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diff --git a/22893-h/22893-h.htm b/22893-h/22893-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89b09d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/22893-h/22893-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1467 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Pygmalion's Spectacles, by Stanley G. Weinbaum + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + h1 {text-align: center; clear: both; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin: 2em auto; clear: both;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .trans1 {border: solid 1px; margin: 2em 15% 4em; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + + p.cap:first-letter {padding-left: 50%; vertical-align: baseline; font-size: 4em; line-height: .7em;} + p.cap:first-line {font-variant: small-caps;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Pygmalion's Spectacles, by Stanley Grauman Weinbaum + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pygmalion's Spectacles + +Author: Stanley Grauman Weinbaum + +Release Date: October 5, 2007 [EBook #22893] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>A Martian Odyssey and Others</i> published in 1949. Extensive +research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this +publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected +without note.</div> + + + +<h1>PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES</h1> + + + +<p class="cap">"But what is reality?" asked +the gnomelike man. He gestured at the tall banks of buildings +that loomed around Central Park, with their countless windows +glowing like the cave fires of a city of Cro-Magnon people. +"All is dream, all is illusion; I am your vision as you are mine."</p> + +<p>Dan Burke, struggling for clarity of thought through the +fumes of liquor, stared without comprehension at the tiny figure +of his companion. He began to regret the impulse that had +driven him to leave the party to seek fresh air in the park, and +to fall by chance into the company of this diminutive old madman. +But he had needed escape; this was one party too many, +and not even the presence of Claire with her trim ankles could +hold him there. He felt an angry desire to go home—not to +his hotel, but home to Chicago and to the comparative peace of +the Board of Trade. But he was leaving tomorrow anyway.</p> + +<p>"You drink," said the elfin, bearded face, "to make real a +dream. Is it not so? Either to dream that what you seek is +yours, or else to dream that what you hate is conquered. You +drink to escape reality, and the irony is that even reality is a +dream."</p> + +<p>"Cracked!" thought Dan again.</p> + +<p>"Or so," concluded the other, "says the philosopher +Berkeley."</p> + +<p>"Berkeley?" echoed Dan. His head was clearing; memories +of a Sophomore course in Elementary Philosophy drifted back. +"Bishop Berkeley, eh?"</p> + +<p>"You know him, then? The philosopher of Idealism—no?—the +one who argues that we do not see, feel, hear, taste the +object, but that we have only the sensation of seeing, feeling, +hearing, tasting."</p> + +<p>"I—sort of recall it."</p> + +<p>"Hah! But sensations are <i>mental</i> phenomena. They exist +in our minds. How, then, do we know that the objects themselves +do not exist only in our minds?" He waved again at the +light-flecked buildings. "You do not see that wall of masonry; +you perceive only a <i>sensation</i>, a feeling of sight. The rest you +interpret."</p> + +<p>"You see the same thing," retorted Dan.</p> + +<p>"How do you know I do? Even if you knew that what I +call red would not be green could you see through my eyes—even +if you knew that, how do you know that I too am not a +dream of yours?"</p> + +<p>Dan laughed. "Of course nobody <i>knows</i> anything. You +just get what information you can through the windows of your +five senses, and then make your guesses. When they're wrong, +you pay the penalty." His mind was clear now save for a mild +headache. "Listen," he said suddenly. "You can argue a +reality away to an illusion; that's easy. But if your friend +Berkeley is right, why can't you take a dream and make it real? +If it works one way, it must work the other."</p> + +<p>The beard waggled; elf-bright eyes glittered queerly at him. +"All artists do that," said the old man softly. Dan felt that +something more quivered on the verge of utterance.</p> + +<p>"That's an evasion," he grunted. "Anybody can tell the +difference between a picture and the real thing, or between a +movie and life."</p> + +<p>"But," whispered the other, "the realer the better, no? And +if one could make a—a movie—<i>very</i> real indeed, what would +you say then?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody can, though."</p> + +<p>The eyes glittered strangely again. "I can!" he whispered. +"I <i>did</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Did what?"</p> + +<p>"Made real a dream." The voice turned angry. "Fools! I +bring it here to sell to Westman, the camera people, and what +do they say? 'It isn't clear. Only one person can use it at a +time. It's too expensive.' Fools! Fools!"</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"Listen! I'm Albert Ludwig—<i>Professor</i> Ludwig." As Dan +was silent, he continued, "It means nothing to you, eh? But +listen—a movie that gives one sight and sound. Suppose now +I add taste, smell, even touch, if your interest is taken by the +story. Suppose I make it so that you are in the story, you speak +to the shadows, and the shadows reply, and instead of being on +a screen, the story is all about you, and you are in it. Would +that be to make real a dream?"</p> + +<p>"How the devil could you do that?"</p> + +<p>"How? How? But simply! First my liquid positive, then +my magic spectacles. I photograph the story in a liquid with +light-sensitive chromates. I build up a complex solution—do +you see? I add taste chemically and sound electrically. And +when the story is recorded, then I put the solution in my spectacle—my +movie projector. I electrolyze the solution, break it +down; the older chromates go first, and out comes the story, +sight, sound, smell, taste—all!"</p> + +<p>"Touch?"</p> + +<p>"If your interest is taken, your mind supplies that." Eagerness +crept into his voice. "You will look at it, Mr.——?"</p> + +<p>"Burke," said Dan. "A swindle!" he thought. Then a +spark of recklessness glowed out of the vanishing fumes of +alcohol. "Why not?" he grunted.</p> + +<p>He rose; Ludwig, standing, came scarcely to his shoulder. +A queer gnomelike old man, Dan thought as he followed him +across the park and into one of the scores of apartment hotels +in the vicinity.</p> + +<p>In his room Ludwig fumbled in a bag, producing a device +vaguely reminiscent of a gas mask. There were goggles and a +rubber mouthpiece; Dan examined it curiously, while the little +bearded professor brandished a bottle of watery liquid.</p> + +<p>"Here it is!" he gloated. "My liquid positive, the story. +Hard photography—infernally hard, therefore the simplest story. +A Utopia—just two characters and you, the audience. Now, +put the spectacles on. Put them on and tell me what fools +the Westman people are!" He decanted some of the liquid +into the mask, and trailed a twisted wire to a device on the +table. "A rectifier," he explained. "For the electrolysis."</p> + +<p>"Must you use all the liquid?" asked Dan. "If you use part, +do you see only part of the story? And which part?"</p> + +<p>"Every drop has all of it, but you must fill the eye-pieces." +Then as Dan slipped the device gingerly on, "So! Now what +do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Not a damn' thing. Just the windows and the lights +across the street."</p> + +<p>"Of course. But now I start the electrolysis. Now!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was a moment of chaos. The liquid before Dan's +eyes clouded suddenly white, and formless sounds buzzed. He +moved to tear the device from his head, but emerging forms in +the mistiness caught his interest. Giant things were writhing +there.</p> + +<p>The scene steadied; the whiteness was dissipating like mist +in summer. Unbelieving, still gripping the arms of that unseen +chair, he was staring at a forest. But what a forest! Incredible, +unearthly, beautiful! Smooth boles ascended inconceivably toward +a brightening sky, trees bizarre as the forests of the Carboniferous +age. Infinitely overhead swayed misty fronds, and +the verdure showed brown and green in the heights. And there +were birds—at least, curiously lovely pipings and twitterings were +all about him though he saw no creatures—thin elfin whistlings +like fairy bugles sounded softly.</p> + +<p>He sat frozen, entranced. A louder fragment of melody +drifted down to him, mounting in exquisite, ecstatic bursts, +now clear as sounding metal, now soft as remembered music. +For a moment he forgot the chair whose arms he gripped, the +miserable hotel room invisibly about him, old Ludwig, his aching +head. He imagined himself alone in the midst of that +lovely glade. "Eden!" he muttered, and the swelling music of +unseen voices answered.</p> + +<p>Some measure of reason returned. "Illusion!" he told himself. +Clever optical devices, not reality. He groped for the chair's +arm, found it, and clung to it; he scraped his feet and found again +an inconsistency. To his eyes the ground was mossy verdure; +to his touch it was merely a thin hotel carpet.</p> + +<p>The elfin buglings sounded gently. A faint, deliciously +sweet perfume breathed against him; he glanced up to watch +the opening of a great crimson blossom on the nearest tree, and +a tiny reddish sun edged into the circle of sky above him. The +fairy orchestra swelled louder in its light, and the notes sent a +thrill of wistfulness through him. Illusion? If it were, it made +reality almost unbearable; he wanted to believe that somewhere—somewhere +this side of dreams, there actually existed this region +of loveliness. An outpost of Paradise? Perhaps.</p> + +<p>And then—far through the softening mists, he caught a movement +that was not the swaying of verdure, a shimmer of silver +more solid than mist. Something approached. He watched the +figure as it moved, now visible, now hidden by trees; very soon +he perceived that it was human, but it was almost upon him +before he realized that it was a girl.</p> + +<p>She wore a robe of silvery, half-translucent stuff, luminous +as starbeams; a thin band of silver bound glowing black hair +about her forehead, and other garment or ornament she had +none. Her tiny white feet were bare to the mossy forest floor +as she stood no more than a pace from him, staring dark-eyed. +The thin music sounded again; she smiled.</p> + +<p>Dan summoned stumbling thoughts. Was this being also—illusion? +Had she no more reality than the loveliness of the +forest? He opened his lips to speak, but a strained excited +voice sounded in his ears. "Who are you?" Had he spoken? +The voice had come as if from another, like the sound of one's +words in fever.</p> + +<p>The girl smiled again. "English!" she said in queer soft +tones. "I can speak a little English." She spoke slowly, carefully. +"I learned it from"—she hesitated—"my mother's father, +whom they call the Grey Weaver."</p> + +<p>Again came the voice in Dan's ears. "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"I am called Galatea," she said. "I came to find you."</p> + +<p>"To find me?" echoed the voice that was Dan's.</p> + +<p>"Leucon, who is called the Grey Weaver, told me," she +explained smiling. "He said you will stay with us until the +second noon from this." She cast a quick slanting glance at +the pale sun now full above the clearing, then stepped closer. +"What are you called?"</p> + +<p>"Dan," he muttered. His voice sounded oddly different.</p> + +<p>"What a strange name!" said the girl. She stretched out +her bare arm. "Come," she smiled.</p> + +<p>Dan touched her extended hand, feeling without any surprise +the living warmth of her fingers. He had forgotten the +paradoxes of illusion; this was no longer illusion to him, but +reality itself. It seemed to him that he followed her, walking +over the shadowed turf that gave with springy crunch beneath +his tread, though Galatea left hardly an imprint. He glanced +down, noting that he himself wore a silver garment, and that +his feet were bare; with the glance he felt a feathery breeze on +his body and a sense of mossy earth on his feet.</p> + +<p>"Galatea," said his voice. "Galatea, what place is this? +What language do you speak?"</p> + +<p>She glanced back laughing. "Why, this is Paracosma, of +course, and this is our language."</p> + +<p>"Paracosma," muttered Dan. "Para—cosma!" A fragment +of Greek that had survived somehow from a Sophomore course +a decade in the past came strangely back to him. Paracosma! +Land-beyond-the-world!</p> + +<p>Galatea cast a smiling glance at him. "Does the real world +seem strange," she queried, "after that shadow land of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Shadow land?" echoed Dan, bewildered. "<i>This</i> is shadow, +not my world."</p> + +<p>The girl's smile turned quizzical. "Poof!" she retorted with +an impudently lovely pout. "And I suppose, then, that <i>I</i> am +the phantom instead of you!" She laughed. "Do I seem ghostlike?"</p> + +<p>Dan made no reply; he was puzzling over unanswerable +questions as he trod behind the lithe figure of his guide. The +aisle between the unearthly trees widened, and the giants were +fewer. It seemed a mile, perhaps, before a sound of tinkling +water obscured that other strange music; they emerged on the +bank of a little river, swift and crystalline, that rippled and +gurgled its way from glowing pool to flashing rapids, sparkling +under the pale sun. Galatea bent over the brink and cupped +her hands, raising a few mouthfuls of water to her lips; Dan +followed her example, finding the liquid stinging cold.</p> + +<p>"How do we cross?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You can wade up there,"—the dryad who led him gestured +to a sun-lit shallows above a tiny falls—"but I always cross here." +She poised herself for a moment on the green bank, then dove +like a silver arrow into the pool. Dan followed; the water stung +his body like champagne, but a stroke or two carried him across +to where Galatea had already emerged with a glistening of +creamy bare limbs. Her garment clung tight as a metal sheath +to her wet body; he felt a breath-taking thrill at the sight of +her. And then, miraculously, the silver cloth was dry, the droplets +rolled off as if from oiled silk, and they moved briskly on.</p> + +<p>The incredible forest had ended with the river; they walked +over a meadow studded with little, many-hued, star-shaped +flowers, whose fronds underfoot were soft as a lawn. Yet still +the sweet pipings followed them, now loud, now whisper-soft, +in a tenuous web of melody.</p> + +<p>"Galatea!" said Dan suddenly. "Where is the music coming +from?"</p> + +<p>She looked back amazed. "You silly one!" she laughed. +"From the flowers, of course. See!" she plucked a purple star +and held it to his ear; true enough, a faint and plaintive melody +hummed out of the blossom. She tossed it in his startled face +and skipped on.</p> + +<p>A little copse appeared ahead, not of the gigantic forest +trees, but of lesser growths, bearing flowers and fruits of iridescent +colors, and a tiny brook bubbled through. And there stood the +objective of their journey—a building of white, marble-like stone, +single-storied and vine covered, with broad glassless windows. +They trod upon a path of bright pebbles to the arched entrance, +and here, on an intricate stone bench, sat a grey-bearded +patriarchal individual. Galatea addressed him in a liquid +language that reminded Dan of the flower-pipings; then she +turned. "This is Leucon," she said, as the ancient rose from +his seat and spoke in English.</p> + +<p>"We are happy, Galatea and I, to welcome you, since visitors +are a rare pleasure here, and those from your shadowy country +most rare."</p> + +<p>Dan uttered puzzled words of thanks, and the old man +nodded, reseating himself on the carven bench; Galatea skipped +through the arched entrance, and Dan, after an irresolute moment, +dropped to the remaining bench. Once more his thoughts +were whirling in perplexed turbulence. Was all this indeed +but illusion? Was he sitting, in actuality, in a prosaic hotel +room, peering through magic spectacles that pictured this world +about him, or was he, transported by some miracle, really sitting +here in this land of loveliness? He touched the bench; stone, +hard and unyielding, met his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Leucon," said his voice, "how did you know I was coming?"</p> + +<p>"I was told," said the other.</p> + +<p>"By whom?"</p> + +<p>"By no one."</p> + +<p>"Why—<i>someone</i> must have told you!"</p> + +<p>The Grey Weaver shook his solemn head. "I was just told."</p> + +<p>Dan ceased his questioning, content for the moment to +drink in the beauty about him and then Galatea returned bearing +a crystal bowl of the strange fruits. They were piled in +colorful disorder, red, purple, orange and yellow, pear-shaped, +egg-shaped, and clustered spheroids—fantastic, unearthly. He +selected a pale, transparent ovoid, bit into it, and was deluged +by a flood of sweet liquid, to the amusement of the girl. She +laughed and chose a similar morsel; biting a tiny puncture in +the end, she squeezed the contents into her mouth. Dan took +a different sort, purple and tart as Rhenish wine, and then +another, filled with edible, almond-like seeds. Galatea laughed +delightedly at his surprises, and even Leucon smiled a grey smile. +Finally Dan tossed the last husk into the brook beside them, +where it danced briskly toward the river.</p> + +<p>"Galatea," he said, "do you ever go to a city? What cities +are in Paracosma?"</p> + +<p>"Cities? What are cities?"</p> + +<p>"Places where many people live close together."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the girl frowning. "No. There are no cities +here."</p> + +<p>"Then where are the people of Paracosma? You must +have neighbors."</p> + +<p>The girl looked puzzled. "A man and a woman live off +there," she said, gesturing toward a distant blue range of hills +dim on the horizon. "Far away over there. I went there once, +but Leucon and I prefer the valley."</p> + +<p>"But Galatea!" protested Dan. "Are you and Leucon alone +in this valley? Where—what happened to your parents—your +father and mother?"</p> + +<p>"They went away. That way—toward the sunrise. They'll +return some day."</p> + +<p>"And if they don't?"</p> + +<p>"Why, foolish one! What could hinder them?"</p> + +<p>"Wild beasts," said Dan. "Poisonous insects, disease, +flood, storm, lawless people, death!"</p> + +<p>"I never heard those words," said Galatea. "There are no +such things here." She sniffed contemptuously. "Lawless people!"</p> + +<p>"Not—death?"</p> + +<p>"What is death?"</p> + +<p>"It's—" Dan paused helplessly. "It's like falling asleep +and never waking. It's what happens to everyone at the end +of life."</p> + +<p>"I never heard of such a thing as the end of life!" said +the girl decidedly. "There isn't such a thing."</p> + +<p>"What happens, then," queried Dan desperately, "when +one grows old?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, silly! No one grows old unless he wants to, like +Leucon. A person grows to the age he likes best and then stops. +It's a law!"</p> + +<p>Dan gathered his chaotic thoughts. He stared into +Galatea's dark, lovely eyes. "Have you stopped yet?"</p> + +<p>The dark eyes dropped; he was amazed to see a deep, embarrassed +flush spread over her cheeks. She looked at Leucon +nodding reflectively on his bench, then back to Dan, meeting +his gaze.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," he said.</p> + +<p>"And when will you, Galatea?"</p> + +<p>"When I have had the one child permitted me. You see"—she +stared down at her dainty toes—"one cannot—bear children—afterwards."</p> + +<p>"Permitted? Permitted by whom?"</p> + +<p>"By a law."</p> + +<p>"Laws! Is everything here governed by laws? What of +chance and accidents?"</p> + +<p>"What are those—chance and accidents?"</p> + +<p>"Things unexpected—things unforeseen."</p> + +<p>"Nothing is unforeseen," said Galatea, still soberly. She +repeated slowly, "Nothing is unforeseen." He fancied her voice +was wistful.</p> + +<p>Leucon looked up. "Enough of this," he said abruptly. He +turned to Dan, "I know these words of yours—chance, disease, +death. They are not for Paracosma. Keep them in your unreal +country."</p> + +<p>"Where did you hear them, then?"</p> + +<p>"From Galatea's mother," said the Grey Weaver, "who +had them from your predecessor—a phantom who visited here +before Galatea was born."</p> + +<p>Dan had a vision of Ludwig's face. "What was he like?"</p> + +<p>"Much like you."</p> + +<p>"But his name?"</p> + +<p>The old man's mouth was suddenly grim. "We do not +speak of him," he said and rose, entering the dwelling in cold +silence.</p> + +<p>"He goes to weave," said Galatea after a moment. Her +lovely, piquant face was still troubled.</p> + +<p>"What does he weave?"</p> + +<p>"This," She fingered the silver cloth of her gown. "He +weaves it out of metal bars on a very clever machine. I do +not know the method."</p> + +<p>"Who made the machine?"</p> + +<p>"It was here."</p> + +<p>"But—Galatea! Who built the house? Who planted these +fruit trees?"</p> + +<p>"They were here. The house and trees were always here." +She lifted her eyes. "I told you everything had been foreseen, +from the beginning until eternity—everything. The house and +trees and machine were ready for Leucon and my parents and me. +There is a place for my child, who will be a girl, and a place for +her child—and so on forever."</p> + +<p>Dan thought a moment. "Were you born here?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know." He noted in sudden concern that her +eyes were glistening with tears.</p> + +<p>"Galatea, dear! Why are you unhappy? What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Why, nothing!" She shook her black curls, smiled suddenly +at him. "What could be wrong? How can one be unhappy +in Paracosma?" She sprang erect and seized his hand. +"Come! Let's gather fruit for tomorrow."</p> + +<p>She darted off in a whirl of flashing silver, and Dan followed +her around the wing of the edifice. Graceful as a dancer she +leaped for a branch above her head, caught it laughingly, and +tossed a great golden globe to him. She loaded his arms with +the bright prizes and sent him back to the bench, and when he +returned, she piled it so full of fruit that a deluge of colorful +spheres dropped around him. She laughed again, and sent +them spinning into the brook with thrusts of her rosy toes, +while Dan watched her with an aching wistfulness. Then suddenly +she was facing him; for a long, tense instant they stood +motionless, eyes upon eyes, and then she turned away and walked +slowly around to the arched portal. He followed her with his +burden of fruit; his mind was once more in a turmoil of doubt +and perplexity.</p> + +<p>The little sun was losing itself behind the trees of that +colossal forest to the west, and a coolness stirred among long +shadows. The brook was purple-hued in the dusk, but its cheery +notes mingled still with the flower music. Then the sun was +hidden; the shadow fingers darkened the meadow; of a sudden +the flowers were still, and the brook gurgled alone in a world +of silence. In silence too, Dan entered the doorway.</p> + +<p>The chamber within was a spacious one, floored with large +black and white squares; exquisite benches of carved marble +were here and there. Old Leucon, in a far corner, bent over an +intricate, glistening mechanism, and as Dan entered he drew a +shining length of silver cloth from it, folded it, and placed it +carefully aside. There was a curious, unearthly fact that Dan +noted; despite windows open to the evening, no night insects +circled the globes that glowed at intervals from niches in the +walls.</p> + +<p>Galatea stood in a doorway to his left, leaning half-wearily +against the frame; he placed the bowl of fruit on a bench at +the entrance and moved to her side.</p> + +<p>"This is yours," she said, indicating the room beyond. He +looked in upon a pleasant, smaller chamber; a window framed +a starry square, and a thin, swift, nearly silent stream of water +gushed from the mouth of a carved human head on the left +wall, curving into a six-foot basin sunk in the floor. Another of +the graceful benches covered with the silver cloth completed +the furnishings; a single glowing sphere, pendant by a chain +from the ceiling, illuminated the room. Dan turned to the girl, +whose eyes were still unwontedly serious.</p> + +<p>"This is ideal," he said, "but, Galatea, how am I to turn +out the light?"</p> + +<p>"Turn it out?" she said. "You must cap it—so!" A faint +smile showed again on her lips as she dropped a metal covering +over the shining sphere. They stood tense in the darkness; Dan +sensed her nearness achingly, and then the light was on once +more. She moved toward the door, and there paused, taking +his hand.</p> + +<p>"Dear shadow," she said softly, "I hope your dreams are +music." She was gone.</p> + +<p>Dan stood irresolute in his chamber; he glanced into the +large room where Leucon still bent over his work, and the Grey +Weaver raised a hand in a solemn salutation, but said nothing. +He felt no urge for the old man's silent company and turned +back into his room to prepare for slumber.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Almost instantly, it seemed, the dawn was upon him and +bright elfin pipings were all about him, while the odd ruddy +sun sent a broad slanting plane of light across the room. He +rose as fully aware of his surroundings as if he had not slept at +all; the pool tempted him and he bathed in stinging water. +Thereafter he emerged into the central chamber, noting curiously +that the globes still glowed in dim rivalry to the daylight. He +touched one casually; it was cool as metal to his fingers, and +lifted freely from its standard. For a moment he held the cold +flaming thing in his hands, then replaced it and wandered into +the dawn.</p> + +<p>Galatea was dancing up the path, eating a strange fruit as +rosy as her lips. She was merry again, once more the happy +nymph who had greeted him, and she gave him a bright smile +as he chose a sweet green ovoid for his breakfast.</p> + +<p>"Come on!" she called. "To the river!"</p> + +<p>She skipped away toward the unbelievable forest; Dan followed, +marveling that her lithe speed was so easy a match for +his stronger muscles. Then they were laughing in the pool, +splashing about until Galatea drew herself to the bank, glowing +and panting. He followed her as she lay relaxed; strangely, he +was neither tired nor breathless, with no sense of exertion. A +question recurred to him, as yet unasked.</p> + +<p>"Galatea," said his voice, "Whom will you take as mate?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes went serious. "I don't know," she said. "At the +proper time he will come. That is a law."</p> + +<p>"And will you be happy?"</p> + +<p>"Of course." She seemed troubled. "Isn't everyone happy?"</p> + +<p>"Not where I live, Galatea."</p> + +<p>"Then that must be a strange place—that ghostly world +of yours. A rather terrible place."</p> + +<p>"It is, often enough," Dan agreed. "I wish—" He paused. +What did he wish? Was he not talking to an illusion, a dream, +an apparition? He looked at the girl, at her glistening black +hair, her eyes, her soft white skin, and then, for a tragic moment, +he tried to feel the arms of that drab hotel chair beneath his +hands—and failed. He smiled; he reached out his fingers to +touch her bare arm, and for an instant she looked back at him +with startled, sober eyes, and sprang to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Come on! I want to show you my country." She set off +down the stream, and Dan rose reluctantly to follow.</p> + +<p>What a day that was! They traced the little river from +still pool to singing rapids, and ever about them were the +strange twitterings and pipings that were the voices of the +flowers. Every turn brought a new vista of beauty; every moment +brought a new sense of delight. They talked or were +silent; when they were thirsty, the cool river was at hand; when +they were hungry, fruit offered itself. When they were tired, +there was always a deep pool and a mossy bank; and when they +were rested, a new beauty beckoned. The incredible trees towered +in numberless forms of fantasy, but on their own side of the +river was still the flower-starred meadow. Galatea twisted him +a bright-blossomed garland for his head, and thereafter he +moved always with a sweet singing about him. But little by +little the red sun slanted toward the forest, and the hours +dripped away. It was Dan who pointed it out, and reluctantly +they turned homeward.</p> + +<p>As they returned, Galatea sang a strange song, plaintive and +sweet as the medley of river and flower music. And again her +eyes were sad.</p> + +<p>"What song is that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"It is a song sung by another Galatea," she answered, "who +is my mother." She laid her hand on his arm. "I will make it +into English for you." She sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The River lies in flower and fern,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In flower and fern it breathes a song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It breathes a song of your return,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of your return in years too long.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In years too long its murmurs bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its murmurs bring their vain replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their vain replies the flowers sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flowers sing, 'The River lies!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Her voice quavered on the final notes; there was silence +save for the tinkle of water and the flower bugles. Dan said, +"Galatea—" and paused. The girl was again somber-eyed, tearful. +He said huskily, "That's a sad song, Galatea. Why was +your mother sad? You said everyone was happy in Paracosma."</p> + +<p>"She broke a law," replied the girl tonelessly. "It is the +inevitable way to sorrow." She faced him. "She fell in love +with a phantom!" Galatea said. "One of your shadowy race, +who came and stayed and then had to go back. So when her +appointed lover came, it was too late; do you understand? But +she yielded finally to the law, and is forever unhappy, and goes +wandering from place to place about the world." She paused. +"I shall never break a law," she said defiantly.</p> + +<p>Dan took her hand. "I would not have you unhappy, +Galatea. I want you always happy."</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I <i>am</i> happy," she said, and smiled a +tender, wistful smile.</p> + +<p>They were silent a long time as they trudged the way homeward. +The shadows of the forest giants reached out across the +river as the sun slipped behind them. For a distance they walked +hand in hand, but as they reached the path of pebbly brightness +near the house, Galatea drew away and sped swiftly before +him. Dan followed as quickly as he might; when he arrived, +Leucon sat on his bench by the portal, and Galatea had paused +on the threshold. She watched his approach with eyes in which +he again fancied the glint of tears.</p> + +<p>"I am very tired," she said, and slipped within.</p> + +<p>Dan moved to follow, but the old man raised a staying +hand.</p> + +<p>"Friend from the shadows," he said, "will you hear me a +moment?"</p> + +<p>Dan paused, acquiesced, and dropped to the opposite bench. +He felt a sense of foreboding; nothing pleasant awaited him.</p> + +<p>"There is something to be said," Leucon continued, "and +I say it without desire to pain you, if phantoms feel pain. It +is this: Galatea loves you, though I think she has not yet +realized it."</p> + +<p>"I love her too," said Dan.</p> + +<p>The Grey Weaver stared at him. "I do not understand. +Substance, indeed, may love shadow, but how can shadow love +substance?"</p> + +<p>"I love her," insisted Dan.</p> + +<p>"Then woe to both of you! For this is impossible in Paracosma; +it is a confliction with the laws. Galatea's mate is appointed, +perhaps even now approaching."</p> + +<p>"Laws! Laws!" muttered Dan. "Whose laws are they? +Not Galatea's nor mine!"</p> + +<p>"But they are," said the Grey Weaver. "It is not for you +nor for me to criticize them—though I yet wonder what power +could annul them to permit your presence here!"</p> + +<p>"I had no voice in your laws."</p> + +<p>The old man peered at him in the dusk. "Has anyone, anywhere, +a voice in the laws?" he queried.</p> + +<p>"In my country we have," retorted Dan.</p> + +<p>"Madness!" growled Leucon. "Man-made laws! Of what +use are man-made laws with only man-made penalties, or none +at all? If you shadows make a law that the wind shall blow +only from the east, does the west wind obey it?"</p> + +<p>"We do pass such laws," acknowledged Dan bitterly. "They +may be stupid, but they're no more unjust than yours."</p> + +<p>"Ours," said the Grey Weaver, "are the unalterable laws +of the world, the laws of Nature. Violation is always unhappiness. +I have seen it; I have known it in another, in Galatea's +mother, though Galatea is stronger than she." He paused. +"Now," he continued, "I ask only for mercy; your stay is short, +and I ask that you do no more harm than is already done. Be +merciful; give her no more to regret."</p> + +<p>He rose and moved through the archway; when Dan followed +a moment later, he was already removing a square of silver +from his device in the corner. Dan turned silent and unhappy +to his own chamber, where the jet of water tinkled faintly as a +distant bell.</p> + +<p>Again he rose at the glow of dawn, and again Galatea was +before him, meeting him at the door with her bowl of fruit. +She deposited her burden, giving him a wan little smile of greeting, +and stood facing him as if waiting.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, Galatea," he said.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"To the river bank. To talk."</p> + +<p>They trudged in silence to the brink of Galatea's pool. Dan +noted a subtle difference in the world about him; outlines were +vague, the thin flower pipings less audible, and the very landscape +was queerly unstable, shifting like smoke when he wasn't +looking at it directly. And strangely, though he had brought +the girl here to talk to her, he had now nothing to say, but +sat in aching silence with his eyes on the loveliness of her face.</p> + +<p>Galatea pointed at the red ascending sun. "So short a +time," she said, "before you go back to your phantom world. I +shall be sorry, very sorry." She touched his cheek with her +fingers. "Dear shadow!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Dan huskily, "that I won't go. What if I +won't leave here?" His voice grew fiercer. "I'll not go! I'm +going to stay!"</p> + +<p>The calm mournfulness of the girl's face checked him; he +felt the irony of struggling against the inevitable progress of a +dream. She spoke. "Had I the making of the laws, you should +stay. But you can't, dear one. You can't!"</p> + +<p>Forgotten now were the words of the Grey Weaver. "I love +you, Galatea," he said.</p> + +<p>"And I you," she whispered. "See, dearest shadow, how I +break the same law my mother broke, and am glad to face the +sorrow it will bring." She placed her hand tenderly over his. +"Leucon is very wise and I am bound to obey him, but this is +beyond his wisdom because he let himself grow old." She +paused. "He let himself grow old," she repeated slowly. A +strange light gleamed in her dark eyes as she turned suddenly to +Dan.</p> + +<p>"Dear one!" she said tensely. "That thing that happens +to the old—that death of yours! What follows it?"</p> + +<p>"What follows death?" he echoed. "Who knows?"</p> + +<p>"But—" Her voice was quivering. "But one can't simply—vanish! +There must be an awakening."</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" said Dan again. "There are those who believe +we wake to a happier world, but—" He shook his head +hopelessly.</p> + +<p>"It must be true! Oh, it must be!" Galatea cried. +"There must be more for you than the mad world you speak +of!" She leaned very close. "Suppose, dear," she said, "that +when my appointed lover arrives, I send him away. Suppose I +bear no child, but let myself grow old, older than Leucon, old +until death. Would I join you in your happier world?"</p> + +<p>"Galatea!" he cried distractedly. "Oh, my dearest—what a +terrible thought!"</p> + +<p>"More terrible than you know," she whispered, still very +close to him. "It is more than violation of a law; it is rebellion! +Everything is planned, everything was foreseen, except this; and +if I bear no child, her place will be left unfilled, and the places +of her children, and of <i>their</i> children, and so on until some day +the whole great plan of Paracosma fails of whatever its destiny +was to be." Her whisper grew very faint and fearful. "It is +destruction, but I love you more than I fear—death!"</p> + +<p>Dan's arms were about her. "No, Galatea! No! Promise +me!"</p> + +<p>She murmured, "I can promise and then break my promise." +She drew his head down; their lips touched, and he felt a +fragrance and a taste like honey in her kiss. "At least," she +breathed. "I can give you a name by which to love you. Philometros! +Measure of my love!"</p> + +<p>"A name?" muttered Dan. A fantastic idea shot through +his mind—a way of proving to himself that all this was reality, +and not just a page that any one could read who wore old +Ludwig's magic spectacles. If Galatea would speak his name! +Perhaps, he thought daringly, perhaps then he could stay! He +thrust her away.</p> + +<p>"Galatea!" he cried. "Do you remember my name?"</p> + +<p>She nodded silently, her unhappy eyes on his.</p> + +<p>"Then say it! Say it, dear!"</p> + +<p>She stared at him dumbly, miserably, but made no sound.</p> + +<p>"Say it, Galatea!" he pleaded desperately. "My name, dear—just +my name!" Her mouth moved; she grew pale with effort and +Dan could have sworn that his name trembled on her quivering +lips, though no sound came.</p> + +<p>At last she spoke. "I can't, dearest one! Oh, I can't! A +law forbids it!" She stood suddenly erect, pallid as an ivory +carving. "Leucon calls!" she said, and darted away. Dan followed +along the pebbled path, but her speed was beyond his +powers; at the portal he found only the Grey Weaver standing +cold and stern. He raised his hand as Dan appeared.</p> + +<p>"Your time is short," he said. "Go, thinking of the havoc +you have done."</p> + +<p>"Where's Galatea?" gasped Dan.</p> + +<p>"I have sent her away." The old man blocked the entrance; +for a moment Dan would have struck him aside, but something +withheld him. He stared wildly about the meadow—there! A +flash of silver beyond the river, at the edge of the forest. He +turned and raced toward it, while motionless and cold the Grey +Weaver watched him go.</p> + +<p>"Galatea!" he called. "Galatea!"</p> + +<p>He was over the river now, on the forest bank, running +through columned vistas that whirled about him like mist. The +world had gone cloudy; fine flakes danced like snow before his +eyes; Paracosma was dissolving around him. Through the chaos +he fancied a glimpse of the girl, but closer approach left him +still voicing his hopeless cry of "Galatea!"</p> + +<p>After an endless time, he paused; something familiar about +the spot struck him, and just as the red sun edged above him, +he recognized the place—the very point at which he had entered +Paracosma! A sense of futility overwhelmed him as for a moment +he gazed at an unbelievable apparition—a dark window +hung in midair before him through which glowed rows of electric +lights. Ludwig's window!</p> + +<p>It vanished. But the trees writhed and the sky darkened, +and he swayed dizzily in turmoil. He realized suddenly that +he was no longer standing, but sitting in the midst of the crazy +glade, and his hands clutched something smooth and hard—the +arms of that miserable hotel chair. Then at last he saw her, +close before him—Galatea, with sorrow-stricken features, her +tear-filled eyes on his. He made a terrific effort to rise, stood +erect, and fell sprawling in a blaze of coruscating lights.</p> + +<p>He struggled to his knees; walls—Ludwig's room—encompassed +him; he must have slipped from the chair. The magic +spectacles lay before him, one lens splintered and spilling a +fluid no longer water-clear, but white as milk.</p> + +<p>"God!" he muttered. He felt shaken, sick, exhausted, with +a bitter sense of bereavement, and his head ached fiercely. The +room was drab, disgusting; he wanted to get out of it. He +glanced automatically at his watch: four o'clock—he must have +sat here nearly five hours. For the first time he noticed Ludwig's +absence; he was glad of it and walked dully out of the door to +an automatic elevator. There was no response to his ring; someone +was using the thing. He walked three flights to the street +and back to his own room.</p> + +<p>In love with a vision! Worse—in love with a girl who had +never lived, in a fantastic Utopia that was literally nowhere! +He threw himself on his bed with a groan that was half a sob.</p> + +<p>He saw finally the implication of the name Galatea. Galatea—Pygmalion's +statue, given life by Venus in the ancient Grecian +myth. But <i>his</i> Galatea, warm and lovely and vital, must remain +forever without the gift of life, since he was neither Pygmalion +nor God.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He woke late in the morning, staring uncomprehendingly +about for the fountain and pool of Paracosma. Slow comprehension +dawned; how much—<i>how much</i>—of last night's experience +had been real? How much was the product of alcohol? +Or had old Ludwig been right, and was there no difference between +reality and dream?</p> + +<p>He changed his rumpled attire and wandered despondently +to the street. He found Ludwig's hotel at last; inquiry revealed +that the diminutive professor had checked out, leaving no +forwarding address.</p> + +<p>What of it? Even Ludwig couldn't give what he sought, +a living Galatea. Dan was glad that he had disappeared; he +hated the little professor. Professor? Hypnotists called themselves +"professors." He dragged through a weary day and then +a sleepless night back to Chicago.</p> + +<p>It was mid-winter when he saw a suggestively tiny figure +ahead of him in the Loop. Ludwig! Yet what use to hail +him? His cry was automatic. "Professor Ludwig!"</p> + +<p>The elfin figure turned, recognized him, smiled. They +stepped into the shelter of a building.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry about your machine, Professor. I'd be glad to +pay for the damage."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ach</i>, that was nothing—a cracked glass. But you—have +you been ill? You look much the worse."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," said Dan. "Your show was marvelous, Professor—marvelous! +I'd have told you so, but you were gone +when it ended."</p> + +<p>Ludwig shrugged. "I went to the lobby for a cigar. Five +hours with a wax dummy, you know!"</p> + +<p>"It was marvelous!" repeated Dan.</p> + +<p>"So real?" smiled the other. "Only because you co-operated, +then. It takes self-hypnosis."</p> + +<p>"It was real, all right," agreed Dan glumly. "I don't understand +it—that strange beautiful country."</p> + +<p>"The trees were club-mosses enlarged by a lens," said Ludwig. +"All was trick photography, but stereoscopic, as I told +you—three dimensional. The fruits were rubber; the house is +a summer building on our campus—Northern University. And +the voice was mine; you didn't speak at all, except your name +at the first, and I left a blank for that. I played your part, you +see; I went around with the photographic apparatus strapped on +my head, to keep the viewpoint always that of the observer. See?" +He grinned wryly. "Luckily I'm rather short, or you'd have +seemed a giant."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" said Dan, his mind whirling. "You +say you played my part. Then Galatea—is <i>she</i> real too?"</p> + +<p>"Tea's real enough," said the Professor. "My niece, a +senior at Northern, and likes dramatics. She helped me out +with the thing. Why? Want to meet her?"</p> + +<p>Dan answered vaguely, happily. An ache had vanished; a +pain was eased. Paracosma was attainable at last!</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pygmalion's Spectacles, by Stanley Grauman Weinbaum + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES *** + +***** This file should be named 22893-h.htm or 22893-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/9/22893/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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