Tales Before Narnia

by Douglas A. Anderson

  The affair was soon over. Up & down, the length of the Hall, strode the four Animals, whacking with their sticks at every head that showed itself.

  In five minutes the room was cleared. Through the broken windows the shrieks of terrified weasels escaping across the lawn were borne faintly to their ears; on the floor lay some dozen or so of the enemy, on whom the Mole was busily engaged in fitting handcuffs. The Badger, resting from his labours, leaned on his stick & wiped his honest brow. “Mole!” he said. “You’re the best of fellows! Cut along outside & look after those stoats of yours! I’ve an idea we shan’t have much trouble from them tonight!”

  The Mole vanished through a window; & then the Badger bade the other two set a table on its legs, & pick up some plates & glasses, & see if they could find materials for a supper. “I want some grub, I do,” he said, in the rather common way he had of speaking: “Stir your stumps, Toad, & look lively. We’re doing all this for you, & you don’t trouble to produce so much as a sandwich!”

  The Toad felt rather hurt that the Badger didn’t say pleasant things to him, as he had to the Mole, & tell him what a fine fellow he was, how splendidly he had fought for he was rather particularly pleased with himself, & the way he had gone for the head weasel & sent him flying across the table with one blow of his stick; but he bustled about, & so did the others, & presently they found some guava jelly in a glass dish, a cold chicken, a tongue that had hardly been touched, some trifle, & quite a lot of lobster salad; & in the pantry was a basket-full of French rolls, & a quantity of celery & cheese. They were just sitting down when the Mole clambered in through the window chuckling, his arms full of rifles.

  “It’s all over,” he said. “When the stoats heard the shrieks & the yells & the uproar inside the hall, most of them threw down their rifles & fled. The rest stood fast, but when the weasels rushed out upon them they thought they were betrayed, & the stoats grappled with the weasels, & the weasels fought to get away, & they wrestled & wriggled & rolled till they fell into the river! And I’ve got all their rifles, so that’s all right.”

  “Excellent animal,” said the Badger, his mouth full of chicken & trifle:

  “Now there’s just one more thing I want you to do for us, Mole, before you sit down to your supper along of us: because I can trust you to see a thing done, & I wish I could say the same of everybody I know.”

  (To be contd.)

  16 Durham Villas, Kensington,

  Sept. 1907

  Dear Robinson,

  “What I want you to do, Mole,” said the Badger, “is to take those fellows on the floor there, upstairs with you, & have some bedrooms cleaned out, & tidied, & made really comfortable. Make them put clean linen on all the beds, & turn down one corner of the bed-clothes, just as you know it ought to be done; & have a can of hot water & clean towels put in each room; & then you can give them a licking apiece, if you’ve a mind to, & put them outside the door—they won’t trouble us any further, I’ll lay. And then come in & have some of this cold tongue. It’s real good. I’m very pleased with you, Mole!”

  So the good-natured Mole formed his prisoners up in a line on the floor, & said, “Quick, March!” & marched them off to the bedrooms: & presently he came down smiling, & said every room was ready, & as clean as a new pin. “And I didn’t have to lick them either,” he added. “I thought they had had licking enough for one night, & the weasels, when I put it to them, quite agreed with me. And they were very very sorry & very penitent, & said it was all the fault of the head-weasel & the stoats, & if ever they could do anything for us at any time—& so on. So I gave them a roll apiece & let them out at the back door, & off they ran!”

  Then the Mole pulled his chair to the table & pitched into the cold tongue; & the Toad with an effort put aside all his jealousy, & said heartily, “Mole, you’re a brick, & a clever brick! I wish I had your headpiece!” The Badger was pleased at that, & said “Good old Toad!” So they finished their supper in great joy & contentment, & presently retired to rest, between clean sheets, in the ancestral home of Toad, which they had won back by their valour, their strategy & their sticks.

  Next morning the Toad, who had overslept himself, came down to breakfast disgracefully late, & found a certain quantity of eggshells on the table, some fragments of cold toast, a coffee-pot two-thirds empty, & really very little else; which did not tend to improve his temper, considering that after all it was his own house. The Mole & the Water-Rat were sitting in wicker-chairs out on the lawn, telling each other stories; roaring with laughter & kicking their short legs up in the air. The Badger, who was deep in the morning paper, merely looked up & nodded when the Toad came in. But the Toad knew his man, so he sat down & made the best breakfast he could, observing to himself that he would get square with the others, sooner or later.

  When he had nearly finished the Badger remarked rather shortly: “I’m afraid there’s a heavy morning’s work in front of you, Toad; you see we ought to have a Banquet, to celebrate this affair!”

  “O, all right,” said the Toad, readily: “anything to oblige friends! Though why on earth you should want to have a Banquet in the morning I cannot understand. But you know I do not live to please myself, but only to give pleasure to my friends, & do everything they want, you dear Badger!”

  “Don’t pretend to be stupider than you are,” said the Badger crossly; “& don’t chuckle & splutter in your coffee when you’re talking. It’s rude. What I mean is, the Banquet will be at night, of course, but the invitations have got to go out at once, and you’ve got to write ’em! Now sit down at that table—there’s stacks of paper on it, with ‘Toad Hall’ at the top in blue & gold—& write to all your friends, & perhaps if you stick to it you’ll have done by lunch-time. And I’ll help you, too. I’ll order the Banquet!”

  “What!” cried the Toad, dismayed: “Me write a lot of rotten letters on a jolly morning like this, when I want to go round my property, & get everything & everybody to rights, & enjoy myself! I’ll be—I’ll see you—stop a minute though! Why, certainly, dear Badger! What is my pleasure or convenience to that of others? You wish it done & it shall be done. Go, my dear Badger, join our young friends outside in their innocent amusements. I sacrifice this fair morning on the altar of duty & friendship!”

  The Badger looked at him very suspiciously, but Toad’s frank open countenance made it difficult to suggest any unworthy motive in this change of attitude. As soon as the door had closed behind the Badger, the Toad hurried to the writing-table. He had had a fine idea while he was talking. He would write the invitations, to the otter, & all the hedgehogs, & the squirrels, & all the rest of them: & he would work in, somehow, what he had done during the fight, & how he had laid the head-weasel flat; & the invitation-cards should have a note at the foot, something like this:

  SPEECH…. by Toad

  (There will be other speeches by Toad during the evening)

  SONG…. by Toad

  (composed by himself)

  Other compositions…by Toad

  will be sung at intervals…by the Composer

  The idea pleased him mightily, & he worked hard & got the letters finished by lunch-time, when it was reported that there was a small & rather bedraggled weasel at the door, inquiring timidly whether he could be of any service to the gentlemen. The Toad went out, & found it was one of the handcuffed ones of the previous evening, very timid & very respectful. Toad patted him on the head, shoved the invitations into his paw, & told him to deliver them all at once, & if he would come back the next day perhaps there might be a shilling for him & perhaps there mightn’t; & the poor weasel seemed really quite grateful, & hurried off eagerly to do his mission.

  The other animals came in to lunch very boisterous & happy, after a morning’s boating on the river, & expecting to find Toad somewhat sulky & depressed. Instead, he was so uppish & inflated that of course they began to suspect something; & the Rat & the Badger exchanged significant glances. After the meal was over the Toad thrust his hands deep
into his trouser-pockets, & was swaggering off in to the garden, where he wanted to think out a few ideas for his speeches, when the Rat caught him by the arm.

  (To be continued)

  16 Durham Villas, Kensington,

  Sept. 1907

  Dear Robinson,

  The Toad rather suspected what he was after, & did his best to get away; but the Badger taking him firmly by the other arm, he saw that the game was up. The animals conducted him between them into the small smoking-room that opened out of the entrance-hall, shut the door & put him down into a chair. Then they stood in front of him, while the Toad sat silent & looked at them with much suspicion & ill-humour.

  “Now look here, Toad,” said the Rat: “about this Banquet. We want you to understand, once & for all: there must be no speeches, and no songs. We’re not arguing with you; we’re just telling you.” The Toad saw he was trapped. They understood him, they saw through him, they got ahead of him. His pleasant dream was shattered.

  “Mayn’t I sing them just one little song?” he said piteously.

  “No, not one little song,” said the Rat firmly, though his heart bled as he noticed the trembling lip of the poor disappointed Toad. “It’s no good, Toady; you know your songs are all conceit & boasting, & vanity; & your speeches are all self-praise and-and-gross exaggeration and—and—”

  “And gas,” put in the Badger, in his common way.

  “It’s for your own good, Toady,” went on the Rat. “You must turn over a new leaf, & now seems a splendid time to begin. Don’t think that saying this doesn’t hurt me more than it hurts you!”

  The Toad remained a long while plunged in thought; at last he raised his head, & the traces of strong emotion were visible on his features. “You have conquered, my friends!” he said. “It was but a small thing that I asked—merely leave to ‘blow’ for yet one more evening, to let myself go & hear the tumultuous applause which always seems to me—somehow—to bring out my best qualities! But you are right, I know, & I am wrong. Henceforth I will be an altered toad. My friends, you shall never have occasion to blush for me again. But, O dear O dear, this is a hard world!”

  And, pressing his handkerchief to his face, he left the room with faltering footsteps.

  “Badger,” said the Rat, “I feel like a brute; what do you feel like?”

  “O I know, I know,” said Badger: “but the thing’s got to be done. This dear good fellow has got to live here; do you want him to be mocked, & scorned, & laughed at, by stoats & weasels?”

  “Talking of weasels,” said the Rat, “It’s lucky we came upon that little weasel just as he was setting out with Toad’s invitations. I confiscated the lot, and the good Mole is now sitting in the blue boudoir, filling up plain simple invitation-cards.”…

  When at last the hour for the banquet began to draw near, Toad slipped away from the others & went upstairs to his own bedroom, very melancholy & thoughtful. Sitting down in an armchair he rested his brow upon his hand & pondered long. Gradually his countenance cleared, & he began to smile long slow smiles; then he took to giggling in a shy, self-conscious, manner. Then he got up, locked the door, drew the curtains across the windows, took all the chairs in the room & arranged them in a semicircle, & took up his position in front of them, swelling visibly. Then he lifted his voice &, letting himself go, sang loudly

  TOAD’S LAST LITTLE SONG!

  The Toad—came home!

  There was panic in the parlours and howling in the halls,

  There was crying in the cowsheds & shrieking in the stalls,

  When the Toad—came—home!

  When the Toad—came—home!

  There was smashing in of window and crashing in of door,

  There was chivvying of weasels that fainted on the floor,

  When the Toad—came—home!

  Bang go the drums!

  The trumpeters are tooting & the soldiers are saluting

  And the cannon they are shooting and the—motor-cars are hooting

  As the Hero comes!

  Shout—Hoo-ray!

  And let each one of the crowd do his best to shout it loud,

  In honour of an animal of whom you’re rightly proud,

  For it’s Toad’s great day!

  He sang it, as has been said, very loud; also, he sang it over twice.

  Then he heaved a deep sigh; a long, long, long sigh.

  Then he dipped his hair-brush in the water-jug, parted his hair in the middle, & plastered it down very straight & sleek on each side; and, unlocking the door, went quietly down the stairs to greet his guests, who were assembling in the drawing-room.

  Everyone shouted when he entered, & crowded round him to congratulate him & say nice things about his courage, & his cleverness, & his fighting qualities; but Toad only smiled faintly & murmured, “Not at all, not at all!” or sometimes “On the contrary!” The animals were evidently quite puzzled & taken aback by this new attitude of his; & Toad felt, as he moved from one guest to another, making his modest responses, that he was an object of absorbing interest to every one.

  The Badger had ordered everything of the best, & the banquet was a great success. There was much talking, & laughter, & chaff, but through it all the Toad, who was in the Chair, looked down his nose & murmured pleasant nothings to the animals on each side of him. At intervals he stole a glance at the Badger & the Rat, & saw them looking at each other with their mouths open; & this gave him the greatest satisfaction.

  THE WISH HOUSE

  by Rudyard Kipling

  * * *

  In the mid-1940s, Lewis read his paper “Kipling’s World” to the English Association (it is most easily found in his Selected Literary Essays). In it, he confessed that he had a kind of love–hate relationship with Rudyard Kipling: “I have been reading him off and on all my life, and I never return to him without renewed admiration…On the other hand, I have never quite taken him to my heart…Not only is my allegiance imperfect, it is also inconstant. After I have been reading Kipling for some days together there comes a sudden check. One moment I am filled with delight at the variety and solidity of his imagination; and then, at the very next moment, I am sick, sick to death, of the whole Kipling world.” Lewis determined that one of the causes for his feelings was that Kipling’s writings glorify the experience of being in the know, being part of what Lewis called “an Inner Ring,” while showing indifference to the consequences of such allegiance. To Lewis, Kipling “is the slave of the Inner Ring; he expresses the passion, but does not stand outside to criticise it…he has nothing very much to say to us.” Lewis’s novel That Hideous Strength shows his distaste for inner rings, as a young academic’s advance into a sinister government organization becomes a descent into hell.

  Of Kipling’s works, Lewis particularly singled out for praise his “queer” or “rum” stories—that is, his weird fiction: “These may be his best work, but they are not his most characteristic.” Though Lewis did not name “The Wish House” among them, it belongs there. It was first published in Maclean’s Magazine, October 15, 1924, and collected in Debits and Credits (1926).

  The events of “The Wish House” have a curious parallel with Lewis’s own life. Lewis told his friend Nevill Coghill that he was able to ease the suffering of his wife, a cancer victim, by taking on her pain. This substitution follows the doctrine of co-inherence expounded to Lewis by his friend Charles Williams: that through Christian love, one has the power to accept into one’s own body the pain of someone else.

  * * *

  The new Church Visitor had just left after a twenty minutes’ call. During that time, Mrs. Ashcroft had used such English as an elderly, experienced, and pensioned cook should, who had seen life in London. She was the readier, therefore, to slip back into easy, ancient Sussex (“t”s softening to “d”s as one warmed) when the ’bus brought Mrs. Fettley from thirty miles away for a visit, that pleasant March Saturday. The two had been friends since childhood; but, of late, destiny had separated their meetings by
long intervals.

  Much was to be said, and many ends, loose since last time, to be ravelled up on both sides, before Mrs. Fettley, with her bag of quilt-patches, took the couch beneath the window commanding the garden, and the football-ground in the valley below.

  “Most folk got out at Bush Tye for the match there,” she explained, “so there weren’t no one for me to cushion agin, the last five mile. An’ she do just-about bounce ye.”

  “You’ve took no hurt,” said her hostess. “You don’t brittle by agein’, Liz.”

  Mrs. Fettley chuckled and made to match a couple of patches to her liking. “No, or I’d ha’ broke twenty year back. You can’t ever mind when I was so’s to be called round, can ye?”

  Mrs. Ashcroft shook her head slowly—she never hurried—and went on stitching a sack-cloth lining into a list-bound rush tool-basket. Mrs. Fettley laid out more patches in the Spring light through the geraniums on the window-sill, and they were silent awhile.

  “What like’s this new Visitor o’ yourn?” Mrs. Fettley inquired, with a nod towards the door. Being very short-sighted, she had, on her entrance, almost bumped into the lady.

  Mrs. Ashcroft suspended the big packing-needle judicially on high, ere she stabbed home. “Settin’ aside she don’t bring much news with her yet, I dunno as I’ve anythin’ special agin her.”

  “Ourn, at Keyneslade,” said Mrs. Fettley, “she’s full o’ words an’ pity, but she don’t stay for answers. Ye can get on with your thoughts while she clacks.”

  “This ’un don’t clack. She’s aimin’ to be one o’ those High Church nuns, like.”

  “Ourn’s married, but, by what they say, she’ve made no great gains of it…” Mrs. Fettley threw up her sharp chin. “Lord! How they dam’ cherubim do shake the very bones o’ the place!”