A Voyage to Arcturus quotes

“What amazes me,” she half whispered, after ten minutes of graceful, hollow conversation, “is, if you must know it, not so much the manifestation itself—though that will surely be wonderful—as your assurance that it will take place. Tell me the grounds of your confidence.”

“I dream with open eyes,” he answered, looking around at the door, “and others see my dreams. That is all.”

“But that’s beautiful,” responded Mrs. Jameson. She smiled rather absently, for the first guest had just entered.

“Pardon me. I am a simple man, and always prefer to reduce things to elemental simplicity. I raise no opposition, but I express my opinion.

Nature is one thing, and art is another.

”

The three men gathered in the street outside the house. The night was slightly frosty, but particularly clear, with an east wind blowing.

The multitude of blazing stars caused the sky to appear like a vast scroll of hieroglyphic symbols.

Maskull felt oddly excited; he had a sense that something extraordinary was about to happen “What brought you to this house tonight, Krag, and what made you do what you did? How are we to understand that apparition?”

Maskull’s heart began to beat strangely.

It all sounded to him like a dream conversation.

“And since how long, Krag, have I been required to do things by a total stranger. … Besides, who is this individual?”

“You are a fortunate man. A bold, daring heart, and no encumbrances.” Krag’s features became suddenly grave and rigid. “Don’t be a fool, and refuse a gift of luck.

A gift declined is not offered a second time.

”

Maskull again sought the heavy, sombre star, gleaming in solitary might, in the southeastern heavens, and, as he gazed, his heart swelled with grand and painful longings, for which, however, he was unable to account to his own intellect.

He felt that his destiny was in some way bound up with this gigantic, far-distant sun.

But still he did not dare to admit to himself Krag’s seriousness.

“Well, I don’t know—it may be a message, but it means nothing to us, or at all events to me. What are ‘back rays’?”

“Light that goes back to its source,” muttered Nightspore.

“And what kind of light would that be?”

Nightspore seemed unwilling to answer, but, finding Maskull’s eyes still fixed on him, he brought out:

“Unless light pulled, as well as pushed, how would flowers contrive to twist their heads around after the sun?”

“I don’t know. But the point is, what are these bottles for?”

Night had already fallen by the time they regained the tower.

The black sky was glorious with liquid stars.

Arcturus was a little way above the sea, directly opposite them, in the east. As they were passing the base of the tower, Maskull observed with a sudden shock that the gate was open. He caught hold of Nightspore’s arm violently. “Look! Krag is back.”

“I don’t know what I want. But I thought the thing was curious enough to be mentioned.”

“It is not a bad thing to hear voices,” said Krag, “but you mustn’t for a minute imagine that all is wise that comes to you out of the night world.”

When they had arrived at the open gateway of the tower, he immediately set foot on the bottom step of the spiral staircase and ran nimbly up, bearing the lantern.

As soon as he thoroughly realised the significance of these new organs, his heart began to pump.

Whatever might, or might not, be their use, they proved one thing: that he was in a new world.

One part of the sky began to get lighter than the rest. Maskull cried out to his companions, but received no response. This frightened him. He went on shouting out, at irregular intervals—equally alarmed at the silence and at the sound of his own voice.

Such was the noble familiarity of that gaze, that he thought he knew her. After that, he recognised all the loveliness of her person. She was tall and slight.

All her movements were as graceful as music.

Her skin was not of a dead, opaque colour, like that of an Earth beauty, but was opalescent; its hue was continually changing, with every thought and emotion, but none of these tints was vivid—all were delicate, half-toned, and poetic.

“This is extraordinary! What is this organ?” he asked, touching his forehead.

“It is named the breve. By means of it we read one another’s thoughts. Still, speech is better, for then the heart can be read too.”

He smiled. “They say that speech is given us to deceive others.”

He smiled. “They say that speech is given us to deceive others.”

“One can deceive with thought, too. But I’m thinking of the best, not the worst.”

“Have you seen my friends?”

Maskull flushed. “I feel like a complete ignoramus here. … Won’t it hurt you?”

“If your blood pains you, I suppose it will pain me. But we will share the pain.”

“This is a new kind of hospitality to me,” he muttered.

“In ancient times, when the Earth was young and grand, a few holy men are reputed to have walked and spoken with God, but those days are past.”

“Our world is still young,” said Joiwind.

“Shaping goes among us and converses with us. He is real and active—a friend and lover. Shaping made us, and he loves his work.”

“Yes, every time I realise that, I—Tell me, Joiwind, will my blood alter, if I stay here long enough?—I mean, will it lose its redness and thickness, and become pure and thin and light-coloured, like yours?”

“Why not? If you live as we live, you will assuredly grow like us.”

“Do you mean food and drink?”

Joiwind caught it with an exceedingly graceful movement of her arm, and showed it to Maskull. It had roots and presumably lived in the air and fed on the chemical constituents of the atmosphere. But what was peculiar about it was its colour.

It was an entirely new colour⁠—not a new shade or combination, but a new primary colour, as vivid as blue, red, or yellow, but quite different.

When he inquired, she told him that it was known as ulfire. Presently he met with a second new colour. This she designated jale. The sense impressions caused in Maskull by these two additional primary colours can only be vaguely hinted at by analogy.

“What advantage do you derive from that, Joiwind?”

“The advantage of not being cruel and selfish, dear Maskull.”

He threw the fruit away and flushed again.

Joiwind released him. “This we call the magn,” she said, indicating her tentacle.

“By means of it what we love already we love more, and what we don’t love at all we begin to love.”

“It is the one we guard most jealously,” said Joiwind.

“Why do you hide your mind from me?” she demanded, looking at him strangely and changing colour.

“In this bright, pure, radiant world, evil seems so remote, one can scarcely grasp its meaning.”

But he lied.

“Oh, no—no, they are the webs of a certain animal, but they have never been in themselves alive.”

“You reduce life to extreme simplicity,” remarked Maskull meditatively, “but it is very beautiful.”

Climbing back over the hills, they now without further ceremony began their march across the desert.

“Something of the kind,” said Maskull.

“That must be a disease brought on by rich food.”

“But are you never dull?”

“On Earth,” he said after a minute, “men like Panawe are called artists, poets, and musicians. Beauty overflows into them too, and out of them again. The only distinction is that their productions are more human and intelligible.”

“Nothing comes from it but vanity,” said Panawe, and, taking the crystal out of Maskull’s hand, he threw it into the lake.

The precipice they now had to climb was several hundred feet in height. Maskull was more anxious for Joiwind than for himself. She was evidently tiring, but she refused all help, and was in fact still the nimbler of the two.

“I can’t conceive how I have walked so far in a morning,” said Maskull, “and she has been twice the distance.”

“Love flows in her veins, instead of blood, and that’s why she is so strong.”

“You know she gave me some of it?”

“Was that music in the nature of a temptation—do you wish me not to go on?”

“Your work lies before you, and not behind you.”

“What was it, then? What work do you allude to?”

“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.”

He felt himself alone with Nature. A sacred stillness came over his heart. Past and future were forgotten. The forest, the sun, the day did not exist for him. He was unconscious of himself—he had no thoughts and no feelings.

Yet never had Life had such an altitude for him.

A man stood, with crossed arms, right in his path. He was so clothed that his limbs were exposed, while his body was covered. He was young rather than old.

He hesitated over his answer.

“Can you grasp that it’s possible to have an aim right in front of one, so big that one can’t see it as a whole?”

She stole a long, inquisitive look at him, “What sort of aim?”

“I propose nothing—I am waiting.”

“Don’t wait too long, for time doesn’t wait⁠—especially in Ifdawn.”

“Something will happen,” said Maskull.

Maskull then laughed too.

“I happen to be the only thing in Tormance which is not a novelty for me.”

“Yes, but I am a novelty for you.”

“Ease my mind?” said Maskull, rather stupidly.

“There’s only one relief for remorse, and that’s voluntary pain.”

“And have you no remorse?” he asked, fixing her with a heavy eye.

“What have I to offer, except my life?” Maskull suddenly broke out. “And what good is that? It won’t bring that poor girl back into the world.”

“Sacrifice is not for utility. It’s a penalty which we pay.”

“The point is whether you can go on enjoying life, after what has happened.”

“It is just as well if we have some way to walk. I shall grow calmer, and that’s what I want. I wish you to understand that what is going to happen is not a murder, but an execution.”

“It will taste the same,” said Tydomin.

“When I have gone out of this country, I don’t wish to feel that I have left a demon behind me, wandering at large. That would not be fair to others. So we will go to the lake, which promises an easy death for you.”

Maskull looked at her strangely.

“I grudge no man his funeral.”

She painfully hoisted the body on her narrow shoulders, and they stepped out into the sunlight. The heat struck them like a blow on the head. Maskull moved aside, to allow her to precede him, but no compassion entered his heart.

“I brought my body with me.”

“You brought your soul with you, but that’s altering fast, too.”

In a copse they came across a short, wide tree, without leaves, but possessing a multitude of thin, flexible branches, like the tentacles of a cuttlefish. Some of these branches were moving rapidly.

“If there’s danger, he ought to be warned,” said Maskull.

“He who is always anxious to teach will learn nothing,” returned the woman coolly.

She restrained Maskull by a pressure of the arm, and continued to watch.

“Is it so—and will it be accepted?”

“The old skin is cracking, the new skin has been silently forming underneath, the moment of sloughing has arrived.”

The storm gathered. The green snow drove against them, as they stood talking, and it grew intensely cold. None noticed it.

“Spadevil, are you a man, or more than a man?” asked Maskull.

“He that is not more than a man is nothing.”

“Where have you now come from?”

“Guard you your pride!” returned Spadevil.

“Do not make law for the universe and for all time, but for yourself and for this small, false life of yours.”

“In what shape did death come to that hard, unconquerable man?” asked Tydomin.

“And yet that proud pleasure, which rejoices in self-torture, has something noble in it.”

“He who studies himself at all is ignoble. Only by despising soul as well as body can a man enter into true life.”

“On what grounds do they reject women?”

“Beware of love—beware of emotion!” exclaimed Spadevil.

“Love is but pleasure once removed. Think not of pleasing others, but of serving them.”

“Forgive me, Spadevil, if I am still feminine.”

“Fearful doubts are in my mind,” she said. “This expedition to Sant may turn out badly. I have seen a vision of you, Spadevil, and myself lying dead and covered in blood, but Maskull was not there.”

“We may drop the torch, but it will not be extinguished, and others will raise it.”

“Show me a sign that you are not as other men—so that I may know that our blood will not be wasted.”

“Yes,” said Tydomin, “I will follow you to the end. It is all the more essential, because I keep on displeasing you with my remarks, and that means I have not yet learned my lesson properly.”

“Do not be humble, for humility is only self-judgment, and while we are thinking of self, we must be neglecting some action we could be planning or shaping in our mind.”

Tydomin continued to be uneasy and preoccupied.

“Spadevil, why do you choose Sant to start your work in?” asked Maskull. “These men with fixed ideas seem to me the least likely of any to follow a new light.”

“Where a bad tree thrives, a good tree will flourish. But where no tree at all can be found, nothing will grow.”

“I understand you,” said Maskull. “Here perhaps we are going to martyrdom, but elsewhere we should resemble men preaching to cattle.”

“Shall I speak with many words, or few words?”

“If you wish to say what is not, many words will not suffice. If you wish to say what is, a few words will be enough.”

“To hate pleasure brings pride with it. Pride is a pleasure. To kill pleasure, we must attach ourselves to duty. While the mind is planning right action, it has no time to think of pleasure.”

“Is that the whole?” asked Catice.

“The truth is simple, even for the simplest man.”

“Do you destroy Hator, and all his generations, with a single word?”

Maskull, without answering him, turned to Catice. “Why do men go on living in this soft, shameful world, when they can kill themselves?”

“Pain is the native air of Surtur’s children. To what other air do you wish to escape?”

“Surtur’s children? Is not Surtur Shaping?”

“You will get nearer to him tomorrow; but not here.”

“I am wading through too much blood,” said Maskull. “Nothing good can come of it.”

“Do not fear change and destruction; but laughter and joy.”

Maskull detained him. “Say just this, before we part company—why does pleasure appear so shameful to us?”

“Because in feeling pleasure, we forget our home.”

Having made this reply, he disengaged himself, and, turning his back, disappeared into the darkness.

They had forced him to murder and violate; he had guessed nothing, but had imagined that he was travelling as a free and enlightened stranger. What was this nightmare journey for—and would it continue, in the same way? …

The silence of the forest was so intense that he heard no sound except the pumping of blood through his arteries.

Putting his hand to his face, he found that his remaining probe had disappeared and that he was in possession of three eyes. The third eye was on his forehead, where the old sorb had been. He could not guess its use.

It seemed to issue from an unearthly orchestra, and was strongly troubled, pathetic and tragic. Maskull marched, and listened; and as he listened, it grew louder and stormier.

But the pulse of the drum interpenetrated all the other sounds, like the quiet beating of reality.

His emotion deepened. He could not have said if minutes or hours were passing. The spectral procession marched on, a little way ahead, on a path parallel with his own and Dreamsinter’s. The music pulsated violently.

He came out, feeling clean and invigorated. For a time he walked up and down the sands, drying himself in the hot sunshine and looking around him.

He was a naked stranger in a huge, foreign, mystical world, and whichever way he turned, unknown and threatening forces were glaring at him.

The gigantic, white, withering Branchspell, the awful, body-changing Alppain, the beautiful, deadly, treacherous sea, the dark and eerie Swaylone’s Island, the spirit-crushing forest out of which he had just escaped—to all these mighty powers, surrounding him on every side, what resources had he, a feeble, …

“Yes, but will death lead me to it, whatever it is?”

“Ask the dead,” said Polecrab, “and not a living man.”

Maskull continued. “In the forest I heard music and saw a light, which could not have belonged to this world. They were too strong for my senses, and I must have fainted for a long time.

“Where? I should like to meet them.”

“Do you think you were made of one stuff, and the rest of mankind of another stuff?”

“I can’t be so presumptuous. Possibly all men are reaching out toward Muspel, in most cases without being aware of it.”

The woman shed a strange smile.

“You may be sure that a question which requires music for an answer can’t be put into words.”

“If you are not back by the morning,” remarked her husband, “I will know you are dead.”

“You read character well, and have great perception,” remarked Gleameil quietly. “Now say what I am.”

“In place of a human heart, you have a wild harp, and that’s all I know about you.”

“What was that you said to my husband about two worlds?”

“That I can tell you, Master,” replied Gleameil, smiling at him.

“Ugliness is old, stale life, while yours every night issues fresh from the womb of nature.”

Earthrid stared at her, without response. “Teargeld is rising,” he said at last. “And now you shall see—though not for long.”

The life was still more prolific than before; every square foot of space was a tangle of struggling wills, both animal and vegetable. For a naturalist it would have been paradise, for no two shapes were alike, and all were fantastic, with individual character.

It looked as if life forms were being coined so fast by Nature that there was not physical room for all.

Nevertheless it was not as on Earth, where a hundred seeds are scattered in order that one may be sown. Here the young forms seemed to survive, while, to find accommodation for them, the old ones perished;

Corpang still paused.

“Underneath your crimes I see a man,” he said, after a few minutes.

“On that account, and because we are commanded to help one another, I won’t leave you at present, though I little thought to be walking with a murderer. … Now to your question.

“How do you explain that?”

“When everything is darkest, he may be nearest, Maskull.”

“But this is troubling you?”

Maskull laughed again; he was feeling a strange disturbance of spirit. “What, the love of rock for rock?”

“It is comical, but true.”

“We’ll take a closer peep at them presently. Beyond the mountains is Barey, is it not?”

“And then the Ocean. But what is the name of that Ocean?”

“That is told only to those who die beside it.”

“Is the secret so precious, Corpang?”

Haunte smiled sarcastically.

“A secret in your ear, Maskull. All laws are female. A true male is an outlaw⁠—outside the law.”

“The great body of the Earth is continually giving out female particles, and the male parts of rocks and living bodies are equally continually trying to reach them. That’s gravitation.”

“

The life of an absolute male is fierce.

An excess of life is dangerous to the body. How can it be anything else than torturing?”

Maskull answered slowly and thoughtfully. “When I was in Matterplay, I saw heavy clouds discharge themselves and change to coloured, living animals. In the same way, my black, chaotic pangs just now seemed to consolidate themselves and spring together as a new sort of joy.

The joy would not have been possible without the preliminary nightmare.

It is not accidental; Nature intends it so. The truth has just flashed through my brain. … You men of Lichstorm don’t go far enough. You stop at the pangs, without realising that they are birth pangs.”

“

Nature is freakish and cruel, and doesn’t act according to justice.

… Follow us, Haunte, and escape from it all.”

Maskull looked at her attentively. Sullenbode went on, “

Love is that which is perfectly willing to disappear and become nothing, for the sake of the beloved.

”

“You will always be the most generous of men, Maskull. Now let us go. … Corpang is a single-minded personage, and the least we others—who aren’t so single-minded—can do is to help him to his destination.

We mustn’t inquire whether the destination of single-minded men is as a rule worth arriving at.

”

“

Things seem to open up before me like a sunrise, but what it means I can’t say.

”

“A little way,” said the woman, “but not to Adage, to pit my strength against unseen powers. That light is not for me.

I know how to renounce love, but I will never be a traitor to it.

”

“

Men who live by laws and rules are parasites. Others shed their strength to bring these laws out of nothing into the light of day, but the law-abiders live at their ease⁠—they have conquered nothing for themselves.

”

With all those people, confusion would result but for orderly laws, and therefore the laws are of iron. As adventure would be impossible without encroaching on these laws, there is no longer any spirit of adventure among the Earthmen.

Everything is safe, vulgar, and completed.

”

“

Selfishness has far too many disguises.

”

“

Love can’t go back⁠—it can only go on.

”

“No, I don’t mean that.

There is a climax, but when the climax has been reached, love if it still wants to ascend must turn to sacrifice.

”

“

So lovely above and around us, so foul underfoot.

”

He thought a while, and then replied—“No. No, I’m not happy.

Love is not happiness.

”

“Surely we shall meet again.

Love is too wonderful and mysterious a thing to remain uncompleted.

”

He sighed again. “

Love is a strong drink. Perhaps it is too strong for human beings.

And I think that it overturns our reason in different ways.”

As they started clambering down the pass side by side, Branchspell, huge and white, leaped fiercely into the sky.

All the delicacy of the dawn vanished, and another vulgar day began.

They passed some trees and plants, the leaves of which were all curled up, as if in sleep.

“

You’re just about on the same mental level as a man who sees a brand-new palace, and asks what has become of the scaffolding.

”

“

You think you are thoroughly disillusioned, don’t you? Well, that may prove to be the last and strongest illusion of all.

”

“You could have seen them afterward.

It makes all the difference whether one sees darkness through the light, or brightness through the shadows.

”

“You’ll see.

You’ll renounce the world so eagerly that you’ll want to stay in the world merely to enjoy your sensations.

”

The two men went on watching the blue sunrise. The entire sky in the north, halfway up to the zenith, was streaked with extraordinary colours, among which jale and dolm predominated.

Just as the principal character of an ordinary dawn is mystery, the outstanding character of this dawn was wildness. It did not baffle the understanding, but the heart.

Maskull felt no inarticulate craving to seize and perpetuate the sunrise, and make it his own. Instead of that, it agitated and tormented him, like the opening bars of a supernatural symphony.