Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _A Martian Odyssey and Others_ 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. PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES "But what is reality?" asked the gnomelike man. He gestured at the tallbanks of buildings that loomed around Central Park, with their countlesswindows glowing like the cave fires of a city of Cro-Magnon people. "Allis dream, all is illusion; I am your vision as you are mine. " Dan Burke, struggling for clarity of thought through the fumes ofliquor, stared without comprehension at the tiny figure of hiscompanion. He began to regret the impulse that had driven him to leavethe party to seek fresh air in the park, and to fall by chance into thecompany of this diminutive old madman. But he had needed escape; thiswas one party too many, and not even the presence of Claire with hertrim ankles could hold him there. He felt an angry desire to gohome--not to his hotel, but home to Chicago and to the comparative peaceof the Board of Trade. But he was leaving tomorrow anyway. "You drink, " said the elfin, bearded face, "to make real a dream. Is itnot so? Either to dream that what you seek is yours, or else to dreamthat what you hate is conquered. You drink to escape reality, and theirony is that even reality is a dream. " "Cracked!" thought Dan again. "Or so, " concluded the other, "says the philosopher Berkeley. " "Berkeley?" echoed Dan. His head was clearing; memories of a Sophomorecourse in Elementary Philosophy drifted back. "Bishop Berkeley, eh?" "You know him, then? The philosopher of Idealism--no?--the one whoargues that we do not see, feel, hear, taste the object, but that wehave only the sensation of seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting. " "I--sort of recall it. " "Hah! But sensations are _mental_ phenomena. They exist in our minds. How, then, do we know that the objects themselves do not exist only inour minds?" He waved again at the light-flecked buildings. "You do notsee that wall of masonry; you perceive only a _sensation_, a feeling ofsight. The rest you interpret. " "You see the same thing, " retorted Dan. "How do you know I do? Even if you knew that what I call red would notbe green could you see through my eyes--even if you knew that, how doyou know that I too am not a dream of yours?" Dan laughed. "Of course nobody _knows_ anything. You just get whatinformation you can through the windows of your five senses, and thenmake your guesses. When they're wrong, you pay the penalty. " His mindwas clear now save for a mild headache. "Listen, " he said suddenly. "Youcan argue a reality away to an illusion; that's easy. But if your friendBerkeley is right, why can't you take a dream and make it real? If itworks one way, it must work the other. " The beard waggled; elf-bright eyes glittered queerly at him. "Allartists do that, " said the old man softly. Dan felt that something morequivered on the verge of utterance. "That's an evasion, " he grunted. "Anybody can tell the differencebetween a picture and the real thing, or between a movie and life. " "But, " whispered the other, "the realer the better, no? And if one couldmake a--a movie--_very_ real indeed, what would you say then?" "Nobody can, though. " The eyes glittered strangely again. "I can!" he whispered. "I _did_!" "Did what?" "Made real a dream. " The voice turned angry. "Fools! I bring it here tosell to Westman, the camera people, and what do they say? 'It isn'tclear. Only one person can use it at a time. It's too expensive. ' Fools!Fools!" "Huh?" "Listen! I'm Albert Ludwig--_Professor_ Ludwig. " As Dan was silent, hecontinued, "It means nothing to you, eh? But listen--a movie that givesone sight and sound. Suppose now I add taste, smell, even touch, if yourinterest is taken by the story. Suppose I make it so that you are in thestory, you speak to the shadows, and the shadows reply, and instead ofbeing on a screen, the story is all about you, and you are in it. Wouldthat be to make real a dream?" "How the devil could you do that?" "How? How? But simply! First my liquid positive, then my magicspectacles. I photograph the story in a liquid with light-sensitivechromates. I build up a complex solution--do you see? I add tastechemically and sound electrically. And when the story is recorded, thenI put the solution in my spectacle--my movie projector. I electrolyzethe solution, break it down; the older chromates go first, and out comesthe story, sight, sound, smell, taste--all!" "Touch?" "If your interest is taken, your mind supplies that. " Eagerness creptinto his voice. "You will look at it, Mr. ----?" "Burke, " said Dan. "A swindle!" he thought. Then a spark of recklessnessglowed out of the vanishing fumes of alcohol. "Why not?" he grunted. He rose; Ludwig, standing, came scarcely to his shoulder. A queergnomelike old man, Dan thought as he followed him across the park andinto one of the scores of apartment hotels in the vicinity. In his room Ludwig fumbled in a bag, producing a device vaguelyreminiscent of a gas mask. There were goggles and a rubber mouthpiece;Dan examined it curiously, while the little bearded professor brandisheda bottle of watery liquid. "Here it is!" he gloated. "My liquid positive, the story. Hardphotography--infernally hard, therefore the simplest story. AUtopia--just two characters and you, the audience. Now, put thespectacles on. Put them on and tell me what fools the Westman peopleare!" He decanted some of the liquid into the mask, and trailed atwisted wire to a device on the table. "A rectifier, " he explained. "Forthe electrolysis. " "Must you use all the liquid?" asked Dan. "If you use part, do you seeonly part of the story? And which part?" "Every drop has all of it, but you must fill the eye-pieces. " Then asDan slipped the device gingerly on, "So! Now what do you see?" "Not a damn' thing. Just the windows and the lights across the street. " "Of course. But now I start the electrolysis. Now!" * * * * * There was a moment of chaos. The liquid before Dan's eyes cloudedsuddenly white, and formless sounds buzzed. He moved to tear the devicefrom his head, but emerging forms in the mistiness caught his interest. Giant things were writhing there. The scene steadied; the whiteness was dissipating like mist in summer. Unbelieving, still gripping the arms of that unseen chair, he wasstaring 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. Infinitelyoverhead swayed misty fronds, and the verdure showed brown and green inthe heights. And there were birds--at least, curiously lovely pipingsand twitterings were all about him though he saw no creatures--thinelfin whistlings like fairy bugles sounded softly. He sat frozen, entranced. A louder fragment of melody drifted down tohim, mounting in exquisite, ecstatic bursts, now clear as soundingmetal, now soft as remembered music. For a moment he forgot the chairwhose arms he gripped, the miserable hotel room invisibly about him, oldLudwig, his aching head. He imagined himself alone in the midst of thatlovely glade. "Eden!" he muttered, and the swelling music of unseenvoices answered. Some measure of reason returned. "Illusion!" he told himself. Cleveroptical 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 athin hotel carpet. The elfin buglings sounded gently. A faint, deliciously sweet perfumebreathed against him; he glanced up to watch the opening of a greatcrimson blossom on the nearest tree, and a tiny reddish sun edged intothe circle of sky above him. The fairy orchestra swelled louder in itslight, and the notes sent a thrill of wistfulness through him. Illusion?If it were, it made reality almost unbearable; he wanted to believe thatsomewhere--somewhere this side of dreams, there actually existed thisregion of loveliness. An outpost of Paradise? Perhaps. And then--far through the softening mists, he caught a movement that wasnot 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 itwas almost upon him before he realized that it was a girl. She wore a robe of silvery, half-translucent stuff, luminous asstarbeams; a thin band of silver bound glowing black hair about herforehead, and other garment or ornament she had none. Her tiny whitefeet were bare to the mossy forest floor as she stood no more than apace from him, staring dark-eyed. The thin music sounded again; shesmiled. Dan summoned stumbling thoughts. Was this being also--illusion? Had sheno more reality than the loveliness of the forest? He opened his lips tospeak, 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 ofone's words in fever. The girl smiled again. "English!" she said in queer soft tones. "I canspeak a little English. " She spoke slowly, carefully. "I learned itfrom"--she hesitated--"my mother's father, whom they call the GreyWeaver. " Again came the voice in Dan's ears. "Who are you?" "I am called Galatea, " she said. "I came to find you. " "To find me?" echoed the voice that was Dan's. "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. " Shecast a quick slanting glance at the pale sun now full above theclearing, then stepped closer. "What are you called?" "Dan, " he muttered. His voice sounded oddly different. "What a strange name!" said the girl. She stretched out her bare arm. "Come, " she smiled. Dan touched her extended hand, feeling without any surprise the livingwarmth of her fingers. He had forgotten the paradoxes of illusion; thiswas no longer illusion to him, but reality itself. It seemed to him thathe followed her, walking over the shadowed turf that gave with springycrunch beneath his tread, though Galatea left hardly an imprint. Heglanced down, noting that he himself wore a silver garment, and that hisfeet were bare; with the glance he felt a feathery breeze on his bodyand a sense of mossy earth on his feet. "Galatea, " said his voice. "Galatea, what place is this? What languagedo you speak?" She glanced back laughing. "Why, this is Paracosma, of course, and thisis our language. " "Paracosma, " muttered Dan. "Para--cosma!" A fragment of Greek that hadsurvived somehow from a Sophomore course a decade in the past camestrangely back to him. Paracosma! Land-beyond-the-world! Galatea cast a smiling glance at him. "Does the real world seemstrange, " she queried, "after that shadow land of yours?" "Shadow land?" echoed Dan, bewildered. "_This_ is shadow, not my world. " The girl's smile turned quizzical. "Poof!" she retorted with animpudently lovely pout. "And I suppose, then, that _I_ am the phantominstead of you!" She laughed. "Do I seem ghostlike?" Dan made no reply; he was puzzling over unanswerable questions as hetrod behind the lithe figure of his guide. The aisle between theunearthly trees widened, and the giants were fewer. It seemed a mile, perhaps, before a sound of tinkling water obscured that other strangemusic; they emerged on the bank of a little river, swift andcrystalline, that rippled and gurgled its way from glowing pool toflashing rapids, sparkling under the pale sun. Galatea bent over thebrink and cupped her hands, raising a few mouthfuls of water to herlips; Dan followed her example, finding the liquid stinging cold. "How do we cross?" he asked. "You can wade up there, "--the dryad who led him gestured to a sun-litshallows above a tiny falls--"but I always cross here. " She poisedherself for a moment on the green bank, then dove like a silver arrowinto the pool. Dan followed; the water stung his body like champagne, but a stroke or two carried him across to where Galatea had alreadyemerged with a glistening of creamy bare limbs. Her garment clung tightas a metal sheath to her wet body; he felt a breath-taking thrill at thesight of her. And then, miraculously, the silver cloth was dry, thedroplets rolled off as if from oiled silk, and they moved briskly on. The incredible forest had ended with the river; they walked over ameadow studded with little, many-hued, star-shaped flowers, whose frondsunderfoot were soft as a lawn. Yet still the sweet pipings followedthem, now loud, now whisper-soft, in a tenuous web of melody. "Galatea!" said Dan suddenly. "Where is the music coming from?" 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; trueenough, a faint and plaintive melody hummed out of the blossom. Shetossed it in his startled face and skipped on. A little copse appeared ahead, not of the gigantic forest trees, but oflesser growths, bearing flowers and fruits of iridescent colors, and atiny brook bubbled through. And there stood the objective of theirjourney--a building of white, marble-like stone, single-storied and vinecovered, with broad glassless windows. They trod upon a path of brightpebbles to the arched entrance, and here, on an intricate stone bench, sat a grey-bearded patriarchal individual. Galatea addressed him in aliquid language that reminded Dan of the flower-pipings; then sheturned. "This is Leucon, " she said, as the ancient rose from his seatand spoke in English. "We are happy, Galatea and I, to welcome you, since visitors are a rarepleasure here, and those from your shadowy country most rare. " Dan uttered puzzled words of thanks, and the old man nodded, reseatinghimself on the carven bench; Galatea skipped through the archedentrance, and Dan, after an irresolute moment, dropped to the remainingbench. Once more his thoughts were whirling in perplexed turbulence. Wasall this indeed but illusion? Was he sitting, in actuality, in a prosaichotel room, peering through magic spectacles that pictured this worldabout him, or was he, transported by some miracle, really sitting herein this land of loveliness? He touched the bench; stone, hard andunyielding, met his fingers. "Leucon, " said his voice, "how did you know I was coming?" "I was told, " said the other. "By whom?" "By no one. " "Why--_someone_ must have told you!" The Grey Weaver shook his solemn head. "I was just told. " Dan ceased his questioning, content for the moment to drink in thebeauty about him and then Galatea returned bearing a crystal bowl of thestrange fruits. They were piled in colorful disorder, red, purple, orange and yellow, pear-shaped, egg-shaped, and clusteredspheroids--fantastic, unearthly. He selected a pale, transparent ovoid, bit into it, and was deluged by a flood of sweet liquid, to theamusement of the girl. She laughed and chose a similar morsel; biting atiny puncture in the end, she squeezed the contents into her mouth. Dantook a different sort, purple and tart as Rhenish wine, and thenanother, filled with edible, almond-like seeds. Galatea laugheddelightedly at his surprises, and even Leucon smiled a grey smile. Finally Dan tossed the last husk into the brook beside them, where itdanced briskly toward the river. "Galatea, " he said, "do you ever go to a city? What cities are inParacosma?" "Cities? What are cities?" "Places where many people live close together. " "Oh, " said the girl frowning. "No. There are no cities here. " "Then where are the people of Paracosma? You must have neighbors. " 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. "Faraway over there. I went there once, but Leucon and I prefer the valley. " "But Galatea!" protested Dan. "Are you and Leucon alone in this valley?Where--what happened to your parents--your father and mother?" "They went away. That way--toward the sunrise. They'll return some day. " "And if they don't?" "Why, foolish one! What could hinder them?" "Wild beasts, " said Dan. "Poisonous insects, disease, flood, storm, lawless people, death!" "I never heard those words, " said Galatea. "There are no such thingshere. " She sniffed contemptuously. "Lawless people!" "Not--death?" "What is death?" "It's--" Dan paused helplessly. "It's like falling asleep and neverwaking. It's what happens to everyone at the end of life. " "I never heard of such a thing as the end of life!" said the girldecidedly. "There isn't such a thing. " "What happens, then, " queried Dan desperately, "when one grows old?" "Nothing, silly! No one grows old unless he wants to, like Leucon. Aperson grows to the age he likes best and then stops. It's a law!" Dan gathered his chaotic thoughts. He stared into Galatea's dark, lovelyeyes. "Have you stopped yet?" The dark eyes dropped; he was amazed to see a deep, embarrassed flushspread over her cheeks. She looked at Leucon nodding reflectively on hisbench, then back to Dan, meeting his gaze. "Not yet, " he said. "And when will you, Galatea?" "When I have had the one child permitted me. You see"--she stared downat her dainty toes--"one cannot--bear children--afterwards. " "Permitted? Permitted by whom?" "By a law. " "Laws! Is everything here governed by laws? What of chance andaccidents?" "What are those--chance and accidents?" "Things unexpected--things unforeseen. " "Nothing is unforeseen, " said Galatea, still soberly. She repeatedslowly, "Nothing is unforeseen. " He fancied her voice was wistful. 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 forParacosma. Keep them in your unreal country. " "Where did you hear them, then?" "From Galatea's mother, " said the Grey Weaver, "who had them from yourpredecessor--a phantom who visited here before Galatea was born. " Dan had a vision of Ludwig's face. "What was he like?" "Much like you. " "But his name?" The old man's mouth was suddenly grim. "We do not speak of him, " he saidand rose, entering the dwelling in cold silence. "He goes to weave, " said Galatea after a moment. Her lovely, piquantface was still troubled. "What does he weave?" "This, " She fingered the silver cloth of her gown. "He weaves it out ofmetal bars on a very clever machine. I do not know the method. " "Who made the machine?" "It was here. " "But--Galatea! Who built the house? Who planted these fruit trees?" "They were here. The house and trees were always here. " She lifted hereyes. "I told you everything had been foreseen, from the beginning untileternity--everything. The house and trees and machine were ready forLeucon and my parents and me. There is a place for my child, who will bea girl, and a place for her child--and so on forever. " Dan thought a moment. "Were you born here?" "I don't know. " He noted in sudden concern that her eyes were glisteningwith tears. "Galatea, dear! Why are you unhappy? What's wrong?" "Why, nothing!" She shook her black curls, smiled suddenly at him. "Whatcould be wrong? How can one be unhappy in Paracosma?" She sprang erectand seized his hand. "Come! Let's gather fruit for tomorrow. " She darted off in a whirl of flashing silver, and Dan followed heraround the wing of the edifice. Graceful as a dancer she leaped for abranch above her head, caught it laughingly, and tossed a great goldenglobe to him. She loaded his arms with the bright prizes and sent himback to the bench, and when he returned, she piled it so full of fruitthat 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 wasfacing him; for a long, tense instant they stood motionless, eyes uponeyes, and then she turned away and walked slowly around to the archedportal. He followed her with his burden of fruit; his mind was once morein a turmoil of doubt and perplexity. The little sun was losing itself behind the trees of that colossalforest to the west, and a coolness stirred among long shadows. The brookwas purple-hued in the dusk, but its cheery notes mingled still with theflower music. Then the sun was hidden; the shadow fingers darkened themeadow; of a sudden the flowers were still, and the brook gurgled alonein a world of silence. In silence too, Dan entered the doorway. The chamber within was a spacious one, floored with large black andwhite squares; exquisite benches of carved marble were here and there. Old Leucon, in a far corner, bent over an intricate, glisteningmechanism, and as Dan entered he drew a shining length of silver clothfrom it, folded it, and placed it carefully aside. There was a curious, unearthly fact that Dan noted; despite windows open to the evening, nonight insects circled the globes that glowed at intervals from niches inthe walls. Galatea stood in a doorway to his left, leaning half-wearily against theframe; he placed the bowl of fruit on a bench at the entrance and movedto her side. "This is yours, " she said, indicating the room beyond. He looked in upona pleasant, smaller chamber; a window framed a starry square, and athin, swift, nearly silent stream of water gushed from the mouth of acarved human head on the left wall, curving into a six-foot basin sunkin the floor. Another of the graceful benches covered with the silvercloth completed the furnishings; a single glowing sphere, pendant by achain from the ceiling, illuminated the room. Dan turned to the girl, whose eyes were still unwontedly serious. "This is ideal, " he said, "but, Galatea, how am I to turn out thelight?" "Turn it out?" she said. "You must cap it--so!" A faint smile showedagain on her lips as she dropped a metal covering over the shiningsphere. They stood tense in the darkness; Dan sensed her nearnessachingly, and then the light was on once more. She moved toward thedoor, and there paused, taking his hand. "Dear shadow, " she said softly, "I hope your dreams are music. " She wasgone. Dan stood irresolute in his chamber; he glanced into the large roomwhere Leucon still bent over his work, and the Grey Weaver raised a handin a solemn salutation, but said nothing. He felt no urge for the oldman's silent company and turned back into his room to prepare forslumber. * * * * * Almost instantly, it seemed, the dawn was upon him and bright elfinpipings were all about him, while the odd ruddy sun sent a broadslanting plane of light across the room. He rose as fully aware of hissurroundings as if he had not slept at all; the pool tempted him and hebathed in stinging water. Thereafter he emerged into the centralchamber, noting curiously that the globes still glowed in dim rivalry tothe daylight. He touched one casually; it was cool as metal to hisfingers, and lifted freely from its standard. For a moment he held thecold flaming thing in his hands, then replaced it and wandered into thedawn. Galatea was dancing up the path, eating a strange fruit as rosy as herlips. She was merry again, once more the happy nymph who had greetedhim, and she gave him a bright smile as he chose a sweet green ovoid forhis breakfast. "Come on!" she called. "To the river!" She skipped away toward the unbelievable forest; Dan followed, marvelingthat her lithe speed was so easy a match for his stronger muscles. Thenthey were laughing in the pool, splashing about until Galatea drewherself to the bank, glowing and panting. He followed her as she layrelaxed; strangely, he was neither tired nor breathless, with no senseof exertion. A question recurred to him, as yet unasked. "Galatea, " said his voice, "Whom will you take as mate?" Her eyes went serious. "I don't know, " she said. "At the proper time hewill come. That is a law. " "And will you be happy?" "Of course. " She seemed troubled. "Isn't everyone happy?" "Not where I live, Galatea. " "Then that must be a strange place--that ghostly world of yours. Arather terrible place. " "It is, often enough, " Dan agreed. "I wish--" He paused. What did hewish? Was he not talking to an illusion, a dream, an apparition? Helooked at the girl, at her glistening black hair, her eyes, her softwhite skin, and then, for a tragic moment, he tried to feel the arms ofthat drab hotel chair beneath his hands--and failed. He smiled; hereached out his fingers to touch her bare arm, and for an instant shelooked back at him with startled, sober eyes, and sprang to her feet. "Come on! I want to show you my country. " She set off down the stream, and Dan rose reluctantly to follow. What a day that was! They traced the little river from still pool tosinging rapids, and ever about them were the strange twitterings andpipings that were the voices of the flowers. Every turn brought a newvista of beauty; every moment brought a new sense of delight. Theytalked or were silent; when they were thirsty, the cool river was athand; when they were hungry, fruit offered itself. When they were tired, there was always a deep pool and a mossy bank; and when they wererested, a new beauty beckoned. The incredible trees towered innumberless forms of fantasy, but on their own side of the river wasstill the flower-starred meadow. Galatea twisted him a bright-blossomedgarland for his head, and thereafter he moved always with a sweetsinging about him. But little by little the red sun slanted toward theforest, and the hours dripped away. It was Dan who pointed it out, andreluctantly they turned homeward. As they returned, Galatea sang a strange song, plaintive and sweet asthe medley of river and flower music. And again her eyes were sad. "What song is that?" he asked. "It is a song sung by another Galatea, " she answered, "who is mymother. " She laid her hand on his arm. "I will make it into English foryou. " She sang: "The River lies in flower and fern, In flower and fern it breathes a song. It breathes a song of your return, Of your return in years too long. In years too long its murmurs bring Its murmurs bring their vain replies, Their vain replies the flowers sing, The flowers sing, 'The River lies!'" Her voice quavered on the final notes; there was silence save for thetinkle of water and the flower bugles. Dan said, "Galatea--" and paused. The girl was again somber-eyed, tearful. He said huskily, "That's a sadsong, Galatea. Why was your mother sad? You said everyone was happy inParacosma. " "She broke a law, " replied the girl tonelessly. "It is the inevitableway to sorrow. " She faced him. "She fell in love with a phantom!"Galatea said. "One of your shadowy race, who came and stayed and thenhad to go back. So when her appointed lover came, it was too late; doyou understand? But she yielded finally to the law, and is foreverunhappy, and goes wandering from place to place about the world. " Shepaused. "I shall never break a law, " she said defiantly. Dan took her hand. "I would not have you unhappy, Galatea. I want youalways happy. " She shook her head. "I _am_ happy, " she said, and smiled a tender, wistful smile. They were silent a long time as they trudged the way homeward. Theshadows of the forest giants reached out across the river as the sunslipped behind them. For a distance they walked hand in hand, but asthey reached the path of pebbly brightness near the house, Galatea drewaway 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 hadpaused on the threshold. She watched his approach with eyes in which heagain fancied the glint of tears. "I am very tired, " she said, and slipped within. Dan moved to follow, but the old man raised a staying hand. "Friend from the shadows, " he said, "will you hear me a moment?" Dan paused, acquiesced, and dropped to the opposite bench. He felt asense of foreboding; nothing pleasant awaited him. "There is something to be said, " Leucon continued, "and I say it withoutdesire to pain you, if phantoms feel pain. It is this: Galatea lovesyou, though I think she has not yet realized it. " "I love her too, " said Dan. The Grey Weaver stared at him. "I do not understand. Substance, indeed, may love shadow, but how can shadow love substance?" "I love her, " insisted Dan. "Then woe to both of you! For this is impossible in Paracosma; it is aconfliction with the laws. Galatea's mate is appointed, perhaps even nowapproaching. " "Laws! Laws!" muttered Dan. "Whose laws are they? Not Galatea's normine!" "But they are, " said the Grey Weaver. "It is not for you nor for me tocriticize them--though I yet wonder what power could annul them topermit your presence here!" "I had no voice in your laws. " The old man peered at him in the dusk. "Has anyone, anywhere, a voice inthe laws?" he queried. "In my country we have, " retorted Dan. "Madness!" growled Leucon. "Man-made laws! Of what use are man-made lawswith only man-made penalties, or none at all? If you shadows make a lawthat the wind shall blow only from the east, does the west wind obeyit?" "We do pass such laws, " acknowledged Dan bitterly. "They may be stupid, but they're no more unjust than yours. " "Ours, " said the Grey Weaver, "are the unalterable laws of the world, the laws of Nature. Violation is always unhappiness. I have seen it; Ihave known it in another, in Galatea's mother, though Galatea isstronger than she. " He paused. "Now, " he continued, "I ask only formercy; your stay is short, and I ask that you do no more harm than isalready done. Be merciful; give her no more to regret. " 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 thecorner. Dan turned silent and unhappy to his own chamber, where the jetof water tinkled faintly as a distant bell. 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 herburden, giving him a wan little smile of greeting, and stood facing himas if waiting. "Come with me, Galatea, " he said. "Where?" "To the river bank. To talk. " They trudged in silence to the brink of Galatea's pool. Dan noted asubtle difference in the world about him; outlines were vague, the thinflower pipings less audible, and the very landscape was queerlyunstable, shifting like smoke when he wasn't looking at it directly. Andstrangely, though he had brought the girl here to talk to her, he hadnow nothing to say, but sat in aching silence with his eyes on theloveliness of her face. 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, verysorry. " She touched his cheek with her fingers. "Dear shadow!" "Suppose, " said Dan huskily, "that I won't go. What if I won't leavehere?" His voice grew fiercer. "I'll not go! I'm going to stay!" The calm mournfulness of the girl's face checked him; he felt the ironyof 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!" Forgotten now were the words of the Grey Weaver. "I love you, Galatea, "he said. "And I you, " she whispered. "See, dearest shadow, how I break the samelaw my mother broke, and am glad to face the sorrow it will bring. " Sheplaced her hand tenderly over his. "Leucon is very wise and I am boundto obey him, but this is beyond his wisdom because he let himself growold. " She paused. "He let himself grow old, " she repeated slowly. Astrange light gleamed in her dark eyes as she turned suddenly to Dan. "Dear one!" she said tensely. "That thing that happens to the old--thatdeath of yours! What follows it?" "What follows death?" he echoed. "Who knows?" "But--" Her voice was quivering. "But one can't simply--vanish! Theremust be an awakening. " "Who knows?" said Dan again. "There are those who believe we wake to ahappier world, but--" He shook his head hopelessly. "It must be true! Oh, it must be!" Galatea cried. "There must be morefor you than the mad world you speak of!" She leaned very close. "Suppose, dear, " she said, "that when my appointed lover arrives, I sendhim away. Suppose I bear no child, but let myself grow old, older thanLeucon, old until death. Would I join you in your happier world?" "Galatea!" he cried distractedly. "Oh, my dearest--what a terriblethought!" "More terrible than you know, " she whispered, still very close to him. "It is more than violation of a law; it is rebellion! Everything isplanned, 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_their_ children, and so on until some day the whole great plan ofParacosma fails of whatever its destiny was to be. " Her whisper grewvery faint and fearful. "It is destruction, but I love you more than Ifear--death!" Dan's arms were about her. "No, Galatea! No! Promise me!" She murmured, "I can promise and then break my promise. " She drew hishead down; their lips touched, and he felt a fragrance and a taste likehoney in her kiss. "At least, " she breathed. "I can give you a name bywhich to love you. Philometros! Measure of my love!" "A name?" muttered Dan. A fantastic idea shot through his mind--a way ofproving to himself that all this was reality, and not just a page thatany one could read who wore old Ludwig's magic spectacles. If Galateawould speak his name! Perhaps, he thought daringly, perhaps then hecould stay! He thrust her away. "Galatea!" he cried. "Do you remember my name?" She nodded silently, her unhappy eyes on his. "Then say it! Say it, dear!" She stared at him dumbly, miserably, but made no sound. "Say it, Galatea!" he pleaded desperately. "My name, dear--just myname!" Her mouth moved; she grew pale with effort and Dan could havesworn that his name trembled on her quivering lips, though no soundcame. At last she spoke. "I can't, dearest one! Oh, I can't! A law forbidsit!" She stood suddenly erect, pallid as an ivory carving. "Leuconcalls!" she said, and darted away. Dan followed along the pebbled path, but her speed was beyond his powers; at the portal he found only theGrey Weaver standing cold and stern. He raised his hand as Dan appeared. "Your time is short, " he said. "Go, thinking of the havoc you havedone. " "Where's Galatea?" gasped Dan. "I have sent her away. " The old man blocked the entrance; for a momentDan would have struck him aside, but something withheld him. He staredwildly about the meadow--there! A flash of silver beyond the river, atthe edge of the forest. He turned and raced toward it, while motionlessand cold the Grey Weaver watched him go. "Galatea!" he called. "Galatea!" He was over the river now, on the forest bank, running through columnedvistas that whirled about him like mist. The world had gone cloudy; fineflakes danced like snow before his eyes; Paracosma was dissolving aroundhim. Through the chaos he fancied a glimpse of the girl, but closerapproach left him still voicing his hopeless cry of "Galatea!" After an endless time, he paused; something familiar about the spotstruck him, and just as the red sun edged above him, he recognized theplace--the very point at which he had entered Paracosma! A sense offutility overwhelmed him as for a moment he gazed at an unbelievableapparition--a dark window hung in midair before him through which glowedrows of electric lights. Ludwig's window! It vanished. But the trees writhed and the sky darkened, and he swayeddizzily in turmoil. He realized suddenly that he was no longer standing, but sitting in the midst of the crazy glade, and his hands clutchedsomething smooth and hard--the arms of that miserable hotel chair. Thenat last he saw her, close before him--Galatea, with sorrow-strickenfeatures, her tear-filled eyes on his. He made a terrific effort torise, stood erect, and fell sprawling in a blaze of coruscating lights. He struggled to his knees; walls--Ludwig's room--encompassed him; hemust have slipped from the chair. The magic spectacles lay before him, one lens splintered and spilling a fluid no longer water-clear, butwhite as milk. "God!" he muttered. He felt shaken, sick, exhausted, with a bitter senseof bereavement, and his head ached fiercely. The room was drab, disgusting; he wanted to get out of it. He glanced automatically at hiswatch: four o'clock--he must have sat here nearly five hours. For thefirst time he noticed Ludwig's absence; he was glad of it and walkeddully out of the door to an automatic elevator. There was no responseto his ring; someone was using the thing. He walked three flights to thestreet and back to his own room. 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 onhis bed with a groan that was half a sob. He saw finally the implication of the name Galatea. Galatea--Pygmalion'sstatue, given life by Venus in the ancient Grecian myth. But _his_Galatea, warm and lovely and vital, must remain forever without the giftof life, since he was neither Pygmalion nor God. * * * * * He woke late in the morning, staring uncomprehendingly about for thefountain and pool of Paracosma. Slow comprehension dawned; howmuch--_how much_--of last night's experience had been real? How much wasthe product of alcohol? Or had old Ludwig been right, and was there nodifference between reality and dream? He changed his rumpled attire and wandered despondently to the street. He found Ludwig's hotel at last; inquiry revealed that the diminutiveprofessor had checked out, leaving no forwarding address. 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 througha weary day and then a sleepless night back to Chicago. It was mid-winter when he saw a suggestively tiny figure ahead of him inthe Loop. Ludwig! Yet what use to hail him? His cry was automatic. "Professor Ludwig!" The elfin figure turned, recognized him, smiled. They stepped into theshelter of a building. "I'm sorry about your machine, Professor. I'd be glad to pay for thedamage. " "_Ach_, that was nothing--a cracked glass. But you--have you been ill?You look much the worse. " "It's nothing, " said Dan. "Your show was marvelous, Professor--marvelous! I'd have told you so, but you were gone when itended. " Ludwig shrugged. "I went to the lobby for a cigar. Five hours with a waxdummy, you know!" "It was marvelous!" repeated Dan. "So real?" smiled the other. "Only because you co-operated, then. Ittakes self-hypnosis. " "It was real, all right, " agreed Dan glumly. "I don't understandit--that strange beautiful country. " "The trees were club-mosses enlarged by a lens, " said Ludwig. "All wastrick photography, but stereoscopic, as I told you--three dimensional. The fruits were rubber; the house is a summer building on ourcampus--Northern University. And the voice was mine; you didn't speak atall, except your name at the first, and I left a blank for that. Iplayed your part, you see; I went around with the photographic apparatusstrapped 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 seemeda giant. " "Wait a minute!" said Dan, his mind whirling. "You say you played mypart. Then Galatea--is _she_ real too?" "Tea's real enough, " said the Professor. "My niece, a senior atNorthern, and likes dramatics. She helped me out with the thing. Why?Want to meet her?" Dan answered vaguely, happily. An ache had vanished; a pain was eased. Paracosma was attainable at last!