The Pilgrim's Regress by C. S. Lewis Page A

he is a fact.’
    â€˜This is very surprising,’ said Vertue. ‘I do not see how you have come together, or what your common principles can possibly be.’
    â€˜We are united by a common antagonism to a common enemy,’ said Humanist. ‘You must understand that we are three brothers, the sons of old Mr. Enlightenment of the town of Claptrap.’
    â€˜I know him,’ said John.
    â€˜Our father was married twice,’ continued Humanist. ‘Once to a lady name Epichaerecacia, and afterwards to Euphuia. By his first wife he had a son called Sigmund who is thus our step-brother.’
    â€˜I know him too,’ said John.
    â€˜We are the children of his second marriage,’ said Humanist.
    â€˜Then,’ cried Vertue, ‘we are related—if you care to acknowledge the kinship. You have probably heard that Euphuia had a child before she married your father. I was that child—though I confess that I never discovered who my father was and enemies have hinted that I am a bastard.’
    â€˜You have said quite sufficient,’ replied Angular. ‘You can hardly expect that the subject should be agreeable to us. I might add that my office, if there were nothing else, sets me apart even from my legitimate relations.’
    â€˜And what about the common antagonism?’ said John.
    â€˜We were all brought up,’ said Humanist, ‘by our step-brother in the university at Eschropolis, and we learned there to see that whoever stays with Mr. Halfways must either come on to Eschropolis or else remain at Thrill as the perpetual minion of his brown daughter.’
    â€˜You had not been with Mr. Halfways yourselves, then?’ asked John.
    â€˜Certainly not. We learned to hate him from watching the effect which his music had on other people. Hatred of him is the first thing that unites us. Next, we discovered how residence in Eschropolis inevitably leads to the giant’s dungeon.’
    â€˜I know all about that too,’ said John.
    â€˜Our common hatred therefore links us together against the giant, against Eschropolis, and against Mr. Halfways.’
    â€˜But specially against the latter,’ said Classical.
    â€˜I should rather say,’ remarked Angular, ‘against half-measures and compromises of all sorts—against any pretence that there is any kind of goodness or decency, any even tolerable temporary resting place, on this side of the Grand Canyon.’
    â€˜And that,’ said Classical, ‘is why Angular is for me, in one sense, the enemy, but, in another, the friend. I cannot agree with his notions about the other side of the canyon: but just because he relegates his delusions to the other side, he is free to agree with me about this side and to be an implacable exposer (like myself) of all attempts to foist upon us any transcendental, romantical, optimistic trash.’
    â€˜My own feeling,’ said Humanist, ‘is rather that Angular is with me in guarding against any confusion of the levels of experience. He canalizes all the mystical nonsense—the sehnsucht and Wanderlust and Nympholepsy —and transfers them to the far side: that prevents their drifting about on this side and hindering our real function. It leaves us free to establish a really tolerable and even comfortable civilization here on the plateau; a culture based alike on those truths which Mr. Sensible acknowledges and on those which the giant reveals, but throwing over both alike a graceful veil of illusion. And that way we shall remain human: we shall not become beasts with the giant nor abortive angels with Mr. Halfways.’
    â€˜The young gentleman is asleep, sir,’ said Drudge: and indeed John had sunk down some time ago.
    â€˜You must excuse him,’ said Vertue. ‘He found the road long to-day.’
    Then I saw that all six men lay down together in the sacking. The night was far colder than the night they passed in Mr.