On alighting from the air-boat, a child accosted Aph-Lin in the hall
with a request that he would be present at the funeral obsequies of a
relation who had recently departed from that nether world.
Now, I had never seen a burial-place or cemetery amongst this people,
and, glad to seize even so melancholy an occasion to defer an encounter
with Zee, I asked Aph-Lin if I might be permitted to witness with him
the interment of his relation; unless, indeed, it were regarded as one
of those sacred ceremonies to which a stranger to their race might not
be admitted.
“The departure of an An to a happier world,” answered my host, “when, as
in the case of my kinsman, he has lived so long in this as to have lost
pleasure in it, is rather a cheerful though quiet festival than a sacred
ceremony, and you may accompany me if you will.”
Preceded by the child-messenger, we walked up the main street to a house
at some little distance, and, entering the hall, were conducted to a
room on the ground floor, where we found several persons assembled round
a couch on which was laid the deceased. It was an old man, who had, as I
was told, lived beyond his 130th year. To judge by the calm smile on his
countenance, he had passed away without suffering. One of the sons, who
was now the head of the family, and who seemed in vigorous middle life,
though he was considerably more than seventy, stepped forward with a
cheerful face and told Aph-Lin “that the day before he died his father
had seen in a dream his departed Gy, and was eager to be reunited to
her, and restored to youth beneath the nearer smile of the All-Good.”
While these two were talking, my attention was drawn to a dark metallic
substance at the farther end of the room. It was about twenty feet in
length, narrow in proportion, and all closed round, save, near the roof,
there were small round holes through which might be seen a red light.
From the interior emanated a rich and sweet perfume; and while I was
conjecturing what purpose this machine was to serve, all the time-pieces
in the town struck the hour with their solemn musical chime; and as
that sound ceased, music of a more joyous character, but still of a joy
subdued and tranquil, rang throughout the chamber, and from the walls
beyond, in a choral peal. Symphonious with the melody, those in the room
lifted their voices in chant. The words of this hymn were simple. They
expressed no regret, no farewell, but rather a greeting to the new world
whither the deceased had preceded the living. Indeed, in their language,
the funeral hymn is called the ‘Birth Song.’ Then the corpse, covered
by a long cerement, was tenderly lifted up by six of the nearest kinfolk
and borne towards the dark thing I have described. I pressed forward to
see what happened. A sliding door or panel at one end was lifted up--the
body deposited within, on a shelf--the door reclosed--a spring a the
side touched--a sudden ‘whishing,’ sighing sound heard from within;
and lo! at the other end of the machine the lid fell down, and a small
handful of smouldering dust dropped into a ‘patera’ placed to receive
it. The son took up the ‘patera’ and said (in what I understood
afterwards was the usual form of words), “Behold how great is the Maker!
To this little dust He gave form and life and soul. It needs not this
little dust for Him to renew form and life and soul to the beloved one
we shall soon see again.”
Each present bowed his head and pressed his hand to his heart. Then a
young female child opened a small door within the wall, and I perceived,
in the recess, shelves on which were placed many ‘paterae’ like that
which the son held, save that they all had covers. With such a cover
a Gy now approached the son, and placed it over the cup, on which it
closed with a spring. On the lid were engraven the name of the deceased,
and these words:--“Lent to us” (here the date of birth). “Recalled from
us” (here the date of death).
The closed door shut with a musical sound, and all was over.