IN PRISON
It was with hearts full of the gloomiest forebodings that we returned
to the amir, and these we soon found to be fully justified. The
athalebs descended at that point from which they had risen--namely, on
the terrace immediately in front of the cavern where they had been
confined. We then dismounted, and Layelah with the Kosekin guards
accompanied us to our former chambers. There she left us, saying that
a communication would be sent to us.
We were now left to our own conjectures.
"I wonder what they will do to us?" said I.
"It is impossible to tell," said Almah.
"I suppose," said I, "they will punish us in some way; but then
punishment among the Kosekin is what seems honor and reward to me.
Perhaps they will spare our lives, for that in their eyes ought to be
the severest punishment and the deepest disgrace imaginable."
Almah sighed.
"The Kosekin do not always act in this matter as one would suppose,"
said she. "It is quite likely that they may dread our escaping, and
may conclude to sacrifice us at once."
On the next jom I had a visit from the Kohen Gadol. He informed me
that the paupers had held a Council of State, in which they had made a
special examination of our late flight. He and Layelah had both been
examined, as well as the Kosekin who had gone after us; but Layelah's
testimony was by far the most important.
The Council of State gathered from Layelah's report that we had fled
to Magones for the especial purpose of gaining the most blessed of
deaths; that she pursued us in the interest of the state; and that we
on her arrival had generously surrendered our own selfish desires, and
had at once returned.
We learned that much gratification was felt by the council, and also
expressed, at Layelah's account and at our action.
First, at our eager love of death, which was so natural in their
eyes; secondly, at the skill which we had shown in selecting Magones;
and finally, at our generosity in giving up so readily the blessed
prospect of exile and want and death, so as to come back to the
amir. Had we been Kosekin our acts would have been natural enough;
but, being foreigners, it was considered more admirable in us, and it
seemed to show that we were equal to the Kosekin themselves. It was
felt, however, that in our eager rush after death we had been somewhat
selfish; but as this probably arose from our ignorance of the law, it
might be overlooked. On the whole it was decided that we ought to be
rewarded, and that, too, with the greatest benefits that the Kosekin
could bestow. What these benefits were the Kohen Gadol could not say;
and thus we were left, as before, in the greatest possible anxiety. We
still dreaded the worst. The highest honors of these men might well
awaken apprehension; for they thought that the chief blessings were
poverty and darkness and death.
Layelah next came to see me. She was as amiable as ever, and showed no
resentment at all. She gave me an account of what had happened at the
Council of State, which was the same as what I had heard from the
Kohen Gadol.
I asked her why she had made such a report of us.
"To conciliate their good-will," said Layelah. "For if they thought
that you had really fled from death from a love of life, they would
have felt such contempt for you that serious harm might have
happened."
"Yes," said I; "but among the Kosekin what you call harm would
probably have been just what I want. I should like to be viewed with
contempt, and considered unworthy of death and the Mista Kosek, and
other such honors."
"Oh yes," said Layelah; "but that doesn't follow; for you see the
paupers love death so intensely that they long to bestow it on all;
and if they knew that you were afraid of it, they would be tempted to
bestow it upon you immediately, just to show you how delightful a
thing it is. And that was the very thing that I was trying to guard
against."
"Well," said I, "and what is the result? Do you know what their
decision is?"
"Yes," said Layelah.
"What is it?" I asked, eagerly.
Layelah hesitated.
"What is it?" I cried again, full of impatience.
"I'm afraid it will not sound very pleasant to you," said Layelah,
"but at any rate your life is spared for the present. They have
decided to give you what they call the greatest possible honors and
distinctions."
Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly. For my part these words
sounded ominous, and were full of the darkest meaning.
"Tell me all," I said; "don't keep me in suspense."
"Well," said Layelah, "I'm afraid you will think it hard; but I must
tell you. I will tell it, therefore, as briefly and formally as
possible.
"First, then, they have decreed the blessing of separation. You and
Almah must now be parted, since this is regarded as the highest bliss
of lovers.
"Secondly, they have decreed the blessing of poverty. All these
luxuries will be taken away, and you will be raised to an equality in
this respect with the great paupers.
"Thirdly, you are to have the blessing of darkness. You are to be
removed from this troublesome and vexatious light, which here is
regarded as a curse, and henceforth live without it.
"Fourthly, the next decree is the high reward of imprisonment. You are
to be delivered from the evils of liberty, and shut up in a dark
cavern, from which it will be impossible to escape or to communicate
with anyone outside.
"Fifthly, you are to associate with the greatest of the paupers, the
class that is the most honored and influential. You will be present at
all their highest councils, and will have the privilege of perpetual
intercourse with those reverend men. They will tell you of the joys of
poverty, the happiness of darkness, and the bliss of death."
Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly.
"Is there anything more?" I gasped.
"No," said she. "Is not that enough? Some were in favor of bestowing
immediate death, but they were outvoted by the others. You surely
cannot regret that."
Layelah's words sounded like the words of a mocking demon. Yet she did
not wish to distress me; she had merely stated my sentence in formal
language, without any attempt to soften its tremendous import. As for
me, I was overwhelmed with despair. There was but one thought in my
mind--it was not of myself, but of Almah.
"And Almah?" I cried.
"Almah," said Layelah--"she will have the same; you are both included
in the same sentence."
At this a groan burst from me. Horror overwhelmed me. I threw myself
down upon the floor and covered my face with my hands. All was lost!
Our fate--Almah's fate--was darkness, imprisonment, and death. Could
anything be imagined that might mitigate such woes as these? Could
anything be conceived of as more horrible? Yes; there remained
something more, and this was announced by Layelah.
"Finally," said she, "it has been decreed that you shall not only have
the blessing of death, but that you shall have the rare honor of
belonging to the chosen few who are reserved for the Mista Kosek.
Thus far this had not been granted. It was esteemed too high an honor
for strangers; but now, by an exercise of unparalleled liberality, the
Grand Council of Paupers have added this, as the last and best, to the
high honors and rewards which they have decreed for you and Almah."
To this I had nothing to say; I was stupefied with horror. To such
words what answer could be made? At that moment I could think of
nothing but this tremendous sentence--this infliction of appalling
woes under the miserable name of blessings! I could not think of
Layelah; nor did I try to conjecture what her motives might be in thus
coming to me as the messenger of evil. I could not find space amid
my despair for speculations as to her own part in this, or stop to
consider whether she was acting the part of a mere messenger, or was
influenced by resentment or revenge. All this was far away from my
thoughts; for all my mind was filled with the dread sentence of the
Council of Paupers and the baleful prospect of the woes that awaited
us.
On the next jom I saw Almah. She had already learned the awful
tidings. She met me with a face of despair; for there was no longer
any hope, and all that remained for us was a last farewell. After this
we parted, and each of us was taken to our respective prison.
I was taken along dark passages until I came to a cavern with a low,
dark portal. Upon entering I found the darkness deeper than usual,
and there was only one solitary lamp, which diffused but a feeble ray
through the gloom. The size of the place could not be made out. I
saw here a group of human beings, and by the feeble ray of the lamp
I perceived that they were wan and thin and emaciated, with scant
clothing, all in rags, squalor, misery, and dirt; with coarse hair
matted together, and long nails and shaggy beards. They reminded me in
their personal appearance of the cannibals of the outer shore. These
hideous beings all gathered around me, blinking at me with their
bleary eyes and grinning with their abominable faces, and then each
one embraced me. The filth, squalor, and unutterable foulness of
these wretches all combined to fill my soul with loathing, and the
inconceivable horror of that embrace wellnigh overwhelmed me. Yet,
after all, it was surpassed by the horror of the thought that Almah
might be at that very moment undergoing the same experience; and for
her such a thing must be worse than for me.
I retreated as far as possible from them, deep into the thick
darkness, and sat down. No convicted felon at the last hour of life,
no prisoner in the dungeons of the Inquisition, ever could have
suffered more mental agony than I did at that moment. The blessings,
the awful blessings of the Kosekin were descending upon my miserable
head--separation from Almah, squalor and dirt, imprisonment, the
society of these filthy creatures, darkness, the shadow of death, and
beyond all the tremendous horrors of the Mista Kosek!
I do not know how the time passed, for at first I was almost stupefied
with despair; nor could I ever grow reconciled to the society of
these wretches, scarce human, who were with me. Some food was
offered me--filthy stuff, which I refused. My refusal excited warm
commendation; but I was warned against starving myself, as that was
against the law. In my despair I thought of my pistol and rifle,
which I still kept with me--of using these against my jailors, and
bursting forth; but this wild impulse soon passed away, for its utter
hopelessness was manifest. My only hope, if hope it was, lay in
waiting, and it was not impossible that I might see Almah again,
if only once.
Joms passed away, I know not how. The Chief Pauper, who is the
greatest man in the land of the Kosekin, made several attempts to
converse with me, and was evidently very condescending and magnanimous
in his own eyes; but I did not meet his advances graciously--he was
too abhorrent. He was a hideous wretch, with eyes nearly closed and
bleary, thick, matted hair, and fiendish expression--in short, a devil
incarnate in rags and squalor.
But as the joms passed I found it difficult to repel my associates.
They were always inflicting their society upon me, and thrusting on me
nasty little acts of kindness. The Chief Pauper was more persistent
than all, with his chatter and his disgusting civilities. He was
evidently glad to get hold of a fresh subject for his talkative
genius; he was a very garrulous cannibal, and perhaps my being a
foreigner made me more interesting in his eyes.
The chief topic of his discourse was death. He hated life, loved
death, longed for it in all its forms, whether arising from disease
or from violence. He was an amateur in corpses, and had a larger
experience in dead bodies than any other man in the nation.
I could not help asking him once why he did not kill himself, and be
done with it.
"That," said he, "is not allowed. The temptation to kill one's self is
one of the strongest that human nature can experience, but it is one
that we must struggle against, of course, for it is against all law.
The greatest blessing must not be seized. It must be given by nature
or man. Those who violate the blessed mystery of death are infamous."
He assured me that he had all his life cultivated the loftiest
feelings of love to others. His greatest happiness consisted in doing
good to others, especially in killing them. The blessing of death,
being the greatest of all blessings, was the one which he loved best
to bestow upon others; and the more he loved his fellow-creatures
the more he wished to give them this blessing. "You," said he, "are
particularly dear to me, and I should rather give to you the blessing
of death than to any other human being. I love you, Atam-or, and I
long to kill you at this moment."
"You had better not try it," said I, grimly.
He shook his head despondingly.
"Oh no," said he; "it is against the law. I must not do it till the
time comes."
"Do you kill many?" I asked.
"It is my pleasing and glorious office," he replied, "to kill more
than any other; for, you must know, I am the Sar Tabakin" (chief of
the executioners).
The Chief Pauper's love of death had grown to be an all-absorbing
passion. He longed to give death to all. As with us there are certain
philanthropists who have a mania for doing good, so here the pauper
class had a mania for doing what they considered good in this way. The
Chief Pauper was a sort of Kosekin Howard or Peabody, and was regarded
by all with boundless reverence. To me, however, he was an object
of never-ending hate, abhorrence, and loathing; and, added to this,
was the thought that there might be here some equally hideous
female--someone like the nightmare hag of the outer sea--a torment
and a horror to Almah.