The Pilgrim's Regress (5 page)

‘And where are you travelling to, Mr. Vertue?' she asked.

‘To travel hopefully is better than to arrive,' said Vertue.

‘Do you mean you are just out for a walk, just for exercise?'

‘Certainly not,' said Vertue, who was becoming a little confused. ‘I am on a pilgrimage. I must admit, now that you press me, I have not a very clear idea of the end. But that is not the important question. These speculations don't make one a better walker. The great thing is to do one's thirty miles a day.'

‘Why?'

‘Because that is the rule.'

‘Ho-ho!' said John. ‘So you
do
believe in the Landlord after all.'

‘Not at all. I didn't say it was the Landlord's rule.'

‘Whose is it then?'

‘It is my own rule. I made it myself.'

‘But why?'

‘Well, that again is a speculative question. I have made the best rules I can. If I find any better ones I shall adopt them. In the meantime, the great thing is to have rules of some sort and to keep them.'

‘And where are
you
going?' said Media, turning to John.

Then John began to tell his companions about the Island, and how he had first seen it, and was determined to give up everything for the hope of finding it.

‘Then you had better come and see my father,' said she. ‘He lives in the city of Thrill, and at the bottom of this hill there is a turn to the left which will bring us there in half an hour.'

‘Has your father been to the Island? Does he know the way?'

‘He often talks about something very like it.'

‘You had better come with us, Vertue,' said John, ‘since you do not know where you are going and there can be no place better to go than the Island.'

‘Certainly not,' said Vertue. ‘We must keep to the road. We must keep on.'

‘I don't see why,' said John.

‘I dare say you don't,' said Vertue.

All this time they were going down the hill, and now they came to a little grassy lane on the left which went off through a wood. Then I thought that John had a little hesitation: but partly because the sun was now hot and the hard metal of the road was becoming sore to his feet, and partly because he felt a little angry with Vertue, and most of all because Media was going that way, he decided to turn down the lane. They said good-bye to Vertue, and he went on his way stumping up the next hill without ever looking back.

IV

Soft Going

W
HEN THEY WERE
in the lane they walked more gently. The grass was soft under their feet, and the afternoon sun beating down on the sheltered place made it warm. And presently they heard a sound of sweet and melancholy chimes.

‘Those are the bells of the city,' said Media.

As they went on they walked closer together, and soon they were walking arm in arm. Then they kissed each other: and after that they went on their way kissing and talking in slow voices, of sad and beautiful things. And the shadow of the wood and the sweetness of the girl and the sleepy sound of the bells reminded John a little bit of the Island, and a little bit of the brown girls.

‘This is what I have been looking for all my life,' said John. ‘The brown girls were too gross and the Island was too fine. This is the real thing.'

‘This is Love,' said Media with a deep sigh. ‘This is the way to the
real
Island.'

Then I dreamed that they came in sight of the city, very old, and full of spires and turrets, all covered with ivy, where it lay in a little grassy valley, built on both sides of a lazy, winding river. And they passed the gate in the ruinous old city wall and came and knocked at a certain door and were let in. Then Media brought him in to a darkish room with a vaulted roof and windows of stained glass, and exquisite food was brought to them. With the food came old Mr. Halfways. He was a gliding gentleman with soft, silver hair and a soft, silver voice, dressed in flowing robes: and he was so solemn, with his long beard, that John was reminded of the Steward with his mask on. ‘But it is much better than the Steward,' thought John, ‘because there is nothing to be afraid of. Also, he doesn't need a mask: his face is really like that.'

V

Leah for Rachel

A
S THEY ATE
John told him about the Island.

‘You will find your Island here,' said Mr. Halfways, looking into John's eyes.

‘But how can it be here in the middle of the city?'

‘It needs no place. It is everywhere and nowhere. It refuses entry to none who asks. It is an Island of the Soul,' said the old gentleman. ‘Surely even in Puritania they told you that the Landlord's castle was within you?'

‘But I don't want the castle,' said John. And I don't believe in the Landlord.'

‘What is truth?' said the old man. ‘They were mistaken when they told you of the Landlord: and yet they were not mistaken. What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth, whether it existed before or not. The Landlord they dreamed to find, we find in our hearts: the Island you seek for, you already inhabit. The children of that country are never far from their fatherland.'

When the meal was ended the old gentleman took a harp, and at the first sweep of his hand across the strings John began to think of the music that he had heard by the window in the wall. Then came the voice: and it was no longer merely silver sweet and melancholy like Mr. Halfways' speaking voice, but strong and noble and full of strange over-tones, the noise of the sea, and of all birds, and sometimes of wind and thunder. And John began to see a picture of the Island with his eyes open: but it was more than a picture, for he sniffed the spicy smell and the sharp brine of the sea mixed with it. He seemed to be in the water, only a few yards from the sand of the Island. He could see more than he had ever seen before. But just as he had put down his feet and touched a sandy bottom and was beginning to wade ashore, the song ceased. The whole vision went away. John found himself back in the dusky room, seated on a low divan, with Media by his side.

‘Now I shall sing you something else,' said Mr. Halfways.

‘Oh, no,' cried John, who was sobbing. ‘Sing the same again. Please sing it again.'

‘You had better not hear it twice in the same evening. I have plenty of other songs.'

‘I would die to hear the first one again,' said John.

‘Well, well,' said Mr. Halfways, ‘perhaps you know best. Indeed, what does it matter? It is as short to the Island one way as another.' Then he smiled indulgently and shook his head, and John could not help thinking that his talking voice and talking manner were almost silly after the singing. But as soon as the great deep wail of the music began again it swept everything else from his mind. It seemed to him that this time he got more pleasure from the first few notes, and even noticed delicious passages which had escaped him at the first hearing; and he said to himself, ‘This is going to be even better than the other. I shall keep my head this time and sip all the pleasure at my ease.' I saw that he settled himself more comfortably to listen and Media slipped her hand into his. It pleased him to think that they were going to the Island together. Now came the vision of the Island again: but this time it was changed, for John scarcely noticed the Island because of a lady with a crown on her head who stood waiting for him on the shore. She was fair, divinely fair. ‘At last,' said John, ‘a girl with no trace of brown.' And he began again to wade ashore holding out his arms to embrace that queen: and his love for her appeared to him so great and so pure, and they had been parted for so long, that his pity for himself and her almost overwhelmed him. And as he was about to embrace her the song stopped.

‘Sing it again, sing it again,' cried John. ‘I liked it better the second time.'

‘Well, if you insist,' said Mr. Halfways with a shrug. ‘It is nice to have a really appreciative audience.' So he sang it the third time. This time John noticed yet more about the music. He began to see how several of the effects were produced and that some parts were better than others. He wondered if it were not a trifle too long. The vision of the Island was a little shadowy this time, and he did not take much notice of it. He put his arm round Media and they lay cheek to cheek. He began to wonder if Mr. Halfways would never end: and when at last the final passage closed, with a sobbing break in the singer's voice, the old gentleman looked up and saw how the young people lay in one another's arms. Then he rose and said:

‘You have found your Island—you have found it in one another's hearts.'

Then he tiptoed from the room, wiping his eyes.

VI

Ichabod

‘M
EDIA, I LOVE YOU,'
said John.

‘We have come to the
real
Island,' said Media.

‘But oh, alas!' said he, ‘so long our bodies why do we forbear?'

‘Else a great prince in prison lies,' sighed she.

‘No one else can understand the mystery of our love,' said he.

At that moment a brisk, hobnailed step was heard and a tall young man strode into the room carrying a light in his hand. He had coal-black hair and a straight mouth like the slit in a pillar-box, and he was dressed in various kinds of metal wire. As soon as he saw them he burst into a great guffaw. The lovers instantly sprang up and apart.

‘Well, Brownie,' said he, ‘at your tricks again?'

‘Don't call me that name,' said Media, stamping her foot. ‘I have told you before not to call me that.'

The young man made an obscene gesture at her, and then turned to John, ‘I see that old fool of a father of mine has been at you?'

‘You have no right to speak that way of father,' said Media. Then, turning to John, her cheeks flaming, her breast heaving, she said, ‘All is over. Our dream—is shattered. Our mystery—is profaned. I would have taught you all the secrets of love, and now you are lost to me for ever. We must part. I shall go and kill myself,' and with that she rushed from the room.

VII

Non est Hic

‘D
ON'T BOTHER ABOUT HER
,' said the young man. ‘She has threatened that a hundred times. She is only a brown girl, though she doesn't know it.'

‘A brown girl!' cried John. ‘And your father . . .'

‘My father has been in the pay of the Brownies all his life. He doesn't know it, the old chuckle-head. Calls them the Muses, or the Spirit, or some rot. In actual fact, he is by profession a pimp.'

‘And the Island?' said John.

‘We'll talk about it in the morning. Ain't the kind of Island you're thinking of. Tell you what. I don't live with my father and my precious sister. I live in Eschropolis and I am going back to-morrow. I'll take you down to the laboratory and show you some
real
poetry. Not fantasies. The real thing.'

‘Thank you very much,' said John.

Then young Mr. Halfways found his room for him and the whole of that household went to bed.

VIII

Great Promises

G
US HALFWAYS WAS
the name of Mr. Halfway's son. As soon as he rose in the morning he called John down to breakfast with him so that they might start on their journey. There was no one to hinder them, for old Halfways was still asleep and Media always had breakfast in bed. When they had eaten, Gus brought him into a shed beside his father's house and showed him a machine on wheels.

‘What is this?' said John.

‘My old bus,' said young Halfways. Then he stood back with his head on one side and gazed at it for a bit: but presently he began to speak in a changed and reverent voice.

‘She is a poem. She is the daughter of the spirit of the age. What was the speed of Atalanta to her speed? The beauty of Apollo to her beauty?

Now beauty to John meant nothing save glimpses of his Island, and the machine did not remind him of his Island at all: so he held his tongue.

‘Don't you see?' said Gus. ‘Our fathers made images of what they called gods and goddesses; but they were really only brown girls and brown boys whitewashed—as anyone found out by looking at them too long. All self-deception and phallic sentiment. But here you have the real art. Nothing erotic about
her,
eh?'

‘Certainly not,' said John, looking at the cog-wheels and coils of wire, ‘it is certainly not at all like a brown girl.' It was, in fact, more like a nest of hedgehogs and serpents.

‘I should say not,' said Gus. ‘Sheer power, eh? Speed, ruthlessness, austerity, significant form, eh? Also' (and here he dropped his voice) ‘very expensive indeed.'

Then he made John sit in the machine and he himself sat beside him. Then he began pulling the levers about and for a long time nothing happened: but at last there came a flash and a roar and the machine bounded into the air and then dashed forward. Before John had got his breath they had flashed across a broad thoroughfare which he recognized as the main road, and were racing through the country to the north of it—a flat country of square stony fields divided by barbed wire fences. A moment later they were standing still in a city where all the houses were built of steel.

BOOK
THREE

THROUGH DARKEST ZEITGEISTHEIM

And every shrewd turn was exalted among men . . . and simple goodness, wherein nobility doth ever most participate, was mocked away and clean vanished.

THUCYDIDES

Now live the lesser, as lords of the world,

The busy troublers. Banished is our glory,

The earth's excellence grows old and sere.