I don’t know but I think I could be
brave enough.”
“That is not the point,” he said. “But battles are ugly when women
fight. And now” — here he suddenly looked less grave — “here is
something for the moment for you all!” and he brought out (I suppose
from the big bag at his back, but nobody quite saw him do it) a large
tray containing five cups and saucers, a bowl of lump sugar, a jug of
cream, and a great big teapot all sizzling and piping hot. Then he cried
out “Merry Christmas! Long live the true King!” and cracked his whip,
and he and the reindeer and the sledge and all were out of sight before
anyone realised that they had started.
Peter had just drawn his sword out of its sheath and was showing it
to Mr Beaver, when Mrs Beaver said:
“Now then, now then! Don’t stand talking there till the tea’s got cold.
Just like men. Come and help to carry the tray down and we’ll have
breakfast. What a mercy I thought of bringing the bread-knife.”
So down the steep bank they went and back to the cave, and Mr
Beaver cut some of the bread and ham into sandwiches and Mrs
Beaver poured out the tea and everyone enjoyed themselves. But long
before they had finished enjoying themselves Mr Beaver said, “Time
to be moving on now.”
