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THE QUEEN OF UNDERLAND:
TWO Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed
themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were
followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished
to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood
dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took
in the whole situation - the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed,
and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.
She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that
comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they
are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there
was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.
"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I
call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the
Witch-queen shut and locked the door.
"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come
upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these
aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only
safety?"
Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy
to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for
ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:
"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me
a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was
bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There
was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them.
These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and
there are two things I will say to you. First - as for your Ladyship's
design of putting me at the head of an army of Earthmen so that I may break
out into the Overworld and there, by main force, make myself king over some
nation that never did me wrong - murdering their natural lords and holding
their throne as a bloody and foreign tyrant - now that I know myself, I do
utterly abhor and renounce it as plain villainy. And second: I am the
King's son of Narnia, Rilian, the only child of Caspian, Tenth of that
name, whom some call Caspian the Seafarer. Therefore, Madam, it is my
purpose, as it is also my duty, to depart suddenly from your Highness's
court into my own country. Please it you to grant me and my friends safe
conduct and a guide through your dark realm."
Now the Witch said nothing at all, but moved gently across the room, always
keeping her face and eyes very steadily towards the Prince. When she had
come to a little ark set in the wall not far from the fireplace, she opened
it, and took out first a handful of a green powder. This she threw on the
fire. It did not blaze much, but a very sweet and drowsy smell came from
it. And all through the conversation which followed, that smell grew
stronger, and filled the room, and made it harder to think. Secondly, she
took out a musical instrument rather like a mandolin. She began to play it
with her fingers - a steady, monotonous thrumming that you didn't notice
after a few minutes. But the less you noticed it, the more it got into your
brain and your blood. This also made it hard to think. After she had
thrummed for a time (and the sweet smell was now strong) she began speaking
in a sweet, quiet voice.
"Narnia?" she said. "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 of 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 humouring 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,
aeroplanes, 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 certain
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 makebelieve, 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 coldblooded
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 playworld 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 a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."
"Oh, hurrah! Good old Puddleglum!" cried Scrubb and Jill. But the Prince
shouted suddenly, "Ware! Look to the Witch."
When they did look their hair nearly stood on end.
The instrument dropped from her hands. Her arms appeared to be fastened to
her sides. Her legs were intertwined with each other, and her feet had
disappeared. The long green train of her skirt thickened and grew solid,
and seemed to be all one piece with the writhing green pillar of her
interlocked legs. And that writhing green pillar was curving and swaying as
if it had no joints, or else were all joints. Her head was thrown far back
and while her nose grew longer and longer, every other part of her face
seemed to disappear, except her eyes. Huge flaming eyes they were now,
without brows or lashes. All this takes time to write down; it happened so
quickly that there was only just time to see it. Long before there was time
to do anything, the change was complete, and the great serpent which the
Witch had become, green as poison, thick as Jill's waist, had flung two or
three coils of its loathsome body round the Prince's legs. Quick as
lightning another great loop darted round, intending to pinion his
sword-arm to his side. But the Prince was just in time. He raised his arms
and got them clear: the living knot closed only round his chest - ready to
crack his ribs like firewood when it drew tight.
The Prince caught the creature's neck in his left hand, trying to squeeze
it till it choked. This held its face (if you could call it a face) about
five inches from his own. The forked tongue flickered horribly in and out,
but could not reach him. With his right hand he drew back his sword for the
strongest blow he could give. Meanwhile Scrubb and Puddleglum had drawn
their weapons and rushed to his aid. All three blows fell at once: Scrubb's
(which did not even pierce the scales and did no good) on the body of the
snake below the Prince's hand, but the Prince's own blow and Puddleglum's
both on its neck. Even that did not quite kill it, though it began to
loosen its hold on Rilian's legs and chest. With repeated blows they hacked
off its head. The horrible thing went on coiling and moving like a bit of
wire long after it had died; and the floor, as you may imagine, was a nasty
mess.
The Prince, when he had breath, said, "Gentlemen, I thank you." Then the
three conquerors stood staring at one another and panting, without another
word, for a long time. Jill had very wisely sat down and was keeping quiet;
she was saying to herself, "I do hope I don't faint or blub - or do
anything idiotic."
"My royal mother is avenged," said Rilian presently. "This is undoubtedly
the same worm that I pursued in vain by the fountain in the forest of
Narnia, so many years ago. All these years I have been the slave of my
mother's slayer. Yet I am glad, gentlemen, that the foul Witch took to her
serpent form at the last. It would not have suited well either with my
heart or with my honour to have slain a woman. But look to the lady." He
meant Jill.
"I'm all right, thanks," said she.
"Damsel," said the Prince, bowing to her. "You are of a high courage, and
therefore, I doubt not, you come of a noble blood in your own world. But
come, friends. Here is some wine left. Let us refresh ourselves and each
pledge his fellows. After that, to our plans."
"A jolly good idea, Sir," said Scrubb.
