I have done so, upon my journey. I was stripped
of all my certainties and felt physically afraid. But I
survived, did I not? I want you to consider other possibilities. In that respect, at least, we may be more fortunate than those who came before us. I was once your
orator. May I be permitted to impart one last lesson? I
know that other ages, like that of Mouldwarp, refused
to countenance or understand any reality but their
own. That is why they perished. If we do not learn to
doubt, then perhaps our own age will die. Now you
are laughing at me again. Perhaps I have become a
fool, to make you wise. What did you cry? I am out
of harmony? I have always been so! Do you remember that in school we were taught that to be beautiful
is to be virtuous? You see that I do not exactly fulfil the
criterion of physical beauty. My body does not conform
to the divine pattern of harmony. So I learned that I
must follow my own path. You say that I have therefore departed from the proper way, but let me elucidate my own law of harmony. I would rather despise
the whole world than be out of harmony with my own
self. If others condemn me, then I will stand alone.
And that, Sidonia, is all I can remember.
52
You may sit or stand as you wish, Plato. This is the judgment
of London. The citizens have decided that you are innocent of
any attempt to corrupt the young. They have also concluded
that you have not lied or prevaricated in your testimony. They
believe that you suffered some fevered dream or hallucination
while you lay among your papers. That is all. Your mask of
oratory will be returned to you.
No. Wait. Is it not the custom that I should now pronounce sentence against myself?
But there is no sentence. You have not been charged with
any wrongdoing. The city has acquitted you. There is no
more to say.
I understand that. If I may put it differently, there is no more for me to say. I have not been condemned as a liar or as an impostor, but I have been judged a dreamer or mistaken visionary who is not worthy of attention. All I have said or done is merely some fitful delusion. So now I pronounce sentence against myself. I cannot exist in a world which will ignore me or deride me—or, worse, pity me. I condemn myself to perpetual exile. I wish to be taken under escort beyond the walls of the city never to return.
This is madness.
But have I not been accused of madness already? What else could you expect from me but further folly? At least you will be rid of me.
We have no more authority in this matter, Plato. We are
dissolved.
53
Plato:
So you have been chosen to escort me beyond the walls.
Sidonia:
Unhappily, yes. We are from the same parish, and I sat beside you in the Academy. What greater bond could exist? But, Plato, none of us has any wish to see you wander abroad.
Plato:
I will wander and wonder. Perhaps I will find the old world again. Perhaps there is a cave or threshold in some distant place.
Sidonia:
It was one of your suggestions at the trial.
Plato:
Do you believe me, Sidonia? It is foolish of me, I suppose, but it would be some comfort to know that one of my childhood companions recognised the truth of my journey.
Sidonia:
Are you sure that you believe it yourself?
Plato:
It no longer matters what I believe.
Sidonia:
You doubt yourself, and so you have spread doubt.
Plato:
Our ancestors, Sidonia, were told that the first inhabitants of London were giants. There are stories of them carving great hills and valleys in which the city was planted. But what if this were prophecy, not history? What if we are the giants of which they had heard?
Sidonia:
You are confusing me again.
Plato:
Then it is better that I be gone and bother you no more.
Sidonia:
Will you ever return?
Plato:
Who can say?
Sidonia:
You know, Plato, that I shall miss you.
Plato:
Think of me as someone within a dream. Then I will never have left you.
54
Sparkler:
Look. There he goes. Do you see how many children are following him down Lud Hill?
of all my certainties and felt physically afraid. But I
survived, did I not? I want you to consider other possibilities. In that respect, at least, we may be more fortunate than those who came before us. I was once your
orator. May I be permitted to impart one last lesson? I
know that other ages, like that of Mouldwarp, refused
to countenance or understand any reality but their
own. That is why they perished. If we do not learn to
doubt, then perhaps our own age will die. Now you
are laughing at me again. Perhaps I have become a
fool, to make you wise. What did you cry? I am out
of harmony? I have always been so! Do you remember that in school we were taught that to be beautiful
is to be virtuous? You see that I do not exactly fulfil the
criterion of physical beauty. My body does not conform
to the divine pattern of harmony. So I learned that I
must follow my own path. You say that I have therefore departed from the proper way, but let me elucidate my own law of harmony. I would rather despise
the whole world than be out of harmony with my own
self. If others condemn me, then I will stand alone.
And that, Sidonia, is all I can remember.
52
You may sit or stand as you wish, Plato. This is the judgment
of London. The citizens have decided that you are innocent of
any attempt to corrupt the young. They have also concluded
that you have not lied or prevaricated in your testimony. They
believe that you suffered some fevered dream or hallucination
while you lay among your papers. That is all. Your mask of
oratory will be returned to you.
No. Wait. Is it not the custom that I should now pronounce sentence against myself?
But there is no sentence. You have not been charged with
any wrongdoing. The city has acquitted you. There is no
more to say.
I understand that. If I may put it differently, there is no more for me to say. I have not been condemned as a liar or as an impostor, but I have been judged a dreamer or mistaken visionary who is not worthy of attention. All I have said or done is merely some fitful delusion. So now I pronounce sentence against myself. I cannot exist in a world which will ignore me or deride me—or, worse, pity me. I condemn myself to perpetual exile. I wish to be taken under escort beyond the walls of the city never to return.
This is madness.
But have I not been accused of madness already? What else could you expect from me but further folly? At least you will be rid of me.
We have no more authority in this matter, Plato. We are
dissolved.
53
Plato:
So you have been chosen to escort me beyond the walls.
Sidonia:
Unhappily, yes. We are from the same parish, and I sat beside you in the Academy. What greater bond could exist? But, Plato, none of us has any wish to see you wander abroad.
Plato:
I will wander and wonder. Perhaps I will find the old world again. Perhaps there is a cave or threshold in some distant place.
Sidonia:
It was one of your suggestions at the trial.
Plato:
Do you believe me, Sidonia? It is foolish of me, I suppose, but it would be some comfort to know that one of my childhood companions recognised the truth of my journey.
Sidonia:
Are you sure that you believe it yourself?
Plato:
It no longer matters what I believe.
Sidonia:
You doubt yourself, and so you have spread doubt.
Plato:
Our ancestors, Sidonia, were told that the first inhabitants of London were giants. There are stories of them carving great hills and valleys in which the city was planted. But what if this were prophecy, not history? What if we are the giants of which they had heard?
Sidonia:
You are confusing me again.
Plato:
Then it is better that I be gone and bother you no more.
Sidonia:
Will you ever return?
Plato:
Who can say?
Sidonia:
You know, Plato, that I shall miss you.
Plato:
Think of me as someone within a dream. Then I will never have left you.
54
Sparkler:
Look. There he goes. Do you see how many children are following him down Lud Hill?
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