# “I’m going to live like a Narnian” by C.S. Lewis

- Link: https://tollelege.net/2020/09/10/im-going-to-live-like-a-narnian-by-c-s-lewis/
- Published: 2020-09-10T12:00:35-05:00
- Author: tollelege

“Narnia?” said the Witch. “Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name
in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia.”

“Yes there is, though, Ma’am,” said Puddleglum. “You see, I happen to have lived
there all my life.”

“Indeed,” said the Witch. “Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?”

“Up there,” said Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. “I—I don’t know exactly
where.”

“How?” said the Queen, with a kind, soft, musical laugh. “Is there a country up 
among the stones and mortar on the roof?”

“No,” said Puddleglum, struggling a little to get his breath. “It’s in Overworld.”

“And what, or where, pray is this … how do you call it … _Overworld_?”

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment
of the sweet smell and the thrumming. “As if you didn’t know! It’s up above, up 
where you can see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you’ve been there yourself.
We met you there.”

“I cry you mercy, little brother,” laughed the Witch (you couldn’t have heard a 
lovelier laugh). “I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends
in strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask 
them to remember it.”

“Madam,” said the Prince sternly, “I have already told your Grace that I am the 
King’s son of Narnia.”

“And shalt be, dear friend,” said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humoring
a child, “shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies.”

“We’ve been there, too,” snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel
enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she
could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked.

“And thou art Queen of Narnia too, I doubt not, pretty one,” said the Witch in the
same coaxing, half-mocking tone.

“I’m nothing of the sort,” said Jill, stamping her foot. “_We_ come from another
world.”

“Why, this is a prettier game than the other,” said the Witch. “Tell us, little 
maid, where is this other world? What ships and chariots go between it and ours?”

Of course a lot of things darted into Jill’s head at once: Experiment House, Adela
Pennyfather, her own home, radio-sets, cinemas, cars, airplanes, ration-books, queues.
But they seemed dim and far away. (_Thrum—thrum—thrum_— went the strings of the 
Witch’s instrument.) Jill couldn’t remember the names of the things in our world.
And this time it didn’t come into her head that she was being enchanted, for now
the magic was in its full strength; and of course, the more enchanted you get, the
more you feel that you are not enchanted at all. She found herself saying (and at
the moment it was a relief to say):

“No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream.”

“Yes. It _is_ all a dream,” said the Witch, always thrumming.

“Yes, all a dream,” said Jill.

“There never was such a world,” said the Witch.

“No,” said Jill and Scrubb, “never was such a world.”

“There never was any world but mine,” said the Witch.

“There never was any world but yours,” said they.

Puddleglum was still fighting hard. “I don’t know rightly what you all mean by a
world,” he said, talking like a man who hasn’t enough air. “But you can play that
fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won’t make me forget Narnia; and
the whole Overworld too. We’ll never see it _again_, I shouldn’t wonder. You may
have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely.
But I know I was there once. I’ve seen the sky full of stars. I’ve seen the sun 
coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night.
And I’ve seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn’t look at him for brightness.”

Puddleglum’s words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again
and looked at one another like people newly awaked.

“Why, there it is!” cried the Prince. “Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this
honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could
we have forgotten it? Of course we’ve all seen the sun.”

“By Jove, so we have!” said Scrubb.

“Good for you, Puddleglum! You’re the only one of us with any sense, I do believe.”

Then came the Witch’s voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from 
the high elms in an old garden at three o’clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer
afternoon; and it said:

“What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?”

“Yes, we jolly well do,” said Scrubb.

“Can you tell me what it’s like?” asked the Witch (_thrum, thrum, thrum_, went the
strings).

“Please it your Grace,” said the Prince, very coldly and politely. “You see that
lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover
from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater
and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky.”

“Hangeth from what, my lord?” asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still
thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: “
You see? When you try to think out clearly what this _sun_ must be, you cannot tell
me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is 
nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing;
the sun is but a tale, a children’s story.”

“Yes, I see now,” said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. “It must be so.” And while
she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense.

Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, “There is no _sun_.” And they all said nothing.
She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. “There is no _sun_.” After a pause, 
and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together, “You are right.
There is no sun.” It was such a relief to give in and say it.

“There never was a _sun_,” said the Witch.

“No. There never was a sun,” said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children.

For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must
remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She
felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed
to take all the good out of her, she said:

“There’s Aslan.”

“Aslan?” said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. “
What a pretty name! What does it mean?”

“He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world,” said Scrubb, “and sent
us into this to find Prince Rilian.”

“What is a _lion_?” asked the Witch.

“Oh, hang it all!” said Scrubb. “Don’t you know? How can we describe it to her? 
Have you ever seen a cat?”

“Surely,” said the Queen. “I love cats.”

“Well, a lion is a little bit—only a little bit, mind you—like a huge cat—with a
mane. At least, it’s not like a horse’s mane, you know, it’s more like a judge’s
wig. And it’s yellow. And terrifically strong.”

The Witch shook her head. “I see,” she said, “that we should do no better with your
_lion_, as you call it, than we did with your _sun_. You have seen lamps, and so
you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the _sun_. You’ve seen cats,
and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it’s to be called a _lion_. Well, ‘
tis a pretty make-believe, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if
you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without
copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But
even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art
a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you.
Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There
is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let
us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows,
sleep without foolish dreams.”

The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their 
cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment
almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked 
over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn’t hurt him quite
as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and
hard and cold-blooded like a duck’s. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough;
and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part 
of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once.

First, the sweet, heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had
not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of
burnt Marsh-wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made
everyone’s brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again
and opened their eyes.

Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet
tones she had been using up till now, called out, “What are you doing? Dare to touch
my fire again, mud-filth, and I’ll turn the blood to fire inside your veins.”

Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum’s head for a moment perfectly clear and
he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain
for dissolving certain kinds of magic.

“One word, Ma’am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain.“
One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap 
who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I 
won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so.
Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun
and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that,
in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones.
Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes
me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it.
We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game
can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to
stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead
it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.
So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady
are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend
our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think;
but that’s small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.”

‘Oh, hurrah! Good old Puddleglum!’ cried Scrubb and Jill.”

–C.S. Lewis, [_The Silver Chair (Chronicles of Narnia Book 4)_](https://amzn.to/32hvUzj)(
New York: Collier, 1953), 151-159.

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