GOOD EVENING," said Lucy. But the Faun was so busy
picking up its parcels that at first it did not reply. When it had
finished it made her a little bow.
"Good evening, good evening," said the Faun. "Excuse me
— I don't want to be inquisitive — but should I be right in thinking that
you are a Daughter of Eve?"
"My name's Lucy," said she, not quite understanding him.
"But you are — forgive me — you are what they call a girl?" said the
Faun.
"Of course I'm a girl," said Lucy.
"You are in fact Human?"
"Of course I'm human," said Lucy, still a little puzzled.
"To be sure, to be sure," said the Faun. "How stupid of me! But I've
never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I am delighted.
That is to say -" and then it stopped as if it had been going to say
something it had not intended but had remembered in time. "Delighted,
delighted," it went on. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is
Tumnus."
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy.
"And may I ask, O Lucy Daughter of Eve," said Mr Tumnus, "how
you have come into Narnia?"
"Narnia? What's that?" said Lucy.
"This is the land of Narnia," said the Faun, "where we are now; all
that lies between the lamp-post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on
the eastern sea. And you — you have come from the wild woods of
the west?"
"I — I got in through the wardrobe in the spare room," said Lucy.
"Ah!" said Mr Tumnus in a rather melancholy voice, "if only I had
worked harder at geography when I was a little Faun, I should no
doubt know all about those strange countries. It is too late now."
"But they aren't countries at all," said Lucy, almost laughing. "It's
only just back there — at least — I'm not sure. It is summer there."
"Meanwhile," said Mr Tumnus, "it is winter in Narnia, and has been
for ever so long, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking
in the snow. Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where
eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would
it be if you came and had tea with me?"
"Thank you very much, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy. "But I was
wondering whether I ought to be getting back."
"It's only just round the corner," said the Faun, "and there'll be a
roaring fire — and toast — and sardines — and cake."
"Well, it's very kind of you," said Lucy. "But I shan't be able to stay
long."
"If you will take my arm, Daughter of Eve," said Mr Tumnus, "I shall
be able to hold the umbrella over both of us. That's the way. Now —
off we go."
And so Lucy found herself walking through the wood arm in arm
with this strange creature as if they had known one another all their
lives.
They had not gone far before they came to a place where the ground
became rough and there were rocks all about and little hills up and
little hills down. At the bottom of one small valley Mr Tumnus turned
suddenly aside as if he were going to walk straight into an unusually
large rock, but at the last moment Lucy found he was leading her into
the entrance of a cave. As soon as they were inside she found herself
blinking in the light of a wood fire. Then Mr Tumnus stooped and took
a flaming piece of wood out of the fire with a neat little pair of tongs,
and lit a lamp. "Now we shan't be long," he said, and immediately put
a kettle on.
Lucy thought she had never been in a nicer place. It was a little, dry,
clean cave of reddish stone with a carpet on the floor and two little
chairs ("one for me and one for a friend," said Mr Tumnus) and a table
and a dresser and a mantelpiece over the fire and above that a picture
of an old Faun with a grey beard. In one corner there was a door which
Lucy thought must lead to Mr Tumnus's bedroom, and on one wall
was a shelf full of books. Lucy looked at these while he was setting out
the tea things. They had titles like The Life and Letters of Silenus or
Nymphs and Their Ways or Men, Monks and Gamekeepers; a Study in
Popular Legend or Is Man a Myth?
"Now, Daughter of Eve!" said the Faun.
And really it was a wonderful tea. There was a nice brown egg,
lightly boiled, for each of them, and then sardines on toast, and then
buttered toast, and then toast with honey, and then a sugar-topped
cake. And when Lucy was tired of eating the Faun began to talk. He
had wonderful tales to tell of life in the forest. He told about the
midnight dances and how the Nymphs who lived in the wells and the
Dryads who lived in the trees came out to dance with the Fauns; about
long hunting parties after the milk-white stag who could give you
wishes if you caught him; about feasting and treasure-seeking with the
wild Red Dwarfs in deep mines and caverns far beneath the forest
floor; and then about summer when the woods were green and old
Silenus on his fat donkey would come to visit them, and sometimes
Bacchus himself, and then the streams would run with wine instead of
water and the whole forest would give itself up to jollification for weeks
on end. "Not that it isn't always winter now," he added gloomily. Then
to cheer himself up he 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' 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 hand kerchief, 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."
"What do you mean?" cried Lucy, turning very white.
"You are the child," said Tumnus. "I had orders from the White Witch
that if ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood, I
was to catch them and hand them over to her. And you are the first
I've ever met. And I've pretended to be your friend an asked you to
tea, and all the time I've been meaning to wait till you were asleep and
then go and tell Her."
"Oh, but you won't, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy. "Yo won't, will you?
Indeed, indeed you really mustn't."
"And if I don't," said he, beginning to cry again "she's sure to find
out. And she'll have my tail cut off and my horns sawn off, and my
beard plucked out, and she'll wave her wand over my beautiful clove
hoofs and turn them into horrid solid hoofs like wretched horse's. And
if she is extra and specially angry she'll turn me into stone and I shall
be only statue of a Faun in her horrible house until the four thrones at
Cair Paravel are filled and goodness knows when that will happen, or
whether it will ever happen at all."
"I'm very sorry, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy. "But please let me go
home."
"Of course I will," said the Faun. "Of course I've got to. I see that
now. I hadn't known what Humans were like before I met you. Of
course I can't give you up to the Witch; not now that I know you. But
we must be off at once. I'll see you back to the lamp-post. I suppose
you can find your own way from there back to Spare Oom and War
Drobe?"
"I'm sure I can," said Lucy.
"We must go as quietly as we can," said Mr Tumnus. "The whole
wood is full of her spies. Even some of the trees are on her side."
They both got up and left the tea things on the table, and Mr Tumnus
once more put up his umbrella and gave Lucy his arm, and they went
out into the snow. The journey back was not at all like the journey to
the Faun's cave; they stole along as quickly as they could, without
speaking a word, and Mr Tumnus kept to the darkest places. Lucy was
relieved when they reached the lamp-post again.
"Do you know your way from here, Daughter of Eve?" said Tumnus.
Lucy looked very hard between the trees and could just see in the
distance a patch of light that looked like daylight. "Yes," she said, "I
can see the wardrobe door."
"Then be off home as quick as you can," said the Faun, "and —
c-can you ever forgive me for what meant to do?"
"Why, of course I can," said Lucy, shaking him heartily by the hand.
"And I do hope you won't get into dreadful trouble on my account."
"Farewell, Daughter of Eve," said he. "Perhaps I may keep the handkerchief?"
"Rather!" said Lucy, and then ran towards the far off patch of
daylight as quickly as her legs would carry her. And presently
instead of rough branch brushing past her she felt coats, and instead
of crunching snow under her feet she felt wooden board and all at
once she found herself jumping out of the wardrobe into the same
empty room from which the whole adventure had started. She shut
the wardrobe door tightly behind her and looked around, panting for
breath. It was still raining and she could hear the voices of the others
in the passage.
"I'm here," she shouted. "I'm here. I've come back I'm all right."