Two Little Pilgrims' Progress: A Story of the City Beautiful

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

“It seems as if they must be thinking something about it all,” Meg answered. “It could not be that they could stand there and look like that and not know.”

It was she who soon after built up for them the only scheme they made during those enchanted days. It could scarcely be called a plan of action, it was so much an outcome of imagination and part of a vision, but it was a great joy to them through every hour of their pilgrimage.

Standing upon a fairy bridge, looking over shining canals crossed by these fairy bridges again and again, the gold sun lighting snow-white columns, archways, towers, and minarets, statues and rushing fountains, flowers and palms, her child eyes filled with a deep, strange glow of joy and dreaming.

She leaned upon the balustrade in her favorite fashion, her chin upon her hands.

“We need not pretend it is a fairy story, Robin,” she said. “It is a fairy story, but it is real. Who ever thought a fairy story could come true? I’ve made up how it came to be like this.”

“Tell us how,” said Robin, looking over the jewelled water almost as she did.

“It was like this,” she said. “There was a great Magician who was the ruler of all the Genii in all the world. They were all powerful and rich and wonderful magicians, but he could make them obey him, and give him what they stored away. And he said: ‘I will build a splendid City, that all the world shall flock to and wonder at and remember forever. And in it some of all the things in the world shall be seen, so that the people who see it shall learn what the world is like—how huge it is, and what wisdom it has in it, and what wonders! And it will make them know what they are like themselves, because the wonders will be made by hands and feet and brains just like their own. And so they will understand how strong they are—if they only knew it—and it will give them courage and fill them with thoughts.”

She stopped a moment, and Rob pushed her gently with his elbow.

“Go on,” he said, “I like it. It sounds quite true. What else?”

“And he called all the Genii together and called them by their names. There was one who was the king of all the pictures and statues, and the people who worked at making them. They did not know they had a Genius, but they had, and he put visions into their heads, and made them feel restless until they had worked them out into statues and paintings. And the Great Genius said to him: ‘You must build a palace for your people, and make them pour their finest work into it; and all the people who are made to be your workers, whether they know it or not, will look at your palace and see what other ones have done, and wonder if they cannot do it themselves.’ And there was a huge, huge Genius who was made of steel and iron and gold and silver and wheels, and the Magician said to him: ‘Build a great palace, and make your workers fill it with all the machines and marvels they have made, and all who see will know what wonders can be done, and feel that there is no wonder that isn’t done that is too great for human beings to plan.’ And there was a Genius of the strange countries, and one who knew all the plants and flowers and trees that grew, and one who lived at the bottom of the sea and knew the fishes by name and strode about among them. And each one was commanded to build a palace or to make his people work, and they grew so interested that in the end each one wanted his palace and his people to be the most wonderful of all. And so the City was built, and we are in it, Robin, though we are only twelve years old, and nobody cares about us.”