on features found in Pagan, Mohammedan and Christian religious
systems. The brief prayer to the Sun's majesty, which I have quoted
elsewhere, that is uttered by all on their knees at the hours of
sunrise and sunset, savours in principle of the terse invocations to
Allah, deemed by Mahomet as most suitable to the human temperament
and understanding. On the other hand, the weekly obligatory holiday
derives probably from Jewish tradition. Again, the elaborate ceremonies
held annually in the principal temple whereat the King offers incense
in public at the crystal altar of the Sun seem to recall the mediæval
pageants of the Roman Church, though possibly they may be copied
from much older forms of worship on the Earth. But in contrast with
these strictly spiritual forms, it is noteworthy that the occasions
of births, deaths and marriages are treated in a civilian spirit,
if I may so express it. Births are merely registered or reported to
the appointed members of the council or their itinerant officials;
marriage is almost wholly a betrothal within the family circle, and
consists of an exchange of rings between the bride and bridegroom in
the presence of their respective relations. Death is accompanied with
small display of ceremony. Cremation is compulsory here, and after the
corpse has been duly prepared, a pyre is made either in the garden of
the deceased's home or else in a public enclosure utilised for the
purpose. In aristocratic or wealthy families the ashes are generally
preserved within the family chapel or mausoleum; those who are poor
or indifferent merely leave the little urn in the public columbarium.
There are regular charges by the Government for the performance of
cremation, varying with the opulence or poverty of the family applying.
Death is never attended with any demonstration of woe or wailing, or
indeed by any sort of openly expressed mourning, except in the case
of widows and orphans, who usually hold themselves in retirement for
a month or so after the event. To mourn loudly or to give vent to
excessive grief is regarded as ill-bred, at any rate in the upper
classes, as also indicating the fear lest the departed one may not
through his life have earned the full benefits of the Hereafter,
which is the due reward of every well-behaved citizen. Of course,
genuine sorrow and desolation are not scorned or mocked; such feelings
are respected by those outside, but it is the custom and aim of the
Meleagrians to conceal their feelings as assiduously as possible; and
indeed to hide a stricken heart under a smiling face is accounted no
small virtue in itself, and in the nobility a necessary proof of
gentle manners.
Death is universally regarded as the portal to another life, which may
be either material in the form of a reincarnation on the planet itself,
or of a spiritual or higher phase of existence in the mystical realm of
the Sun-god. In any case, it is held that the continuity of personal
existence is not interrupted by the accident of death, though there is
no definite opinion or belief as to the nature of the new life that
succeeds. Having no literature in print or script, naturally all such
theories of the Hereafter are very nebulous, so that numerous views as
to the nature of the future life are held, though all such views are
variable rather than contradictory or combative. Thus many aver that
the Meleagrian never really dies, but that a death in one spot merely
connotes a birth in another; and that the individual is born again
and again, each time into a different social sphere, till finally he
becomes a member of the hierarchy, whose priests when they expire are
absorbed directly into the family of the Sun-god.
And here I may state that, paradoxical though it may appear, the theory
of the Hereafter is apparently held as firmly by the hierarchy as
by the people at large. Of course the opinions of these enlightened
persons differ fundamentally from those of the ignorant mass of the
Meleagrians, whose easy-going theory of transmigration of soul, or
rather of vital personality, is naturally repugnant and absurd
to their educated minds. Their aspirations are necessarily more
lofty, though what their actual fixed belief is I cannot tell, and
I much doubt whether any member of the hierarchy could explain it
satisfactorily himself. For these councillors have full cognizance of
all the faiths and creeds, to say nothing of the numerous forms of
un-faith and philosophic doubt, that flourish on our Earth, to guide or
hinder them in their choice of a definite religion; yet I am assured,
and I believe the assurance, they all cling to the belief of the
Hereafter in spite of the knowledge of their own Great Imposture and
their close acquaintance with terrestrial ethics. Probably the simple
but precise religious education of their childhood produces a mental
soil wherein agnosticism and infidelity positively refuse to take
root and flourish; and though they must have received a most painful
rebuff in the total destruction of their early religious teaching, yet
their minds are so attuned thereby that they merely cast about with
more or less success to find some suitable theory or form of belief
that will fill the aching void created by the recent revelation of
The Secret and all that it implies. That any one of them has actually
been converted to any Herthian creed, I very gravely doubt. From
generation to generation for some two thousand years these councillors
have watched so many prophets and messiahs arise in all corners of our
Earth, and again they have noted the beginning, the rise, the zenith,
the decline and the extinction of so many cults;--how can they possibly
assert which is or was the genuine form of belief? Their conclusions,
if conclusions they can be called, remain as a sealed book to me; and
though I have taken part in many arguments on this weighty subject with
the Arch-priest and also with other members of the hierarchy, I shall
never really catch a firm grip of this elusive religious _fata morgana_
of the Meleagrian intellectuals. In one important respect however I
have learned that the councillors are pretty unanimous--namely, in
extolling the expressed opinion of St Paul that the blessing of the
Hereafter is not necessarily an inalienable gift to man. "The wages of
sin is death," and "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole
world and lose his soul?" are, I know, maxims that are admitted and
approved by these all-knowing members of the hierarchy. Sin, they hold,
is any disobedience or treachery in connection with their sacred trust
of ruling the people of Meleager for their own good; and the failure or
omission to perform plain duty brings its own punishment in the shape
of Death, not the casual death of the body but a complete blotting
out and annihilation of the soul, the termination of progressive
personality both now and for ever. This view of their responsibilities
acts as a warning voice in the ear of each councillor, who may ever
be tempted to a possible betrayal of his trust either towards his own
order or towards the Meleagrian people; and it is perhaps this sense
of an automatic obliterating Nemesis that makes the elaborate machine
of Meleagrian state craft work so smoothly in the hands of those who
are alike strictly accountable both as rulers and servants of the
community.
XIII
Although I have described the three estates of the realm as being
clearly delineated by their social boundaries, yet there is one element
of union betwixt them all that I have so far left unnoticed. This I may
call the intellectual bond that in some degree seems to weld together
these three well-defined classes. There is, of course, no literature in
the accepted term amongst the Meleagrians, for they own neither books
nor manuscripts, the power to read and write being vested solely in the
educated hierarchy. On the other hand, the brains of the people are at
least as quick and comprehensive as are those of Earth-dwellers, whilst
the tenacity of memory in the more gifted individuals is amazing.
In our English life, even in this generation of compulsory popular
education, it is no uncommon thing to meet with persons in the humbler
ranks of society who despite all these modern boasted advantages have
for one reason or another failed to acquire or to remember the arts of
reading and writing. Some proportion of such illiterates is undoubtedly
of inferior mentality, but a large fraction also consists of persons
whose minds are conspicuously acute and retentive. Again and again when
on the Earth have I been struck by the marked ability of invention and
memory displayed by certain individuals who cannot decipher a journal
nor write a letter. On the other hand, the mass of the semi-educated,
who are all voracious readers of the trashy or unwholesome printed
stuff of the present time, are appallingly, hopelessly ignorant of
all things that are worth learning or remembering. In Meleager, with
its literary limitations, intellect is shown not in a smattering of
ill-digested education, but in natural taste, in the exercise of
memory, and in exceptional powers of invention. One reads in works
belonging to the past of the _improvvisatori_ of Italy, of the bards of
mediæval Wales, of the minnesinger of Germany, of the troubadours of
Provence, and it is this obsolete type of self-culture that dominates
and guides the aspiring Meleagrian mind. There exists hardly a family
or household in each estate that does not possess at least one member
who is born with a definite taste or instinct for mental prowess,
which is shown in his capacity to learn and retain in youth the myths
or poems repeated to him by his elders. From these early and simple
efforts of the mind such an one passes to the higher plane of invention
and of composition. A stripling so endowed is almost always persuaded
to persevere; his tales or verses are listened to and discussed with
all seriousness by his friends and family; and if his efforts come
to find favour he may by degrees win a reputation that will tend to
spread. The popular class in particular produces many such orators,
whether they declaim original matter or the works of others. These
persons are in frequent demand at all gatherings in their immediate
circle, whilst a certain proportion of them are able to obtain a wider
notoriety and to gain their living from the fees they receive for
their powers of entertainment. In these successful instances the poet
or entertainer, if he be of humble origin, will often be invited to
appear and recite in the houses of his superiors; and if his good luck
or genuine talents lead him yet further, it is not unlikely he may
eventually, if he be so minded, obtain a species of social adoption
into a higher sphere than that of his birth. It is no very uncommon
thing for an _improvvisatore_ so endowed to be finally elected into the
estate of the nobility, and to be allowed the use of the crimson robe,
though such a privilege is never extended to his wife or family. Having
once attained to this eminence, in spite of his plebeian origin he is
of course eligible to be entered as a neophyte, which is the first step
towards ultimate admission to the ranks of the hierarchy.
This then is the ladder that has occasionally assisted certain
naturally gifted members of the lower social orders to ascend even to
the council of state; thus it is that the intellectual cream of the
Meleagrian populace is enabled to rise to the surface. No doubt the
proportion of plebeians in that exclusive assembly is very small; still
such a consummation is shown to be not wholly unattainable, and the
hope of so exalted an honour, however remote and improbable, acts as a
spur to such persons of the middle and lower classes as own exceptional
abilities and possess the ambition to serve their country in this wise.
Meleagrian poetry, to which I am of necessity or politeness compelled
to sit a constant listener, seems to me to be at least on a level
with that of my former country; whilst the tales, be they amorous,
didactic, gruesome or comical, are often delightful in themselves and
are moreover always related with a charm and restraint of manner that
might well be adopted by our own professional lecturers who have the
backing of innumerable libraries behind them. There is in fact an
enormous quantity of what I may call floating unwritten literature of
considerable value; for any tale or poem which happens to hit the taste
of an audience soon becomes public property, and is learned by rote
and repeated by other less successful orators, so that the author's
fame becomes widespread. I have only to add that the ear, the wit and
the memory of this illiterate race are all so delicately adjusted and
attuned that it is no easy matter for the average would-be entertainer
to acquire popularity and high recompense in his self-chosen
profession. It is only a very few who rise to general esteem and to
high honour and affluence; whilst of the others a large proportion are
content to cultivate a good method and modest style of recitation, and
only to declaim the works of such as have already attained a definite
celebrity.
XIV
Since I wrote these pages I have met with an extraordinary but most
fortunate experience, which I have been able to turn to my own profit
with regard to the safe delivery of my manuscript. I shall relate the
circumstances as briefly as I can, for I have not overmuch space left
on this scroll, and I find my message must be limited to one piece.
Yesterday, being the holiday of the week, I rode out a-hunting with
Hiridia and other members of my Court amid the hilly region of forest
that lies behind the city. We were engaged in hotly pursuing a wounded
doe, and in the course of our chase came upon a wide open plateau in
the midst of the woods. Across this we all galloped, and my mount being
far fleeter than those of my companions, I soon outstripped them all
and rushed forward into the forest beyond. I am not usually very intent
on hounding down a stricken animal, but on this occasion I continued to
charge wildly ahead, dodging the many trunks and branches in a manner
that would have done credit to a colonial Bushman. The hot lust of the
chase for once fired my blood, and I felt the true afflatus of the
eager sportsman in my brain, as I tore madly onward, recking nothing
of the surrounding danger or the possibility of getting lost. Suddenly
I was stopped in my headlong career by the bough of a tree striking
me full across the breast with considerable force. A quick struggle
to retain my saddle and stirrups, an unusually fierce plunge from my
excited horse, and a moment later I found myself clinging with both
arms to the opposing branch with my steed escaping from under me. I
watched his quarters disappear into the enveloping scrub, and for a few
seconds could distinguish the crackling sound of his tearing through
the undergrowth till all was silent. I now dropped cautiously to the
ground below, where I found myself none the worse for my misadventure,
save for a few scratches and bruises. My plight, if disagreeable and
untimely, was not in the least fraught with danger, for I was sure to
be sought and discovered by my comrades at any rate before many hours
could pass. I felt however no inclination to lie quietly where I had
fallen, so I decided to retrace my steps in the direction whither I
imagined my friends to be approaching. So I rose and began guessing
my way by means of the broken twigs and trampled grass caused by my
horse's late gallop in the forest. But I must evidently have soon
strayed from the desired direction, for after a time I lighted upon
a well-defined track or pad, such as used to be familiar to me in
the Australian bush; and thinking this track would certainly lead me
towards some habitation, I followed its meanderings beneath the tall
trees, whose leafy heads served to exclude a good deal of the waning
afternoon light. Having threaded this little path for no small distance
I suddenly found it emerge from the woodlands into a charming secluded
little valley, watered by a clear purling stream trickling through
bright green pastures that were thickly set with masses of the fragrant
yellow narcissus. Beyond the brook and facing me stood a house of some
size, recalling one of the mysterious Algerian _koubbas_ with its plain
white-washed walls and its low cupolas. I hastened forward with the
intention of demanding assistance, and had already leaped the narrow
stream and was ankle-deep amongst the perfumed yellow blossoms, when
I caught sight of a figure in long white draperies seated in a chair
that was set on the usual low gallery outside the house. As I drew near
enough to distinguish the man's countenance, I was seized with a sudden
spasm of intense astonishment, for the white-robed senator sitting
there full in the golden light of the setting sun was no other than my
old acquaintance on Earth--Arrigo d'Aragno!
But if real surprise were manifested (as I have no doubt must have
been the case) on my own visage, I am sure I never saw terror, genuine
abject terror, ever depicted so plainly on any face before. Some
hideous apparition or the sudden realisation of an impending doom could
alone have produced that look on any countenance. D'Aragno's complexion
turned ashy-grey, his thick lower lip fell, his eyes took on a
glassy stare, as they surveyed my approaching form; yet so stupefied
was the poor man from shock that he was obviously unable to arouse
himself. Naturally, I was the quicker to recover from the effects of
this unexpected meeting, and with a voice fairly well under control
I merely remarked in English: "Have you no word of greeting, Signor
d'Aragno, for your King, who stands in some slight need of your help?"
My words seem to have brought the required force to break the spell of
temporary paralysis, for the poor fellow, half-rising from his seat,
began to blurt out some incoherent sentences. I drew still nearer, and
my advance, whilst certainly increasing his horror, at least served to
render d'Aragno more active in his movements, for hurriedly bestirring
himself and casting a furtive look round the peaceful empty scene,
he motioned to me to enter the house by an open doorway just behind
his chair. When we were both inside the room, he hurriedly bolted the
door, and then sank utterly exhausted on to a couch, whereon I feared
for a moment he was about to indulge in a prolonged, or perhaps even
a fatal, fainting fit. Presently however, to my relief, he exhibited
signs of recovery, whilst I stood motionless at a little distance from
him, patiently waiting for him to speak and feeling to my intense
inward satisfaction that somehow or other I had in this unsought and
unexpected interview the advantage over my late captor on Earth.
"Why, why have you entered my house? How have you managed to find me?
Who can have told you of my whereabouts?" Such were the first questions
the prostrate d'Aragno contrived to hiss out from his swollen purple
lips. But I continued to maintain my calm not to say haughty attitude,
and thus allowed the unhappy councillor for some time longer to
imagine that I had found my way hither with the special purpose of his
discomfiture, for from his confused and disjointed ejaculations I grew
quickly to comprehend that our strange encounter was liable to prove
a fatal catastrophe for him, d'Aragno. After keeping silence thus for
several minutes, with a contemptuous smile of amusement and pity, I
told him of my accident out hunting and how I had wandered hither by
the merest chance. My statements seemed at first slightly to mollify
his alarm, but an instant later he was again in contortions of renewed
terror lest my comrades should trace me to this spot and report the
matter to the hierarchy. I began to grow impatient and rather angry
with this unedifying exhibition of selfish cowardice, so I spoke at
last sharply to the agonised senator. But I need not trouble my readers
with a detailed account of our lengthy conversation, beyond that its
salient points were these, and very interesting they were to me. It
seems that d'Aragno did accompany me in my strange aerial voyage to
Meleager, which terminated (as I had so often expected) at the temple
on Mount Crystal. From that time up till the present moment he had
been living in strict retirement in this remote sequestered valley, in
accordance with the inexorable rule of the hierarchy, which positively
forbids under pain of immediate death any meeting or communication
whatsoever between the Earth-born King of Meleager and the envoy who
has selected him for that royal office. And now in truth a deadly bolt
had fallen out of the blue into the quiet existence which d'Aragno
looked to enjoy for the remainder of his days in this pleasant place of
hiding. I could not repress some qualms of sympathy for my unwilling
host; still, such feelings were not a little tempered by the secret
sense of gratified vengeance, when I reflected on the dictatorial
advice and threatening attitude of which I had had experience some few
years ago in London. However I brushed aside my rancour, and assuming
a cheerful countenance I patted the lamenting senator familiarly on
the back, bidding him take courage, as my courtiers were not likely to
seek me in his house, and even if perchance they did come this way,
what was to prevent the concealment of my presence here? So we fell
to less dismal discourse, and likewise to food, for I was very hungry
and insisted on my host supplying me with a substantial meal, which he
fetched himself. I sat down to eat with a good appetite, the while poor
d'Aragno, too agitated to ply a knife and fork, watched me do justice
to the cold meats, rolls, fruits and excellent home-grown wine he had
placed before me.
During this time d'Aragno gave me information on several points that
had hitherto puzzled me. I learned from him that the Meleagrians
always keep two ambassadors on the Earth, who are replaced from time
to time, and need nevermore repeat their excursion thither. I also
gathered--indirectly, it is true, for d'Aragno was discreet to the
verge of obstinacy--that constant intercommunication is maintained
between their envoys on the Earth and the hierarchy in Meleager by
means of crystal-gazing globes, whose properties allow of a code of
signalling, no matter what the intervening space may be. Possibly there
are other sources of mutual information between the two planets, but
this use of crystal-gazing I conclude to be one of their principal
means employed. On the subject of my own levitation or conveyance
whilst in an unconscious state to Meleager, d'Aragno simply pursed
his lips and steadfastly refused to reply; so seeing any attempt
on this head would prove idle, I finally turned the conversation.
In the matter of his own position and safety in Meleager, my host
was more communicative. He was, he said, treated with the greatest
distinction by the whole hierarchy, with whom he was in constant touch,
by means of a subterranean passage running from his chosen place of
retirement to the Temple of the Sun in Tamarida. He assisted at all
the more important meetings of the inner ring of the council, and was
frequently visited by members of the hierarchy in his country home.
Nevertheless, this sword of Damocles, in the shape of the ancient
stern enactment, ever hung above his honoured head, should he by any
evil chance, such as the present, come into personal contact with the
monarch he had himself enticed and brought to reign in Meleager. Any
collusion or meeting, so he informed me, between these two personages,
was if discovered to be followed by the immediate death of the hapless
envoy, no matter how innocent he might be, nor how accidental and
unforeseen his encounter with the Child of the Sun. This death penalty
was a fundamental law, which could never be broken nor abrogated. I
suppose the very notion of a combination between these two persons
seemed so fraught with danger to the state as to have been the original
cause of so savage and sweeping an edict. No wonder then that poor
d'Aragno, who was obviously in no hurry to terminate his quiet but
highly agreeable evening of life, seemed overwhelmed with fear at the
unlooked-for apparition of myself. I perceived a distinct cooling
of my recent dislike towards him as he proceeded to tell me of the
pleasant years he hoped to spend in this delicious retreat, where he
was served by attendants who were deaf and dumb. He showed me with
affectionate pride the many rolls of manuscript filled by his own pen
with choice passages from our worldly authors that had lain embedded
in his marvellous and highly trained memory, which he daily continued
to transcribe. With a sly expression he also rose and slid aside a
panel of the wall, revealing within a small space, that sheltered
about a dozen tiny volumes of printed matter, which (so I conjectured)
he had brought away with him from the Earth hidden on his person to
his final destination. These consisted chiefly of English and Italian
classics, and amongst their number I can recall the Shakespearean
Plays, the Essays of Montaigne and Bacon, the _Divine Comedy_ of Dante,
the _Faust_ of Goethe and the _Travels of Gulliver_. These books were
of very small size and of such minute print that their owner confessed
they required to be studied through a magnifying glass. For a moment
I paused to wonder whether these treasures were ever produced in the
presence of any of those white-robed brethren of the council who were
in the habit of paying d'Aragno visits in his home of honourable exile.
Nor could I resist asking d'Aragno, as I fingered these mementoes of
his sojourn on our Earth, whether he had included in his library any
of my own works, seeing how extravagantly he had praised them during
our interviews in London; but my host gravely shook his head, for a
sense of humour is rather rare amongst the more exalted members of the
hierarchy.