A SHOP IN GO-BY STREET
I said I must go back to Yann again and see if _Bird of the River_still plies up and down and whether her bearded captain commands herstill or whether he sits in the gate of fair Belzoond drinking atevening the marvellous yellow wine that the mountaineer brings downfrom the Hian Min. And I wanted to see the sailors again who camefrom Durl and Duz and to hear from their lips what befell Perdondariswhen its doom came up without warning from the hills and fell on thatfamous city. And I wanted to hear the sailors pray at night each tohis own god, and to feel the wind of the evening coolly arise when thesun went flaming away from that exotic river. For I thought neveragain to see the tide of Yann, but when I gave up politics not longago the wings of my fancy strengthened, though they had erstwhiledrooped, and I had hopes of coming behind the East once more whereYann like a proud white war-horse goes through the Lands of Dream.
Yet I had forgotten the way to those little cottages on the edge ofthe fields we know whose upper windows, though dim with antiquecobwebs, look out on the fields we know not and are the starting-pointof all adventure in all the Lands of Dream.
I therefore made enquiries. And so I came to be directed to the shopof a dreamer who lives not far from the Embankment in the City. Amongso many streets as there are in the city it is little wonder thatthere is one that has never been seen before; it is named Go-by Streetand runs out of the Strand if you look very closely. Now when youenter this man's shop you do not go straight to the point but you askhim to sell you something, and if it is anything with which he cansupply you he hands it you and wishes you good-morning. It is hisway. And many have been deceived by asking for some unlikely thing,such as the oyster-shell from which was taken one of those singlepearls that made the gates of Heaven in Revelations, and finding thatthe old man had it in stock.
He was comatose when I went into the shop, his heavy lids almostcovered his little eyes; he sat, and his mouth was open. I said, "Iwant some of Abama and Pharpah, rivers of Damascus." "How much?" hesaid. "Two and a half yards of each, to be delivered to my flat.""That is very tiresome," he muttered, "very tiresome. We do not stockit in that quantity." "Then I will take all you have," I said.
He rose laboriously and looked among some bottles. I saw onelabelled: Nilos, river of AEgyptos; and others Holy Ganges, Phlegethon,Jordan; I was almost afraid he had it, when I heard him mutter again,"This is very tiresome," and presently he said, "We are out of it.""Then," I said, "I wish you to tell me the way to those littlecottages in whose upper chambers poets look out upon the fields weknow not, for I wish to go into the Land of Dream and to sail oncemore upon mighty, sea-like Yann."
At that he moved heavily and slowly in way-worn carpet slippers,panting as he went, to the back part of his shop, and I went with him.This was a dingy lumber-room full of idols: the near end was dingy anddark but at the far end was a blue caerulean glow in which stars seemedto be shining and the heads of the idols glowed. "This," said the fatold man in carpet slippers, "is the heaven of the gods who sleep." Iasked him what gods slept and he mentioned names that I had neverheard as well as names that I knew. "All those," he said, "that arenot worshipped now are asleep."
"Then does Time not kill the gods?" I said to him and he answered,"No. But for three or four thousand years a god is worshipped and forthree or four he sleeps. Only Time is wakeful always."
"But they that teach us of new gods"--I said to him, "are they notnew?"
"They hear the old ones stirring in their sleep being about to wake,because the dawn is breaking and the priests crow. These are thehappy prophets: unhappy are they that hear some old god speak while hesleeps still being deep in slumber, and prophesy and prophesy and nodawn comes, they are those that men stone saying, 'Prophesy where thisstone shall hit you, and this.'"
"Then shall Time never slay the gods," I said. And he answered, "Theyshall die by the bedside of the last man. Then Time shall go mad inhis solitude and shall not know his hours from his centuries of yearsand they shall clamour round him crying for recognition and he shalllay his stricken hands on their heads and stare at them blindly andsay, 'My children, I do not know you one from another,' and at thesewords of Time empty worlds shall reel."
And for some while then I was silent, for my imagination went out intothose far years and looked back at me and mocked me because I was thecreature of a day.
Suddenly I was aware by the old man's heavy breathing that he had goneto sleep. It was not an ordinary shop: I feared lest one of his godsshould wake and call for him: I feared many things, it was so dark,and one or two of those idols were something more than grotesque. Ishook the old man hard by one of his arms.
"Tell me the way to the cottages," I said, "on the edge of the fieldswe know."
"I don't think we can do that," he said.
"Then supply me," I said, "with the goods."
That brought him to his senses. He said, "You go out by the back doorand turn to the right"; and he opened a little, old, dark door in thewall through which I went, and he wheezed and shut the door. The backof the shop was of incredible age. I saw in antique characters upon amouldering board, "Licensed to sell weasels and jade earrings." Thesun was setting now and shone on little golden spires that gleamedalong the roof which had long ago been thatched and with a wonderfulstraw. I saw that the whole of Go-by Street had the same strangeappearance when looked at from behind. The pavement was the same asthe pavement of which I was weary and of which so many thousand mileslay the other side of those houses, but the street was of most pureuntrampled grass with such marvellous flowers in it that they lureddownward from great heights the flocks of butterflies as they traveledby, going I know not whence. The other side of the street there waspavement again but no houses of any kind, and what there was in placeof them I did not stop to see, for I turned to my right and walkedalong the back of Go-by Street till I came to the open fields and thegardens of the cottages that I sought. Huge flowers went up out ofthese gardens like slow rockets and burst into purple blooms and stoodthere huge and radiant on six-foot stalks and softly sang strangesongs. Others came up beside them and bloomed and began singing too.A very old witch came out of her cottage by the back door and into thegarden in which I stood.
"What are these wonderful flowers?" I said to her.
"Hush! Hush!" she said, "I am putting the poets to bed. Theseflowers are their dreams."
And in a lower voice I said: "What wonderful songs are they singing?"and she said, "Be still and listen."
And I listened and found they were singing of my own childhood and ofthings that happened there so far away that I had quite forgotten themtill I heard the wonderful song.
"Why is the song so faint?" I said to her.
"Dead voices," she said, "Dead voices," and turned back again to hercottage saying: "Dead voices" still, but softly for fear that sheshould wake the poets. "They sleep so badly while they live," shesaid.
I stole on tiptoe upstairs to the little room from whose windows,looking one way, we see the fields we know and, looking another, thosehilly lands that I sought--almost I feared not to find them. I lookedat once toward the mountains of faery; the afterglow of the sunsetflamed on them, their avalanches flashed on their violet slopes comingdown tremendous from emerald peaks of ice; and there was the old gapin the blue-grey hills above the precipice of amethyst whence one seesthe Lands of Dream.
All was still in the room where the poets slept when I came quietlydown. The old witch sat by a table with a lamp, knitting a splendidcloak of gold and green for a king that had been dead a thousandyears.
"Is it any use," I said, "to the king that is dead that you sit andknit him a cloak of gold and green?"
"Who knows?" she said.
"What a silly question to ask," said her old black cat who lay curledby the fluttering fire.
Already the stars were shining on that romantic land when I closed thewitch's door; already the glow-worms were mounting guard for the nightaround those ma
gical cottages. I turned and trudged for the gap inthe blue-grey mountains.
Already when I arrived some colour began to show in the amethystprecipice below the gap although it was not yet morning. I heard arattling and sometimes caught a flash from those golden dragons faraway below me that are the triumph of the goldsmiths of Sirdoo andwere given life by the ritual incantations of the conjurer Amargrarn.On the edge of the opposite cliff, too near I thought for safety, Isaw the ivory palace of Singanee that mighty elephant-hunter; smalllights appeared in windows, the slaves were awake, and beginning withheavy eyelids the work of the day.
And now a ray of sunlight topped the world. Others than I mustdescribe how it swept from the amethyst cliff the shadow of the blackone that opposed it, how that one shaft of sunlight pierced theamethyst for leagues, and how the rejoicing colour leaped up towelcome the light and shot back a purple glow on the walls of thepalace of ivory while down in that incredible ravine the goldendragons still played in the darkness.
At this moment a female slave came out by a door of the palace andtossed a basket-full of sapphires over the edge. And when day wasmanifest on those marvellous heights and the flare of the amethystprecipice filled the abyss, then the elephant-hunter arose in hisivory palace and took his terrific spear and going out by a landwarddoor went forth to avenge Perdondaris
I turned then and looked upon the lands of Dream, and the thin whitemist that never rolls quite away was shifting in the morning. Risinglike isles above it I saw the Hills of Hap and the city of copper,old, deserted Bethmoora, and Utnar Vehi and Kyph and Mandaroon and thewandering leagues of Yann. Rather I guessed than saw the Hian Minwhose imperturbable and aged heads scarce recognize for more thanclustered mounds the round Acroctian hills, that are heaped abouttheir feet and that shelter, as I remembered, Durl and Duz. But mostclearly I discerned that ancient wood through which one going down tothe bank of Yann whenever the moon is old may come on _Bird of theRiver_ anchored there, waiting three days for travellers, as has beenprophesied of her. And as it was now that season I hurried down fromthe gap in the blue-grey hills by an elfin path that was coeval withfable, and came by means of it to the edge of the wood. Black thoughthe darkness was in that ancient wood the beasts that moved in it wereblacker still. It is very seldom that any dreamer travelling in Landsof Dream is ever seized by these beasts, and yet I ran; for if a man'sspirit is seized in the Lands of Dream his body may survive it formany years and well know the beasts that mouthed him far away and thelook in their little eyes and the smell of their breath; that is whythe recreation field at Hanwell is so dreadfully trodden into restlesspaths.
And so I came at last to the sea-like flood of proud, tremendous Yann,with whom there tumbled streams from incredible lands--with these hewent by singing. Singing he carried drift-wood and whole trees,fallen in far-away, unvisited forests, and swept them mightily by, butno sign was there either out in the river or in the olden anchoragenear by of the ship I came to see.
And I built myself a hut and roofed it over with the huge abundantleaves of a marvellous weed and ate the meat that grows on thetargar-tree and waited there three days. And all day long the rivertumbled by and all night long the tolulu-bird sang on and the hugefireflies had no other care than to pour past in torrents of dancingsparks, and nothing rippled the surface of the Yann by day and nothingdisturbed the tolulu-bird by night. I know not what I feared for theship I sought and its friendly captain who came from fair Belzoond andits cheery sailors out of Durl and Duz; all day long I looked for iton the river and listened for it by night until the dancing firefliesdanced me to sleep. Three times only in those three nights thetolulu-bird was scared and stopped his song, and each time I awokewith a start and found no ship and saw that he was only scared by thedawn. Those indescribable dawns upon the Yann came up like flames insome land over the hills where a magician burns by secret meansenormous amethysts in a copper pot. I used to watch them in wonderwhile no bird sang--till all of a sudden the sun came over a hill andevery bird but one began to sing, and the tolulu-bird slept fast, tillout of an opening eye he saw the stars.
I would have waited three more days, but on the third day I had gonein my loneliness to see the very spot where first I met _Bird of theRiver_ at her anchorage with her bearded captain sitting on the deck.And as I looked at the black mud of the harbour and pictured in mymind that band of sailors whom I had not seen for two years, I saw anold hulk peeping from the mud. The lapse of centuries seemed partlyto have rotted and partly to have buried in the mud all but the prowof the boat and on the prow I faintly saw a name. I read it slowly--it was _Bird of the River._ And then I knew that, while in Ireland andLondon two years had barely passed over my head, ages had gone overthe region of Yann and wrecked and rotted that once familiar ship, andburied years ago the bones of the youngest of my friends, who so oftensang to me of Durl and Duz or told the dragon-legends of Belzoond.For beyond the world we know there roars a hurricane of centurieswhose echo only troubles--though sorely--our fields; while elsewherethere is calm. I stayed a moment by that battered hulk and said aprayer for whatever may be immortal of those who were wont to sail itdown the Yann, and I prayed for them to the gods to whom they loved topray, to the little lesser gods that bless Belzoond. Then leaving thehut that I built to those ravenous years I turned my back to the Yannand entering the forest at evening just as its orchids were openingtheir petals to perfume the night came out of it in the morning, andpassed that day along the amethyst gulf by the gap in the blue-greymountains. I wondered if Singanee, that mighty elephant-hunter, hadreturned again with his spear to his lofty ivory palace or if his doomhad been one with that of Perdondaris. I saw a merchant at a smallback door selling new sapphires as I passed the palace, then I went onand came as twilight fell to those small cottages where the elfinmountains are in sight of the fields we know. And I went to the oldwitch that I had seen before and she sat in her parlour with a redshawl round her shoulders still knitting the golden cloak, and faintlythrough one of her windows the elfin mountains shone and I saw againthrough another the fields we know.
"Tell me something," I said, "of this strange land!"
"How much do you know?" she said. "Do you know that dreams areillusion?"
"Of course I do," I said. "Every one knows that."
"Oh no they don't," she said, "the mad don't know it."
"That is true," I said.
"And do you know," she said, "that Life is illusion?"
"Of course it is not," I said. "Life is real, Life is earnest----."
At that the witch and her cat (who had not moved from her old place bythe hearth) burst into laughter. I stayed some time, for there wasmuch that I wished to ask, but when I saw that the laughter would notstop I turned and went away.