Gelezen, geleefd, gedeeld

63 had written. It couldn’t be; it was far too small. […] It was all a vile scribble; each stroke mean and yet savage, like the snarl of my father’s voice, like the ruinous faces one could make out in the Ungit stone. A great terror and loathing came over me. I said to myself, “Whatever they do to me, I will ne- ver read out this stuff. Give me back my Book.” But already I heard myself reading it. And what I read out was like this: “I know what you’ll say. You will say the real gods are not at all like Ungit, and that I was shown a real god and the house of a real god and ought to know it. Hypocrites! I do know it. As if that would heal my wounds! I could have endured it if you were things like Ungit and the Shadowbrute. You know well that I never really began to hate you until Psyche began talking of her palace and her lover and her husband. Why did you lie to me? You said a brute would devour her. Well, why didn’t it? I’d have wept for her and buried what was left and built her a tomb and ... and … But to steal her love from me! Can it be that you really don’t understand? Do you think we mortals will find you gods easier to bear if you’re beautiful? I tell you that if that’s true we’ll find you a thousand times worse. For then (I know what beauty does) you’ll lure and entice. You’ll leave us nothing; nothing that’s worth our keeping or your taking. Those we love best – whoever’s most worth loving – those are the very ones you’ll pick out. Oh, I can see it happening, age after age, and growing worse and worse the more you reveal your beauty; the son turning his back on the mother and the bride on her groom, stolen away by this everlasting calling, calling, calling of the gods. Taken where we can’t follow. It would be far better for us if you were foul and ravening. We’d rather you drank their blood than stole their hearts. (Pp. 301v) Hier zien we de onredelijkheid van haar bitterheid, die zich tot dan toe steeds zo redelijk voor had gedaan. En tegelijkertijd laat Lewis in dit boek ook de schoonheid en onverwachte redelijkheid zien van het diepe verlangen van Psyche, een concretisering van het diepe verlangen dat zo’n grote rol speelt in zijn eigen leven ( Surprised by Joy ) en dat in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader zo aandoenlijk wordt belichaamd door de ridderlijke muis Reepi- cheep. Dat is misschien ook wel één van de dingen die de beste boeken doen: niet alleen helpen onze neigingen tot zelfvernietiging ontmaskeren, maar ook onze diepste verlangens naar het werkelijk goede aan te wakke- ren. Zo brengen Psyche en Reepicheep ons toch weer bij Augustinus. “On- rustig is ons hart …”