Voyage to Arcturus

by David Lindsay

  "I will tell some incidents of my life. You will begin to learn from them what sort of place you have come to."

  "I shall be grateful," said Maskull, preparing himself to listen.

  Panawe paused for a moment or two, and then started his narrative in tranquil, measured, yet sympathetic tones.

  PANAWE'S STORY

  "My earliest recollection is of being taken, when three years old (that's equivalent to fifteen of your years, but we develop more slowly here), by my father and mother, to see Broodviol, the wisest man in Tormance. He dwelt in the great Wombflash Forest. We walked through trees for three days, sleeping at night. The trees grew taller as we went along, until the tops were out of sight. The trunks were of a dark red colour and the leaves were of pale ulfire. My father kept stopping to think. If left uninterrupted, he would remain for half a day in deep abstraction. My mother came out of Poolingdred, and was of a different stamp. She was beautiful, generous, and charming - but also active. She kept urging him on. This led to many disputes between them, which made me miserable. On the fourth day we passed through a part of the forest which bordered on the Sinking Sea. This sea is full of pouches of water that will not bear a man's weight, and as these light parts don't differ in appearance from the rest, it is dangerous to cross. My father pointed out a dim outline on the horizon, and told me it was Swaylone's Island. Men sometimes go there, but none ever return. In the evening of the same day we found Broodviol standing in a deep, miry pit in the forest, surrounded on all sides by trees three hundred feet high. He was a big gnarled, rugged, wrinkled, sturdy old man. His age at that time was a hundred and twenty of our years, or nearly six hundred of yours. His body was trilateral: he had three legs, three arms, and six eyes, placed at equal distances all around his head. This gave him an aspect of great watchfulness and sagacity. He was standing in a sort of trance. I afterward heard this saying of his: 'To lie is to sleep, to sit is to dream, to stand is to think.' My father caught the infection, and fell into meditation, but my mother roused them both thoroughly. Broodviol scowled at her savagely, and demanded what she required. Then I too learned for the first time the object of our journey. I was a prodigy - that is to say, I was without sex. My parents were troubled over this, and wished to consult the wisest of men.

  "Old Broodviol smoothed his face, and said, 'This perhaps will not be so difficult. I will explain the marvel. Every man and woman among us is a walking murderer. If a male, he has struggled with and killed the female who was born in the same body with him - if a female, she has killed the male. But in this child the struggle is still continuing.'

  "'How shall we end it?' asked my mother.

  "'Let the child direct its will to the scene of the combat, and it will be of whichever sex it pleases.'

  "'You want, of course, to be a man, don't you?' said my mother to me earnestly.

  "'Then I shall be slaying your daughter, and that would be a crime.'

  "Something in my tone attracted Broodviol's notice.

  "'That was spoken, not selfishly, but magnanimously. Therefore the male must have spoken it, and you need not trouble further. Before you arrive home, the child will be a boy.'

  "My father walked away out of sight. My mother bent very low before Broodviol for about ten minutes, and he remained all that time looking kindly at her.

  "I heard that shortly afterward Alppain came into that land for a few hours daily. Broodviol grew melancholy, and died.

  "His prophecy came true - before we reached home, I knew the meaning of shame. But I have often pondered over his words since, in later years, when trying to understand my own nature; and I have come to the conclusion that, wisest of men as he was, he still did not see quite straight on this occasion. Between me and my twin sister, enclosed in one body, there never was any struggle, but instinctive reverence for life withheld both of us from fighting for existence. Hers was the stronger temperament, and she sacrificed herself - though not consciously - for me.

  "As soon as I comprehended this, I made a vow never to eat or destroy anything that contained life - and I have kept it ever since.

  "While I was still hardly a grown man, my father died. My mother's death followed immediately, and I hated the associations of the land. I therefore made up my mind to travel into my mother's country, where, as she had often told me, nature was most sacred and solitary.

  "One hot morning I came to Shaping's Causeway. It is so called either because Shaping once crossed it, or because of its stupendous character. It is a natural embankment, twenty miles long, which links the mountains bordering my homeland with the Ifdawn Marest. The valley lies below at a depth varying from eight to ten thousand feet - a terrible precipice on either side. The knife edge of the ridge is generally not much over a foot wide. The causeway goes due north and south. The valley on my right hand was plunged in shadow - that on my left was sparkling with sunlight and dew. I walked fearfully along this precarious path for some miles. Far to the east the valley was closed by a lofty tableland, connecting the two chains of mountains, but overtopping even the most towering pinnacles. This is called the Sant Levels. I was never there, but I have heard two curious facts concerning the inhabitants. The first is that they have no women; the second, that though they are addicted to travelling in other parts they never acquire habits of the peoples with whom they reside.

  "Presently I turned giddy, and lay at full length for a great while, clutching the two edges of the path with both hands, and staring at the ground I was lying on with wide-open eyes. When that passed I felt like a different man and grew conceited and gay. About halfway across I saw someone approaching me a long way off. This put fear into my heart again, for I did not see how we could very well pass. However, I went slowly on, and presently we drew near enough together for me to recognise the walker. It was Slofork, the so-called sorcerer. I had never met him before, but I knew him by his peculiarities of person. He was of a bright gamboge colour and possessed a very long, proboscis-like nose, which appeared to be a useful organ, but did not add to his beauty, as I knew beauty. He was dubbed 'sorcerer' from his wondrous skill in budding limbs and organs. The tale is told that one evening he slowly sawed his leg off with a blunt stone and then lay for two days in agony while his new leg was sprouting. He was not reputed to be a consistently wise man, but he had periodical flashes of penetration and audacity that none could equal.

  "We sat down and faced one another, about two yards apart.

  "'Which of us walks over the other?' asked Slofork. His manner was as calm as the day itself, but, to my young nature, terrible with hidden terrors. I smiled at him, but did not wish for this humiliation. We continued sitting thus, in a friendly way, for many minutes.

  "'What is greater than Pleasure?' he asked suddenly.

  "I was at an age when one wishes to be thought equal to any emergency, so, concealing my surprise, I applied myself to the conversation, as if it were for that purpose we had met.

  "'Pain,' I replied, 'for pain drives out pleasure.'

  "'What is greater than Pain?'

  "I reflected. 'Love. Because we will accept our loved one's share of pain.'

  "'But what is greater than Love?' he persisted.

  "'Nothing, Slofork.'

  "'And what is Nothing?'

  "'That you must tell me.'

  "'Tell you I will. This is Shaping's world. He that is a good child here, knows pleasure, pain, and love, and gets his rewards. But there's another world - not Shaping's and there all this is unknown, and another order of things reigns. That world we call Nothing - but it is not Nothing, but Something.'

  "There was a pause.

  "'I have heard,' said I, 'that you are good at growing and ungrowing organs?'

  "'That's not enough for me. Every organ tells me the same story. I want to hear different stories.'

  "'Is it true, what men say, that your wisdom flows and ebbs in pulses?'

  "'Quite true,' replied Slofork. 'But those you had it from did not add that they have al
ways mistaken the flow for the ebb.'

  "'My experience is,' said I sententiously, 'that wisdom is misery.'

  "'Perhaps it is, young man, but you have never learned that, and never will. For you the world will continue to wear a noble, awful face. You will never rise above mysticism… But be happy in your own way.'

  "Before I realised what he was doing, he jumped tranquilly from the path, down into the empty void. He crashed with ever-increasing momentum toward the valley below. I screeched, flung myself down on the ground, and shut my eyes.

  "Often have I wondered which of my ill-considered, juvenile remarks it was that caused this sudden resolution on his part to commit suicide. Whichever it might be, since then I have made it a rigid law never to speak for my own pleasure, but only to help others.

  "I came eventually to the Marest. I threaded its mazes in terror for four days. I was frightened of death, but still more terrified at the possibility of losing my sacred attitude toward life. When I was nearly through, and was beginning to congratulate myself, I stumbled across the third extraordinary personage of my experience - the grim Muremaker. It was under horrible circumstances. On an afternoon, cloudy and stormy, I saw, suspended in the air without visible support, a living man. He was hanging in an upright position in front of a cliff - a yawning gulf, a thousand feet deep, lay beneath his feet. I climbed as near as I could, and looked on. He saw me, and made a wry grimace, like one who wishes to turn his humiliation into humour. The spectacle so astounded me that I could not even grasp what had happened.

  "'I am Muremaker,' he cried in a scraping voice which shocked my ears. 'All my life I have sorbed others - now I am sorbed. Nuclamp and I fell out over a woman. Now Nuclamp holds me up like this. While the strength of his will lasts I shall remain suspended; but when he gets tired - and it can't be long now - I drop into those depths.'

  "Had it been another man, I would have tried to save him, but this ogre-like being was too well known to me as one who passed his whole existence in tormenting, murdering, and absorbing others, for the sake of his own delight. I hurried away, and did not pause again that day.

  "In Poolingdred I met Joiwind. We walked and talked together for a month, and by that time we found that we loved each other too well to part."

  Panawe stopped speaking.

  "That is a fascinating story," remarked Maskull. "Now I begin to know my way around better. But one thing puzzles me."

  "What's that?"

  "How it happens that men here are ignorant of tools and arts, and have no civilisation, and yet contrive to be social in their habits and wise in their thoughts."

  "Do you imagine, then, that love and wisdom spring from tools? But I see how it arises. In your world you have fewer sense organs, and to make up for the deficiency you have been obliged to call in the assistance of stones and metals. That's by no means a sign of superiority."

  "No, I suppose not," said Maskull, "but I see I have a great deal to unlearn."

  They talked together a little longer, and then gradually fell asleep. Joiwind opened her eyes, smiled, and slumbered again.

  Chapter 8

  THE LUSION PLAIN

  Maskull awoke before the others. He got up, stretched himself, and walked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already declining. He climbed to the top of the crater edge and looked away toward Ifdawn. The afterglow of Alppain had by now completely disappeared. The mountains stood up wild and grand.

  They impressed him like a simple musical theme, the notes of which are widely separated in the scale; a spirit of rashness, daring, and adventure seemed to call to him from them. It was at that moment that the determination flashed into his heart to walk to the Marest and explore its dangers.

  He returned to the cavern to say good-by to his hosts.

  Joiwind looked at him with her brave and honest eyes. "Is this selfishness, Maskull?" she asked, "or are you drawn by something stronger than yourself?"

  "We must be reasonable," he answered, smiling. "I can't settle down in Poolingdred before I have found out something about this surprising new planet of yours. Remember what a long way I have come… But very likely I shall come back here."

  "Will you make me a promise?"

  Maskull hesitated. "Ask nothing difficult, for I hardly know my powers yet."

  "It is not hard, and I wish it. Promise this - never to raise your hand against a living creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, without first recollecting its mother, who suffered for it."

  "Perhaps I won't promise that," said Maskull slowly, "but I'll undertake something more tangible. I will never lift my hand against a living creature without first recollecting you, Joiwind."

  She turned a little pale. "Now if Panawe knew that Panawe existed, he might be jealous."

  Panawe put his hand on her gently. "You would not talk like that in Shaping's presence," he said.

  "No. Forgive me! I'm not quite myself. Perhaps it is Maskull's blood in my veins… Now let us bid him adieu. Let us pray that he will do only honourable deeds, wherever he may be."

  "I'll set Maskull on his way," said Panawe.

  "There's no need," replied Maskull. "The way is plain."

  "But talking shortens the road."

  Maskull turned to go.

  Joiwind pulled him around toward her softly. "You won't think badly of other women on my account?"

  "You are a blessed spirit," answered he.

  She trod quietly to the inner extremity of the cave and stood there thinking. Panawe and Maskull emerged into the open air. Halfway down the cliff face a little spring was encountered. Its water was colourless, transparent, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had satisfied his thirst he felt himself different. His surroundings were so real to him in their vividness and colour, so unreal in their phantom-like mystery, that he scrambled downhill like one in a winter's dream.

  When they reached the plain he saw in front of them an interminable forest of tall trees, the shapes of which were extraordinarily foreign looking. The leaves were crystalline and, looking upward, it was as if he were gazing through a roof of glass. The moment they got underneath the trees the light rays of the sun continued to come through - white, savage, and blazing - but they were gelded of heat. Then it was not hard to imagine that they were wandering through cool, bright elfin glades.

  Through the forest, beginning at their very feet an avenue, perfectly straight and not very wide, went forward as far as the eye could see.

  Maskull wanted to talk to his travelling companion, but was somehow unable to find words. Panawe glanced at him with an inscrutable smile - stern, yet enchanting and half feminine. He then broke the silence, but, strangely enough, Maskull could not make out whether he was singing or speaking. From his lips issued a slow musical recitative, exactly like a bewitching adagio from a low toned stringed instrument - but there was a difference. Instead of the repetition and variation of one or two short themes, as in music, Panawe's theme was prolonged - it never came to an end, but rather resembled a conversation in rhythm and melody. And, at the same time, it was no recitative, for it was not declamatory. It was a long, quiet stream of lovely emotion.

  Maskull listened entranced, yet agitated. The song, if it might be termed song, seemed to be always just on the point of becoming clear and intelligible - not with the intelligibility of words, but in the way one sympathises with another's moods and feelings; and Maskull felt that something important was about to be uttered, which would explain all that had gone before. But it was invariably postponed, he never understood - and yet somehow he did understand.

  Late in the afternoon they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceased his recitative. He slowed his pace and stopped, in the fashion of a man who wishes to convey that he intends to go no farther.

  "What is the name of this country?" asked Maskull.

  "It is the Lusion Plain."

  "Was that music in the nature of a temptation - do you wish me not to go on?"

  "Your work lies before you, and not be
hind you."

  "What was it, then? What work do you allude to?"

  "It must have seemed like something to you, Maskull."

  "It seemed like Shaping music to me."

  The instant he had absently uttered these words, Maskull wondered why he had done so, as they now appeared meaningless to him.

  Panawe, however, showed no surprise. "Shaping you will find everywhere."

  "Am I dreaming, or awake?"

  "You are awake."

  Maskull fell into deep thought. "So be it," he said, rousing himself. "Now I will go on. But where must I sleep tonight?"

  "You will reach a broad river. On that you can travel to the foot of the Marest tomorrow; but tonight you had better sleep where the forest and river meet."

  "Adieu, then, Panawe! But do you wish to say anything more to me?"

  "Only this, Maskull - wherever you go, help to make the world beautiful, and not ugly."

  "That's more than any of us can undertake. I am a simple man, and have no ambitions in the way of beautifying life - But tell Joiwind I will try to keep myself pure."

  They parted rather coldly. Maskull stood erect where they had stopped, and watched Panawe out of sight. He sighed more than once.

  He became aware that something was about to happen. The air was breathless. The late-afternoon sunshine, unobstructed, wrapped his frame in voluptuous heat. A solitary cloud, immensely high, raced through the sky overhead.

  A single trumpet note sounded in the far distance from somewhere behind him. It gave him an impression of being several miles away at first; but then it slowly swelled, and came nearer and nearer at the same time that it increased in volume. Still the same note sounded, but now it was as if blown by a giant trumpeter immediately over his head. Then it gradually diminished in force, and travelled away in front of him. It ended very faintly and distantly.