transact ere ever I quitted this secluded house, the business which a
lucky chance had thrown in my way towards a possible fulfilment of my
present desire. "And now," began I, "Signor d'Aragno, for I know you
by no other title, pray what return do you propose to render me, if I
do not immediately on my arrival at Tamarida inform the Arch-priest
of this delightful but altogether informal meeting between us?" My
hearer's fat face waxed pale and puffy as he almost cringed before me
at the bare thought of the possibility of such a catastrophe. "What is
your wish?" proceeded as a hoarse whisper from between his bloodless
lips. I thereupon set to explain to him the exact nature of the boon
I demanded--namely, the safe transmission of my message to Earth;
and I also declared to him that it was the ambition to overcome what
all the wiseacres of our planet would deem insuperable that largely
prompted my intention. At first d'Aragno's face betokened blank dismay
at my request, yet when I went on to tell him that I had no wish for
my packet to be delivered to any particular individual, but that I was
fully content for it to be deposited on the Earth's surface, provided
only it were dropped on dry land, he assumed a less despondent bearing.
After a pause for meditation d'Aragno replied: "Your scheme is not
altogether incapable of accomplishment, for I who brought you hither
own at least the means of conveying an object of moderate compass to
your Earth. I am implicitly trusted here, and as to any missive I may
care to dispatch to Earth no question will be asked, and it will be
sent on the next occasion. But remember, I can only undertake to do
this once, and once for all. If therefore you will hand over to me
your manuscript, written closely as you will but confined within one
solitary sheet of our vellum, I will engage to have it conveyed whither
you ask. You, however, on your part must swear never to divulge the
incident of our chance encounter to-day, and for this mutual exchange
of oaths it is expedient for us both to have recourse to the Meleagrian
formula in its most solemn aspect. And I must notify you here that
we in Meleager are all believers in the Hereafter, which we hold is
arranged for us according to our merits in this our present life. We
all (and I am no exception) build much on the Hereafter, albeit we
may seem overmuch attached to life itself; we therefore dread the
forfeiture of our future prospects in the mysterious world to come,
however uncertain we may feel of their precise nature or degree. Now we
hold also that the breaking of a formal oath of special sanctity on the
part of a councillor of Meleager of itself brings this punishment or
disability in its train, so by binding myself by this most sacred rite
I run the risk of losing what I deem of intense value--namely, every
chance of spiritual growth in the Hereafter. You, on your side, must
also perform your share of the contract faithfully, and for that joint
purpose I now propose that we two participate in the sacred act of an
interchange of oaths. Have I your consent to this?"
I agreed, being anxious to learn the nature of this solemn binding
covenant, whose rupture is regarded as the prelude to such serious
spiritual losses and disadvantages. I therefore closely watched
d'Aragno busy himself with the necessary preliminaries. First he
fetched a vase of gold into which he stuck a few thin rods, that he
subsequently lighted to the accompaniment of a prayer, whereupon a
strong aromatic odour began to pervade the room. He then bade me stand
opposite to him and at the same time bend over the vase so that we
obtained the benefit of the pungent incense smoke full in our nostrils.
He next clasped both my hands in his, entwining our respective fingers,
and then pressed his forehead against mine. This attitude, however
sacrosanct and traditional, rather tickled my natural propensity to
mirth, as I noted the incongruity in this close semi-embrace between
my own six feet four inches and squat d'Aragno's five feet and little
over. Nothing however in this pose seemed to strike my host in a
humorous light, for he continued with the most serious expression to
clutch me with all his force till the drops of sweat were pouring
from his face. Meantime he kept muttering prayers or threats with
ceaseless energy in an undertone, until, when I myself was almost
wearied out with my stiff and stooping attitude, he suddenly with a
final burst of imprecation snatched the burning incense sticks from
the vase and trampled them vigorously underfoot till they had ceased
to smoke. The compact, or rite, or oath was now completed, so that we
were mutually bound, I to the strictest secrecy and silence, and he
to the task of dispatching my scroll of manuscript to Earth. D'Aragno
now unfolded his plan of campaign to me. "In your own private garden
at the palace," said he; "beneath a group of seven tall palms stands a
marble seat where I am told you are often in the habit of sitting in
meditation. Behind that same seat is a flagstone of the paved terrace
which has a copper ring inset. Bring your piece of parchment concealed
in your mantle to this spot when there will be none to observe your
actions, for the palace spies do not penetrate thither. Pull up the
ring, which will yield easily to your effort, and then throw down
the scroll into the hollow that exists beneath. That is all, but see
that you do this on the seventh day from to-day between the sixth and
seventh hours. I shall be waiting in the gallery below, which ramifies
from the underground passage that connects the temple with my place of
retreat. For three days in succession I shall come to this spot below
the marble bench; but if by the third day no scroll is thrown down to
me, I shall deem myself absolved of my oath, for I dare not attend
thus more than three days running. But you may rely on my punctuality
and good faith. Having duly obtained your scroll, I shall encase it
in a metal cylinder and it shall then be transmitted to Earth on the
first opportunity, which ought to occur within the next few weeks.
The case with your manuscript enclosed will be dropped in some lonely
place inland, where it may or may not be ultimately discovered, brought
to a civilised city, deciphered, studied, discussed and published.
For myself, I fail to grasp your evident sense of satisfaction in so
trivial and futile a scheme; but it is clear you are obstinately bent
on your purpose, and by my recent oath I am bound under the severest
spiritual penalties to aid you. Yet who on your Earth will ever be
found to believe in your fantastic story? And even if it were held
worthy of credence, of what value would it prove to your fellow-men? Or
again, what possible tittle of benefit would you gain by stirring up
Herthian interest in this account of your adventures in Meleager?" And
d'Aragno's face for a moment took on the quizzical yet imperious look
I had noted when he was addressing me at length in the parlour of the
great London hotel some five years ago.
By this time darkness had fallen outside, and this circumstance now
urged my host to speed my departure. Quickly leaving the house in the
obscurity of the encroaching nightfall, together we crossed the glen
with its murmuring brook, and scaled the opposite bank to enter the
depths of the enclosing forest. Following a rough path we advanced for
some time without exchanging a word, till at last we debouched into
a wide open space where we halted. The sharp dewy freshness of the
night air was now upon us, whilst the hooting of distant owls and other
nocturnal sounds filled our ears, as we stood gazing into the dark
blue vault overhead. The stars glistened with the peculiar brilliance
associated with a touch of frost, and shining above the tree-tops was
a conspicuous planet far surpassing its companion stars in size and
lustre. D'Aragno paused, and pointing towards the ascending orb quietly
informed me it was the Earth, my old domicile; and somehow this piece
of information caused in me an indefinable thrill, so that I could not
repress a slight shiver, as I fixed my eyes on my far-away abandoned
home. At the same time a curious tale of my childhood leaped, as it
were, into my memory, for I began to understand with a greater clarity
than ever before the extraordinary nature of the fate that had befallen
me.
I recalled the story, the conceit of a long-forgotten evangelical
writer whose works were popular with my parents, of how a certain
inhabitant of the Evening Star was so struck by the surpassing beauty
of the planet we call the Earth that he prayed to his Deity for
permission to visit this unknown world. His entreaty was granted,
but upon one condition--namely, that on his being translated thither
he should never return, but should share in whatever conditions
and laws of existence might prevail on the star of his choice. He
eagerly consented to this pact, so overwhelming was his desire or his
curiosity; and falling into a deep slumber he was transported (much as
I had myself been conveyed) to his elected sphere, wherein he awoke to
find himself in an ancient city of the Levant. The strange visitor was
well received by the reigning sultan and the citizens of the place,
who did all that lay in their power to make life pleasant for their
interesting guest, whose unique story they thoroughly believed. Time
sped by agreeably enough amid these novel surroundings, so that the
stranger daily grew fonder of his environment till one evening, when
he chanced to stroll by himself without the city walls and to enter an
attractive garden that was filled with curious erections of stone and
marble set amid masses of flowers and shaded by lofty trees. It seemed
a peaceful spot, but the Stranger was so puzzled by the solitude of
the garden that on his return to the city he asked the sultan whose
property was the beautiful shady enclosure with the carved monuments
and the groves of cypresses, and for what purpose was it used. The
monarch looked astonished at the question, but told his guest it must
have been a cemetery, a burial-ground, the garden and final home of the
Dead. Again the Stranger was perplexed: "And what are the Dead?" Then
the sultan tried to describe death and the common lot of all the sons
and daughters of Adam to his listener, who grew more and more amazed
as he endeavoured to grasp the prince's unfamiliar explanations.
"But will you yourself die also?" he finally asked the sultan. "Most
assuredly," answered the latter; "all of us, from the highest to the
least, king and beggar, man, woman and child, we must perforce all obey
the summons of Death when it comes." Without speaking another word, the
Stranger quitted the palace in profound silence and with head bent in
cogitation over this astounding law of nature he had just heard for the
first time. It took him many days of further inquiry and self-communing
before he could realise this sudden compulsory cessation of active
life which inevitably awaited himself, sooner or later, whether as
the result of disease, of accident, of violence or of decay. Long did
he reflect, and finally he came to the conclusion that, seeing how
soon and how suddenly Death might call him, Life itself so far as its
pleasures and its interests and its intrigues were concerned was but a
step on the road to Death, which was the final goal with its vista of
eternal joy or pain or oblivion. Naturally, the pious writer of this
ingenious allegory had sought therefrom to point a lesson of the vanity
of all worldly pleasures and success, and of the consequent need of
preparation for the after-life, which alone matters; but I had always
loved the simple conceit for its own sake without troubling myself much
about the inevitable moral. And as I continued to gaze upward at the
scintillating orb slowly rising over the topmost branches, I could not
refrain from a comparison between my own conditions in Meleager and
those of the mysterious stranger in the Oriental city of his adoption.
It seemed a notable coincidence, and I vaguely wondered whether the
author had really possessed a true inkling of the possibility of such
an exchange of planets as had been suggested in the tale.
D'Aragno's harsh whisper recalled me from my reverie, and from the
contemplation of my former sphere to that of tangible objects in my
present abode. He bade me follow him across the open starlit glade,
all gleaming with heavy dewdrops, and so led the way up-hill to a
point whence there was a wide open view bounded by the sea. Far away
below us against the misty horizon I could discern two specks of pale
yellow light, and I scarcely needed my companion's information to
make me realise that these were the twin lanterns of the lighthouses
guarding the entrance of the harbour of Tamarida. We were standing also
on a fairly wide pathway, apparently a bullock track, and I saw that
d'Aragno had led me to one of the chief inland routes of traffic, which
I had merely to follow down-hill in order to descend directly into
Tamarida. He bade me farewell with some slight show of approval, even
stooping so far as to imprint a perfunctory kiss on my hand, the while
he pointed out the guiding beacons beneath me. He now bade me farewell
and a safe arrival before turning from me with rapid steps. I watched
his dwindling white-robed figure cross the exposed glade and then
disappear, a tiny luminous speck, into the enclosing forest, and that
was my last glimpse of d'Aragno.
Left to myself I strolled leisurely along the stony but clearly
perceptible track, which from this elevation began to wind down the
mountain slope towards the coast. I had not walked much above a mile
when a sound, at first faint but ever growing in intensity, smote upon
my alert ears. I stood still to listen, and soon recognised voices
calling in unison, together with the barking and yapping of dogs. It
was evidently the search-party that was on its way to rescue me in
the forest. Calmly I proceeded, and at a turn in the pathway I could
just detect the advancing throng of men, both mounted and a-foot. So
soon as these had realised the identity of the figure approaching in
the subdued starlight, the whole band halted an instant as if struck
stupid, and then from their midst rushed forth Hiridia with a shrill
cry of delight and threw himself on the rough ground at my feet, which
he covered with kisses. The other members of the party now hurried
towards me to show their joy and relief in a manner fully as rapturous
if more restrained. I received their felicitations and answered their
questions in an indifferent tone, making light of my late misadventure
and only expressing concern for the loss of my favourite horse, which
however they assured me had been caught riderless in the woods.
Apparently the notion of the wild beasts roaming in the thickets had
chiefly aroused their anxiety for me, but this last suggestion I
repudiated with quiet scorn. "What has the Child of the Sun," I asked,
"to fear from his Father's humblest subjects, the beasts of the forest?
Would they have dared to approach his sacred person save to crouch at
his feet and lick them in token of his divinity?" At this rebuke all my
attendants stood crestfallen and ashamed. Nevertheless, they ventured
to express concern for my presumed state of hunger--the Meleagrian is
invariably a good and frequent trencherman--but I merely remarked that
in no wise was I suffering from want of food: a state of things by the
way which was by no means so remarkable as it appeared to my devoted
retainers, in view of the hearty meal I had swallowed at d'Aragno's
house, that I naturally forbore to mention. Altogether the genuine
pleasure and the awestruck feelings wherewith I had been received by
my followers afforded me no little satisfaction, as, mounted on a pony
with Hiridia proudly holding my bridle, I was escorted by this adoring
throng down the steep circling path that led towards the capital. The
night was well advanced when finally we arrived at our destination,
where I found the whole household in a condition of intense alarm,
which speedily was converted into a frantic demonstration of joy on
the news of my safe return and the subsequent sight of myself in
their midst. I thought it prudent to attend the public supper in the
great hall despite the lateness of the hour, although after my recent
refreshment at d'Aragno's I had little appetite left.
The ensuing morning I was visited by the Arch-priest, to whose ears
had been brought tidings of my mishap of the previous day. He came
ostensibly to inquire for my health, but his face betrayed not a little
anxiety. I was able to soothe him however, telling him the story of my
accident had been grossly exaggerated by the palace servants, and that
I was none the worse for a few hours' solitary wandering on foot in
the woods, and that I had already chanced upon the right path before
ever I had met with the party of searchers. By thus truthfully reciting
the half (in this case so much more valuable than the whole!) of my
late movements, I was easily enabled to set his fears or suspicions at
rest, and after some further conversation on other topics he left my
apartment wholly satisfied with his interview.
XV
I am writing these last few lines by the light of my flickering lamp,
as I sit in my favourite gallery that overlooks the city and the
harbour of Tamarida. There is a multitude of things I still dearly long
to add to what I have already written, but the swift flight of time and
this closely covered scroll forbid any such intention on my part. There
are, however, two matters, one of public and the other of personal
concern, that I should like to hint at before I finally consign my
manuscript to its appointed bourne within the next few hours.
First of all, in my bald, inadequate account of the people and polity
of Meleager, I fear I have not dwelt sufficiently on the unswerving
loyalty of the hierarchy to their own order and to their fixed devotion
to what they consider the perfect common-weal; to the general happiness
and content of the whole population, and to the universal sense of
peace and plenty that prevails here. But remember, I neither praise
nor blame, neither approve nor condemn the system that produces ends
so desirable in themselves, which form the recognised aim of every
conscientious statesman. I have merely described things in Meleager as
I have found them. I have made no comment thereon, but only suggest to
the thinkers and politicians of the Earth to discover better and more
honourable methods of attaining equal results.
The other question that vexes my mind is purely personal, or rather
egoistic. I wonder greatly whether my present plight in Meleager
will excite feelings of pity, of contempt or of envy in the minds
of my readers. As to the first, I am cut off from all domestic ties
and affections; I am unspeakably lonely with the oppressive sense of
solitude in a crowd; in certain lights I may even be regarded as a
prisoner on parole; I am perpetually spied upon, and every action on
my part, however innocent or well-intentioned, is apt to be regarded
with uneasy suspicion by those who are my real masters. Again I am in
the position of a conscious participant in that gigantic scheme of
fraud, The Secret, by means of which all the state craft of Meleager is
worked. I am also, to fit me for the continuance of my royal office,
subjected at fairly short intervals to a series of personal indignities
that may endow me with the requisite strength and youth at the moment
when my body is beginning to exhibit signs of languor and dissolution.
In compensation for these trials and disadvantages, I enjoy perfect
health; I dwell in a magnificent palace surrounded by adoring courtiers
and servants; I even experience the inestimable delight of performing
public duties which are gratefully and rapturously accepted by my
deluded subjects; I taste the sweets of divine honours, and at the
same time can gratify some of the natural tastes of a mortal man. It
amuses me to leave to others I shall never meet the solution of a
question I cannot answer for myself!
* * * * *
As I lift my eyes from my parchment, I note a thin streak of oriflamme
above the eastern horizon, and I know that very soon the new-born day
will be heralded by clarion and cannon from the battlements of the
great temple overhead. I have but time and space left me to add the
word Farewell and the name I bore on Earth....
PART TWO
"_I love to lose myself in a mystery: to pursue my reason to an O
Altitudo!_"
RELIGIO MEDICI (sect. ix.).
I
How passing wonderful it is that I should be enabled to send another
message to the Earth, and still more wonderful, wonderful out of
all whooping, that I should be writing it not as sovereign of an
unsuspected planet but as a humble member of the human hive on Earth
itself, here in this mean Welsh sea-side inn! As to my former missive
which I dispatched to my present abode through d'Aragno's kind offices
some two years ago, I have, of course, no notion as to its final fate.
That it really did reach the sphere of its destination I am convinced;
but whether it is still lying unheeded on some rolling steppe or
sterile mountain range; or whether it has been ascertained, deciphered,
discussed, nay even printed, I am wholly in the dark.[1] Not that I
seek to vex my mind in this matter. Nevertheless, it amuses me to
assume that my former letter from Meleager has been duly found, debated
and published, even though such assumption likewise includes the theory
that its veracity is discredited by all who have cared to study its
contents. Are we not assured in The Book that one arising specially
from the dead and scorched with the flames of hell will not arouse
belief in the living man? And if the mission of Dives to his careless
brethren be a predestined failure, what chance of credence can possibly
await such a message in manuscript from Meleager? Leaving these barren
speculations, I intend to resume the tale of my adventures at the point
where I halted--namely, on the eve of my entrusting my scroll to the
custody of the Meleagrian councillor.
[Footnote 1: This was obviously written before the interview described
in a later chapter.--C.W.]
* * * * *
It is not so easy to judge of the exact passage of time in Meleager,
but I fancy about two years must have flowed past without any incident
worthy of record since I parted with my cherished manuscript. The
diurnal revolution of duty, sleep, exercise and meditation marched
so smoothly onward that it came to my unprepared mind as a crashing
shock to learn that my cycle of calm existence was liable to fierce
disturbance. My sharp awakening was on this wise. For some days I had
received no visit from my dear old friend, the Arch-priest (for by
this time, in spite of certain barriers of circumstance and polity, he
had grown very dear to me), and this omission caused me to feel some
degree of anxiety concerning his absence. More curious than alarmed I
therefore asked one of the hierarchy, Vaïlo, who was in attendance,
the cause of this suspension of the usual visits. The councillor,
discreetly casting his eyes to the ground, replied that the Arch-priest
was expecting shortly to be absorbed into the family of the Sun-god.
Albeit enigmatically thus expressed, I could not fail to realise the
gravity of the news; in plain parlance, my friend and adviser was on
the point of dissolution. A horrible chill invaded my heart, and I felt
sick with a sense of genuine sorrow and of deep misgiving. I knew him
to be old, and I ought therefore to have anticipated the propinquity of
his death, but with blind egoism I had overlooked such eventualities.
My first impulse was to ply Vaïlo with questions as to his condition
and chance of recovery, but the guarded replies afforded me no ray of
hope. I even begged to be conducted to the old man's bedside to take a
last farewell, but this request Vaïlo (I think and trust with a touch
of pity in his harsh voice) assured me was illegal. I then lapsed
into sullen silence, whereupon the councillor took the opportunity to
depart, leaving me a prey to unspeakable misery and agitation.