Chapter XXVI: The Farewell of Amalona

The hour arrived which every heart in Atalanta city had been awaiting with expectant sorrow--the hour when King Malchon and many hundreds of his people were to be carried to the Land of the Dead, beyond the Vale of Meloria, and there laid to rest under the shadows cast by a great amphitheatre of hills.

Every house had brought forth its embalmed and elaborately preserved relic of mortality, and these were laid upon litters six abreast, each borne by four bearers in the open promenade between the Lake and the Avenue of Ascent. Each group was escorted by the members of the several houses to which the dead respectively belonged, while, in the intervals between each, bands of minstrels played melodies of plaintive pathos, or sang elegies commemorating the good deeds of the departed.

Down the palace avenue moved the procession of the royal mourners. All walked on foot, the Queen and Mayana in their robes of violet--the Atalantan mourning hue--with all ornaments and coronets laid aside.

Melanitis and Clarence walked together, for, in the eyes of the people, they were regarded as betrothed. Cleophon and Minya came next, while Abercromby, who had just donned the costume of Atalanta, walked sometimes with Cleophon, sometimes with the Professor and the engineer. The latter were of course in English clothes, feeling rather awkward and uncomfortable, while Abercromby said he felt like a dog running about between two planets.

The procession itself comprised a large part of the population of Atalanta. There were consequently not many spectators, for none who sympathised in their hearts with the priestly faction would have dared to show themselves.

Every few hundred yards they stopped and pronounced words in honour of the dead.

A winding road had been constructed leading to the Pass of Amalona--the Bridge of the Tear, as it was called. This was five miles from the eastern end of the great city, the road turning from the shoulder of the Lake just where one of its two rivers flowed into it.

The ascent of Amalona was severely trying; the sun of Venus looked down upon them.

Radcliffe sank in a dead faint, but the Queen and Mayana revived him by a few drops of a pale blue liquid, the best known remedy for solar attacks. He then plodded on with grim earnestness. Melanitis watched him in keen anxiety. Several times the terrestrials were allowed to halt and take rest.

At last the head of the Pass was gained, the hills receded into an amphitheatre, covered as far as the eye could reach with monuments of blue, pink, and purple stone. All were of one shape, an oval recess, in which the embalmed body was carefully laid, beneath an overarching canopy of metal and glass, which permitted the face to be seen.

At the head of the Pass the royal party halted beside the effigy of Malchon. All the niches had been prepared beforehand, and nothing more was necessary than to place the embalmed bodies in the recesses made ready for them. On a vast pile of rock, about a quarter of a mile away, lay gigantic mounds (as they appeared) ranged in pyramidal form.

At a signal from the Queen, Mayana came forward, and, pointing in the direction of these distant objects, said--

“What is to be done with the dead who are not honoured but dishonoured?”

“Let them be consumed out of sight,” answered Mexitli.

Mayana raised the green metal tube in her hand, and pointed it in the direction of the heaped-up plateau. Several flashes followed, and instantly sheets of flame burst from the mounds, spreading sunwards in a canopy of fire. The cremating process, under such a sun in the full radiance of his light, required but a few minutes. The flames fell, the smoke drifted away, the holocaust was completed.

This weird and awful spectacle was followed by another of solemn impressiveness. The embalmed body of the King was slowly carried down into the peaceful shadow, and the remains laid in the appointed place. Tears filled the eyes of the Queen and Mayana; the Queen leaned heavily on Radcliffe’s arm, and then she said--

“From the place where we stand, a voice of average power would reach to most parts of the amphitheatre. You may address a word of consolation to us, if you are so minded.”

Radcliffe was very pale, but he stepped forward, and facing the assembly of the living and the vaster assembly of the dead, he began--

“Dwellers in the flowery land, we are here to-day to honour the memory of a King who loved his people, and who fell a martyr to his duty, even as his ancestor King Keraunion did in the days of old. His last words were these: ‘Make the Prince King.’ Will you obey the dying message of your monarch? You will perceive of whom he was speaking. Not of a competitor to our Queen’s throne, not of any ordinary mortal, but of the Divine Exile whom we, of Atalanta, served so ill in the days of the long ago. By the permission and help of the royal house, by the earnest wish of the martyr monarch himself, the Princess Melanitis and I are resolved to do what in us lies to publish to the Atalantan people the full contents of that message of peace which the Prince came to proclaim to the twin-worlds of Atalanta and of Karamandra. Lo! the way to the Mansions of the Blest is now obscure and uncertain, but the message which the Prince gave is clear and full of light. It shall be placed within the reach of all in the Queen’s empire, which is this world, who are ready to hear it; and then the Bridge of the Tear will become a portal and a pathway to a home in the Mansions of the Blest, where death can never make an inroad, and where, as the God of Heaven has promised--all tears shall be wiped from off all faces.”

“Father most beloved! King most untiring for the people’s good! I bid you farewell,” said Mexitli, adding, “This is the most hopeful day that ever a sad heart beheld on the Bridge of the Tear.”

Mayana advanced with the heart-shaped instrument--the antilla; she struck a few tuneful notes, and then the whole assembled throng commenced the indescribably touching and awe-inspiring chant--

THE FAREWELL OF AMALONA

I

Why have we come from the city bright?
Why have we toiled ’neath the torrid light?
Why have we climbed the irksome hill,
Leaving the bower and the cool sweet rill?
This is the last that our love can do
For the hearts that we honour as loyal and true.

II

What are our hopes on this tearful day?
Trembling and weak, for a sad heart’s stay.
How can they rise from this death-strewn vale?
Or snatch from the skies an enlightening tale?
Yet poor as they are, like the shadows that fly,
We will cleave to them, cling to them, till we die!

III

What is the grief that rules our heart?
’Tis the cry of the world that will bid us depart.
Fain would we linger and fain would we stay,
’Tis duty, not pleasure that calls us away.
Soon we must enter life’s tumult again,
Let the smile on the face hide the grief and the pain.

IV

Why do we gaze on the future unknown?
Or look to the past for the joys that have flown?
One is all drear with _you_ gone from our side,
One is all sad with Time’s onsweeping tide.
Only the Present lies full in our power,
Guarding each brief opportunity’s hour.

V

Can it be true that in days gone by
The Prince came down from His throne on high,
Amongst us the banner of love unfurled,
And laboured in vain for our new-born world?
That we gave Him scant welcome and bade Him depart?
That this is the problem of each aching heart?

VI

Why have the years and the centuries sped
O’er the world of the living, the vale of the dead?
Vainly we turn to the silent skies
To seek a response to our sympathies.
Whether sun shall illumine, or rain mist fall,
What answer comes down to each questioning call?

VII

All through the darkness that broods from afar
Our frail human love shines, a twinkling star;
Often and often ’tis quenched in night,
Ever it struggles towards hope and light;
Age after age it sends forth its sad cry,
“Give me my sure immortality.”

VIII

Ye honoured dead, farewell! farewell! We greet you
In trembling hope that we shall one day meet you!

As the last notes died away the whole multitude bowed with their faces to the ground; then, rising, they lifted up their hands, and the cry, “Farewell! farewell!” rang out in its long echoes to the furthest recesses of the hills.