There are many candidates for the best line in the Narnian Chronicles but Puddleglum’s reminder in The Silver Chair that “You’ve got to learn that life isn’t all fricasseed frogs and eel pie” has got to be a frontrunner.
But it’s neither fricasseed frogs nor eel pie that I want to write about today. Instead, I want to focus on Geoffrey Chaucer and signs.
First, Chaucer. Take a look at this passage from The Friar’s Tale:
And happed that he saugh bifore hym ryde
A gay yeman, under a forest syde,
A bowe he bar, and arwes brighte and kene;
He hadde upon a courtepy of grene,
An hat upon his heed with frenges blak.
…
“Brother,” quod he, “where is now youre dwellyng
Another day if that I sholde yow seche?”
This yeman hym answerde in softe speche,
“Brother,” quod he, “fer in the north contree,
Where-as I hope som tyme I shal thee see.
Er we departe, I shal thee so wel wisse
That of myn hous ne shaltow nevere mysse.”
Or, if you prefer it in bland (rather literal) modern English:
It happened that he saw before him ride
A happy yeoman along a forest’s side.
A bow he bore, and arrows bright and keen;
He wore a short coat of the Lincoln green,
And hat upon his head, with fringes black.
…
“Brother,” asked he, “where now is your dwelling,
If some day I should wish your side to reach?”
This yeoman answered him in gentle speech,
“Brother,” said he, “far in the north country,
Where, as I hope, some day you'll come to me.
Before we part I will direct you so
You'll never miss it when that way you go.”
So who is this yeoman wearing Lincoln green? A kindly Robin Hood figure? No, he is a demon who lives “fer in the north contree.”
It is impossible to know what exactly was in Lewis’s mind when he wrote The Silver Chair but it is not improbable that he was thinking of Chaucer’s demon when he created his own venomous villain from the far north.
Early in the story we read that Caspian’s queen was killed by a snake that was “great, shining, and as green as poison”. Shortly after, we hear of Prince Rilian’s enchantment by a lady who “was tall and great, shining, and wrapped in a thin garment as green as poison.” The clue - the sign, perhaps I should say - that the Lady was not to be trusted was the colour green. The colour was the sign that Drinian read and Rilian missed: “It stuck in Drinian’s mind that this shining green woman was evil,” we are told.
Why does all this matter? Because signs matter, as Aslan tells Jill at the start of the book. “Remember the signs and believe the signs,” he says.
“These are the signs by which I will guide you in your quest. First; as soon as the Boy Eustace sets foot in Narnia, he will meet an old and dear friend. He must greet that friend at once; if he does, you will both have good help. Second; you must journey out of Narnia to the north till you come to the ruined city of the ancient giants. Third; you shall find a writing on a stone in that ruined city, and you must do what the writing tells you. Fourth; you will know the lost prince (if you find him) by this, that he will be the first person you have met in your travels who will ask you to do something in my name, in the name of Aslan.”
These signs are not the same as the ones Rilian and Drinian have to read, nor are they the signs by which we are guided, but that is the point. The signs ultimately point to Aslan who points us to Christ. We need to be attentive, Lewis suggests, to the signs that we receive. That way salvation lies. In other words, The Silver Chair is a deeply sacramental book.
Of course, Lewis is not the only author to write in this way. I have, for example, written elsewhere about the use the great American author, Tim Gautreaux, makes of a similar conceit: in his case signals rather than signs. Gautreaux’s signals are both literal and metaphorical. They are important in their own right and also point beyond themselves. They are sacramental in a secular world.
In fact, maybe that is a good definition of good literature: it points beyond itself and takes you at least some of the way towards the object to which it points. Or, to be more precise, the person to whom it points. All of which is a good reason for re-reading The Silver Chair.