CONCLUSION
In the midst of this the paupers and the hags talked earnestly
together. Some of those who had been nearest in rank to the late Chief
Pauper and Chief Hag were conspicuous in the debate. All looked at me
and at Almah, and pointed toward the sun, which was wheeling along
behind the distant mountain crest, showing a golden disc. Then they
pointed to the dead bodies; and the hags took the Chief Hag, and the
paupers the Chief Pauper, and laid them side by side on the central
altar. After this a hag and a pauper advanced toward us, each carrying
the sacrificial knife which had belonged to the deceased.
The hag spoke first, addressing Almah, in accordance with the Kosekin
custom, which requires women to take the precedence in many things.
"Take this," she said, "O Almah, consort of Atam-or, and Co-ruler of
Clouds and Darkness. Henceforth you shall be Judge of Death to the
women of the Kosekin."
She then handed Almah the sacrificial knife of the Chief Hag, which
Almah took in silence.
Then the pauper presented me with the sacrificial knife of the Chief
Pauper, with the following words:
"Take this, O Atam-or, Father of Thunder and Ruler of Clouds and
Darkness. Henceforth you shall be Judge of Death to the men of the
Kosekin, and Sar Tabakin over the whole nation."
I received the knife in silence, for I had nothing to say; but now
Almah spoke, as was fitting for her to do, since with the Kosekin the
women must take the precedence; and here it was expected that she
should reply in behalf of both of us.
So Almah, holding the sacrificial knife, stood looking at them, full
of dignity, and spoke as follows:
"We will take this, O Kosekin, and we will reward you all. We will
begin our reign over the Kosekin with memorable acts of mercy. These
two great victims shall be enough for the Mista Kosek of this
season. The victims designed for this sacrifice shall have to deny
themselves the blessing of death, yet they shall be rewarded in other
ways; and all the land from the highest to the lowest shall have
reason to rejoice in our rule.
"To all you hags and paupers we grant the splendid and unparalleled
boon of exile to Magones. There you can have all the suffering which
heart can wish, and inevitable death. To all classes and ranks in
the whole nation we promise to grant a diminution in their wealth by
one-quarter. In the abundance of our mercy we are willing ourselves to
bear the burden of all the offerings that may be necessary in order to
accomplish this. All in the land may at once give up one-quarter of
their whole wealth to us."
At this the hags and paupers gave a horrible yell of applause.
"As rulers of Light and Darkness, we will henceforth govern the nation
in the light as well as in the dark. We will sacrifice ourselves so
far to the public good as to live in the light, and in open palaces.
We will consent to undergo the pains of light and splendor, to endure
all the evils of luxury, magnificence, and boundless wealth, for the
good of the Kosekin nation. We will consent to forego the right of
separation, and agree to live together, even though we love one
another. Above all, we will refuse death and consent to live. Can any
rulers do more than this for the good of their people?"
Another outburst of applause followed.
"In three joms," continued Almah, "all you hags and paupers shall be
sent to exile and death on Magones. As for the rest of the Kosekin,
hear our words. Tell them from us that the laborers shall all be
elevated to the rank of paupers, the artisans shall be made laborers,
the tradesmen artisans, the soldiers tradesmen, the Athons soldiers,
the Kohens Athons, and the Meleks Kohens. There shall be no Meleks in
all the land. We, in our love for the Kosekin, will henceforth be the
only Meleks. Then all the misery of that low station will rest on us;
and in our low estate as Meleks we shall govern this nation in love
and self-denial. Tell them that we will forego the sacrifice and
consent to live; that we will give up darkness and cavern gloom and
live in light. Tell them to prepare for us the splendid palaces of the
Meleks, for we will take the most sumptuous and magnificent of them
all. Tell all the people to present their offerings. Tell them that we
consent to have endless retinues of servants, soldiers, followers, and
attendants. Tell them that with the advent of Almah and Atam-or a new
era begins for the Kosekin, in which every man may be as poor as he
likes, and riches shall be unknown in the land."
These extraordinary words seemed to fill the paupers with rapture.
Exclamations of joy burst from them; they prostrated themselves in an
irrepressible impulse of grateful admiration, as though such promises
could only come from superior beings. Then most of them hurried down
to communicate to the people below the glorious intelligence. Soon it
spread from mouth to mouth, and all the people were filled with the
wildest excitement.
For never before had such a thing been known, and never had such
self-sacrifice been imagined or thought possible, as that the rulers
of the Kosekin could consent to be rich when they might be paupers; to
live together when they might be separate; to dwell in the light when
they might lurk in the deepest cavern gloom; to remain in life when
they might have the blessing of death. Selfishness, fear of death,
love of riches, and love of luxury, these were all unintelligible to
the Kosekin, as much as to us would be self-abnegation, contempt of
death, voluntary poverty, and asceticism. But as with us self-denying
rulers may make others rich and be popular for this, so here among the
Kosekin a selfish ruler might be popular by making others poor. Hence
the words of Almah, as they were made known, gave rise to the wildest
excitement and enthusiasm, and the vast multitude poured forth their
feelings in long shouts of rapturous applause.
Amid this the bodies of the dead were carried down from the pyramid,
and were taken to the Mista Kosek in a long and solemn procession,
accompanied by the singing of wild and dismal chants.
And now the sun, rolling along behind the icy mountain crest, rose
higher and higher every moment, and the bright light of a long day
began to illumine the world. There sparkled the sea, rising far away
like a watery wall, with the horizon high up in the sky; there rose
the circle of giant mountains, sweeping away till they were blended
with the horizon; there rose the terraces of the amir, all glowing
in the sunlight, with all its countless houses and cavern-openings and
arching trees and pointing pyramids. Above was the canopy of heaven,
no longer black, no longer studded with stars or glistening with
the fitful shimmer of the aurora, but all radiant with the glorious
sunlight, and disclosing all the splendors of the infinite blue. At
that sight a thrill of joy passed through me. The long, long night
at last was over; the darkness had passed away like some hideous
dream; the day was here--the long day that was to know no shadow
and no decline--when all this world should be illuminated by the
ever-circling sun--a sun that would never set until his long course
of many months should be fully run. My heart swelled with rapture,
my eyes filled with tears. "O Light!" I cried; "O gleaming, golden
Sunlight! O Light of Heaven!--light that brings life and hope to man!"
And I could have fallen on my knees and worshipped that rising sun.
But the light which was so glorious to us was painful and distressing
to the Kosekin. On the top of the pyramid the paupers crouched,
shading their eyes. The crowd below began to disperse in all
directions, so as to betake themselves to their coverts and to the
caverns, where they might live in the dark. Soon nearly all were gone
except the paupers at the foot of the pyramid, who were awaiting our
commands, and a crowd of Meleks and Athons at a distance. At a gesture
from me the few paupers near us descended and joined those below.
Almah and I were alone on the top of the pyramid.
I caught her in my arms in a rapture of joy. This revulsion from the
lowest despair--from darkness and from death back to hope and light
and life--was almost too much to endure. We both wept, but our tears
were those of happiness.
"You will be all my own now," said I, "and we can fly from this
hateful land. We can be united--we can be married--here before we
start--and you will not be cruel enough to refuse. You will consent,
will you not, to be my wife before we fly from the Kosekin?"
At this Almah's face became suffused with smiles and blushes. Her
arms were about me, and she did not draw away, but looked up in sweet
confusion and said,
"Why, as to that--I--I cannot be more your--your wife than I am."
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed, in wonder. "My wife!"
Her eyes dropped again, and she whispered:
"The ceremony of separation is with the Kosekin the most sacred form
of marriage. It is the religious form; the other is merely the civil
form."
This was unintelligible, nor did I try to understand it. It was enough
to hear this from her own sweet lips; but it was a strange feeling,
and I think I am the only man since Adam that ever was married without
knowing it.
"As to flight," continued Almah, who had quite adopted the Kosekin
fashion, which makes women take the lead--"as to flight, we need not
hurry. We are all-powerful now, and there is no more danger. We must
wait until we send embassies to my people, and when they are ready to
receive us, we will go. But now let us leave this, for our servants
are waiting for us, and the light is distressing to them. Let us go to
the nearest of our palaces and obtain rest and food."
Here Featherstone stopped, yawned, and laid down the manuscript.
"That's enough for to-day," said he; "I'm tired, and can't read any
more. It's time for supper."