Dymer by C.S. Lewis - Canto 3

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Canto three of dimer Dymer by C. S. Lewis, Canto three.
He woke, and all at once before his eyes the
pale spires of the chestnut trees in bloom rose, waving,
and beyond dove colored skies, but where he lay was

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dark and out of gloom. He saw them through the
doorway of a room full of strange scents and softness,
padded deep with growing leaves, heavy with last night's sleep.
He rubbed his eyes. He felt that chamber wreathing new
sleepiness around him. At his side, he was aware of

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warmth and quiet breathing. Twice he sank back, loose limbed
and drowsy eyed. But the wind came even there, A
sparrow cried, and the woods shone without. Then diymer rose
just for one glance, he said, and went tiptoes out
into crisp, gray air and drenching grass. The whitened cobweb

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sparkling in its place, clung to his feet. He saw
the wagtail pass beside him and the thrush, and from
his face felt the thin scented winds divinely chase the
flush of sleep. Far off, he saw between the trees
long morning shadows of dark green. He stretched his lazy

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arms to their full height, yawning and sighed, and laughed
and sighed anew, then wandered farther, watching with delight how
his broad naked footprints stained the dew, pressing his foot
to feel the cold come through between the spreading toes,
then wheeling round each moment to some new, shrill forest sound.

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The wood, with its cold flowers, had nothing there more
beautiful than he new. Waked from sleep, new born from joy,
his soul lay very bare that moment, life's touch and
pondering deep. Now first he knew that no desire could
keep these hours for always, and that men do die.

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But oh the present glory of lungs and I, he thought,
at home they are waking now, the stair is filled
with feet. The bells clang far from me. Where am
I now? I could not point to where the city
lies from here? Then suddenly, if I were here alone,
these woods could be a frightful place. But now I

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have met my friend who loves me. We can talk
to the road's end. Thus, quickening with the sweetness of
the tail of his new love, he turned. He saw
between the young leaves where the palace walls showed pale
with chilly stone, but far above the green, springing like
cliffs in air, the towers were seen making more quiet.

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Yet the quiet dawn. Thither he came. He reached the
open lawn. No bird was moving here against the wall.
Out of the unsythed grass, the nettle grew. The doors
stood open wide, but no footfall rang in the colonnades.
Whispering through arches and hollow halls, the light wind blew.

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His awe returned, he whistled, Then no more, it's better
to plunge in by the first door. But then the
vastness threw him into doubt. Was this the door that
he had found last night, or that beneath the tower?
Had he come out this side at all? As the
first snow falls light with following rain, before the year

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grows white, So the first dim foreboding touched his mind
gently as yet and easily thrust behind, And with it
came the thought I do not know her name, no
nor her face. But still his mood ran blithely as
he felt the morning blow about him, and the earth
smell in the wood seemed waying for long hours. That

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must be good here in the unfettered lands that knew
no cause for grudging. Out of reach of the old laws.
He hastened to one entry up the stair beneath the
pillared porch. Without delay. He ran, then halted suddenly, for
there across the quiet threshold something lay a bundle, a

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dark mass that barred the way. He looked again and low.
The formless pile under his eyes was moving all the while,
and it had hands, pale hands of wrinkled flesh, puckered
and gnarled with vast antiquity that moved. He eyed the
sprawling thing afresh, and bit by bit so faces come

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to be in the red coal. Yet surely he could
see that the swathed hugeness was uncleanly human, a living thing,
the likeness of a woman. In the center, a draped
hammock marked the head. Thence flowed the broader lines with
curve and fold, spreading as oak roots do. You would

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have said a man could hide among them and grow
old in finding a way out. Breasts manifold as of
the Ephesian Artemis, might be under that robe. The face
he did not see, and all his being answered not
that way. Never a word he spoke stealthily creeping back
from the door, he drew quick, no delay, quick, quick,

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but very quiet, backward, peeping till fairly out of sight,
then shouting, leaping, shaking himself, he ran, as puppies do,
from bathing till that door was out of view. Another
gate and empty. In he went and found a courtyard
open to the sky. Amidst It dripped of fountain. Heavy

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scent of flowers was here, the foxgloves standing high, sheltered
the whining wasp. With hasty eye, he traveled round the walls.
One doorway line within one showed a further court ahead.
He ran up to the first, a hungry lover and
not yet taught to endure, not blunted yet, but weary

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of long waiting to discover that loved one's face. Before
his foot was set on the first stair, he felt
the sudden sweat, cold on his sides, that sprawling mass
in view, that shape, the horror of heaviness. Here too,
he fell back from the porch. Not yet, not yet,

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there must be other ways where he would meet. No
watcher in the door. He would not let the fear rise,
nor hope, falter, nor defeat be entered in his thoughts.
A sultry heat seemed to have filled the day. His
breath came short, and he passed on into that inner court,
and like a dream, the sight he feared to find

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was waiting here. Then cloister, path and square. He hastened through,
down paths that needed blind traced, and retraced his steps.
The thing sat there in every door, still watching everywhere, behind, ahead,
all round. So steady now lest panic comes, he stopped.

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He wiped his brow. But as he strove to rally,
came the thought that he had dreamed of such a
place before, knew how it all would end. He must
be caught early or late. No good, But all the
more he raged with passionate will that overbore that knowledge,
and cried out and beat his head, raving upon the

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senseless walls, and said, where where, dear look once out,
give but one sign? It's I I dimer. Are you
chained and hidden? What have they done to her? Loose her?
She is mine? Through stone and iron, haunted and hag ridden.
I'll come to you, no stranger nor unbidden. It's I.

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Don't fear them. Shout above them all, can you not hear?
I'll follow at your call from every arch. The echo
of his cry returned. Then all was silent, and he
knew there was no other way. He must pass by
that horror, tread her down, force his way through, or
die upon the threshold. And this too had all been

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in a dream. He felt his heart beating, as if
his throat would burst apart. There was no other way.
He stood a space and pondered it. Then, gathering up
his will, he went to the next door. The pillared
place beneath the porch was dark, the air was still moss.
On the steps, he felt her presence fill the threshold

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with dull life. Here too was she. This time he
raised his eyes and dared to see Pah, only an
old woman, but the size, the old old matriarchal dreadfulness, immovable, intolerable,
the eyes hidden, the hidden head, the winding dress, corpse,

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like the weight of the brute that seemed to press
upon his heart and breathing. Then he heard his own voice,
strange and humbled. Take the word, good mother, Let me pass.
I have a friend to look for in this house.
I slept the night and feasted here. It was my
journey's end. I found it by the music and the

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light and no one kept the doors, and I did
right to enter, did I not? Now? Mother? Pray let
me pass in? Good mother, give me way. The woman
answered nothing, but he saw the hands like crabs still
wandering on her knee. Mother, if I have broken any law,
I ask a pardon once. Then let it be once

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is enough, and leave the passage free. I am in haste,
And though it were a sin by all the laws
you have, I must go in. Courage was rising in him. Now,
he said, out of my path, old woman, for this cause,
I am new born, new freed, and hear new wed,
that I might be the breaker of bad laws. The

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frost of old, forbidding's breaks and thaws. Wherever my feet fall,
I bring to birth under its crust, the green ungrudging earth.
He had started bowing low, but now he stood stretched
to his height. His own voice in his breast made
misery pompous, firing all his blood. Enough, he cried, give place.

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You shall not rest my love from me. I journey
on a quest you cannot understand. Whose strength shall bear
me through fire and earth? A bogie will not scare me.
I am the sword of spring. I am the truth.
Old knight put out your stars. The dawn is here,
the sleeper's wakening, and the wings of youth, with crumbling

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veneration and cowed fear. I make no truce. My loved
one live and dear waits for me. Let me in.
I fled the city. Shall I fear you or mother?
Ah for pity or his high mood fell shattered like
a man unnerved in bayonet fighting, in the thick full
of red rum and shears. When he began now in

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a dream, muttering, I've not the trick. It's no good.
I'm no good. They're all too quick there. Look there,
Look at that so dimer stood, suddenly drained of hope.
It was no good, he pleaded. Then shame beneath shame, forgive.
It may be there are powers I cannot break. If

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you are of them, speak speak, let me live. I
ask so small a thing I beg I make my
body a living prayer whose force would shake the mountains.
I recan't confess my sin, but this once, let me pass.
I must go in yield, but one inch once only
from your law. Set any price. I will give all,

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obey all else, but this hold your least word in
awe give you no cause for anger from this day,
Answer the least things living. When they pray as I pray,
now bear witness they speak true against God. Answer Mother,
let me through. Then, when he heard no answer, mad

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with fear and with desire, too strained with both to
know what he desired or feared. Yet staggering near, he
forced himself towards her and bent low for grappling. Then
came darkness. Then a blow fell on his heart. He thought,
there came a blank of all things. As the dead
sink down, he sank. The first big drops are rattling

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on the trees. The sky is coppered, dark, low thunder
pealing sea. Dimer with drooped head and knocking knees, comes
from the porch. Then, slowly, drunkly, reeling blind, beaten, broken
past desire of healing, pass knowledge of his misery, he
goes on under the first dark trees, And now is gone.

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End of Cancel three