A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

being original, I would not have come here,” said Maskull. “Still, explain—why can’t harsh tones have simple symmetry of form? And why must they necessarily cause more profound emotions in us who listen?”

“Pleasures may harmonise. Pains must clash; and in the order of their clashing lies the symmetry. The emotions follow the music, which is rough and earnest.”

“You may call it music,” remarked Maskull thoughtfully, “but to me it bears a closer resemblance to actual life.”

“If Shaping’s plans had gone straight, life would have been like that other sort of music. He who seeks can find traces of that intention in the world of nature. But as it has turned out, real life resembles my music and mine is the true music.”

“Shall we see living shapes?”

“I don’t know what my mood will be,” returned Earthrid. “But when I have finished, you shall adventure your tune, and produce whatever shapes you please—unless, indeed, the tune is out of your own big body.”

“The shocks you are preparing may kill us,” said Gleameil, in a low, taut voice, “but we shall die, seeing beauty.”

Earthrid looked at her with a dignified expression.

“Neither you, nor any other person, can endure the thoughts which I put into my music. Still, you must have it your own way. It needed a woman to call it ‘beauty.’ But if this is beauty, what is ugliness?”

“That I can tell you, Master,” replied Gleameil, smiling at him. “Ugliness is old, stale life, while yours every night issues fresh from the womb of nature.”

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

As the words left his mouth, the full moon peeped over the hills in the dark eastern sky. They watched it in silence, and soon it was wholly up. It was larger than the moon of Earth, and seemed nearer. Its shadowy parts stood out in just as strong relief, but somehow it did not give Maskull the impression of being a dead world. Branchspell shone on the whole of it, but Alppain only on a part. The broad crescent that reflected Branchspell’s rays alone was white and brilliant; but the part that was illuminated by both suns shone with a greenish radiance that had almost solar power, and yet was cold and cheerless. On gazing at that combined light, he felt the same sense of disintegration that the afterglow of Alppain had always caused in him; but now the feeling was not physical, but merely aesthetic. The moon did not appear romantic to him, but disturbing and mystical.

Earthrid rose, and stood quietly for a minute. In the bright moonlight, his face seemed to have undergone a change. It lost its loose, weak, disagreeable look, and acquired a sort of crafty grandeur. He clapped his hands together meditatively two or three times, and walked up and down. The others stood together, watching him.

Then he sat down by the side of the lake, and, leaning on his side, placed his right hand, open palm downward, on the ground, at the same time stretching out his right leg, so that the foot was in contact with the water.

While Maskull was in the act of staring at him and at the lake, he felt a stabbing sensation right through his heart, as though he had been pierced by a rapier. He barely recovered himself from falling, and as he did so he saw that a spout had formed on the water, and was now subsiding again. The next moment he was knocked down by a violent blow in the mouth, delivered by an invisible hand. He picked himself up; and observed that a second spout had formed. No sooner was he on his legs, than a hideous pain hammered away inside his brain, as if caused by a malignant tumour. In his agony, he stumbled and fell again; this time on the arm Krag had wounded. All his other mishaps were forgotten in this one, which half stunned him. It lasted only a moment, and then sudden relief came, and he found that Earthrid’s rough music had lost its power over him.

He saw him still stretched in the same position. Spouts were coming thick and fast on the lake, which was full of lively motion. But Gleameil was not on her legs. She was lying on the ground, in a heap, without moving. Her attitude was ugly, and he guessed she was dead. When he reached her, he discovered that she was dead. In what state of mind she had died, he did not know, for her face wore the vulgar Crystalman grin. The whole tragedy had not lasted five minutes.

He went over to Earthrid and dragged him forcibly away from his playing.

“You have been as good as your word, musician,” he said. “Gleameil is dead.”

Earthrid tried to collect his scattered senses.

“I warned her,” he replied, sitting up. “Did I not beg her to go away? But she died very easily. She did not wait for the beauty she spoke about. She heard nothing of the passion, nor even of the rhythm. Neither have you.”

Maskull looked down at him in indignation, but said nothing.

“You should not have interrupted me,” went on Earthrid. “When I am playing, nothing else is of importance. I might have lost the thread of my ideas. Fortunately, I never forget. I shall start over again.”

“If music is to continue, in the presence of the dead, I play next.”

The man glanced up quickly.

“That can’t be.”

“It must be,” said Maskull decisively. “I prefer playing to listening. Another reason is that you will have every night, but I have only tonight.”

Earthrid clenched and unclenched his fist, and began to turn pale. “With your recklessness, you are likely to kill us both. Irontick belongs to me, and until you have learned how to play, you would only break the instrument.”

“Well, then, I will break it; but I am going to try.”

The musician jumped to his feet and confronted him. “Do you intend to take it from me by violence?”

“Keep calm! You will have the same choice that you offered us. I shall give you time to go away somewhere.”

“How will that serve me, if you spoil my lake? You don’t understand what you are doing.”

“Go, or stay!” responded Maskull. “I give you till the water gets smooth again. After that, I begin playing.”

Earthrid kept swallowing. He glanced at the lake and back to Maskull.

“Do you swear it?”

“How long that will take, you know better than I; but till then you are safe.”

Earthrid cast him a look of malice, hesitated for an instant, and then moved away, and started to climb the nearest hill. Halfway up he glanced over his shoulder apprehensively, as if to see what was happening. In another minute or so, he had disappeared over the crest, travelling in