Chapter V: Part ONE: I (4)

Of this small secret council within a larger secret council I can only state with certainty that its numbers vary from fourteen (the minimum) to twenty, which latter figure is never exceeded. The members of this inner clique are elected from the other members of the council, but on what principles I cannot say. The great difference between the larger and the smaller sets within the council is this: the latter not only know The Secret, but they are the individuals who carry out its details and work its machinery for the purposes I have already explained. With one exception every member of this interior circle has some time or another performed the voyage between the Earth and Meleager; and how strangely does it strike me in my utter solitude to reflect that here in Meleager are nearly a score of persons whose acquaintance with the planet of my birth is in some ways more extensive than my own! The sole exception is the Arch-priest, who may not be transported to Earth, because he is the one person who is in constant and close touch with the King. The limitation is subtle, but it is sound; for I can imagine some fine possibilities of intrigue between the King and the Arch-priest, if the latter had not only visited the Earth but was also familiar with the extraordinary methods whereby that end was attained. (I need hardly add that no senator of the inner ring is ever allowed to address or visit the King except in the presence of two other councillors.) This picked handful of the council chooses the Arch-priest from the general body, so that this functionary stands in an intermediate position of knowledge concerning the working of The Secret, for he thus knows more than the ordinary member of the council and less than his brethren of the inner ring. He is chiefly charged with the control of the services and staff of the temple, and he has also to superintend the establishment on Mount Crystal, where (so I strongly suspect) are kept in honourable confinement those aged members of the council who have grown infirm or garrulous under stress of years. What exact share these persons of the inner ring partake in the working of The Secret I naturally cannot tell; and I often speculate as to whether they themselves are mechanicians possessing a skill far beyond that achieved by any of our engineers on Earth, or whether they merely control certain servants who own the necessary technical knowledge to carry out the intricacies of the aerial machinery under their instruction. In other words, are these score of elderly men their own mechanics, or are they only overseers of others? For there are certainly large numbers of assistants attached to the service of the council, and a certain proportion of these menials I know to be deaf and dumb, the result, it is whispered, of a certain cruel operation which is inflicted sometimes with the consent of the patient, and sometimes (so I gather) by force following on brutal seizure. Is it that the priests are ever on the look-out for capable young mechanics to train for this purpose, and are such promising youths liable to disappear? On the other hand, many of these deaf and dumb servants of the temple have families, and apart from their unknown duties seem free to come and go; being dumb, they cannot chatter, and being deaf they cannot listen; and since the native language is purely phonetic and not literary, people so afflicted cannot converse with their fingers, as is the case with our deaf-mutes on Earth. My own theory is that these persons, having a natural taste in things scientific, are first carefully trained so as to acquire all the technical skill necessary for the accomplishment of the details of The Secret, and are then to their surprise suddenly given the option of being rendered deaf and dumb to be thus retained in the service of the council, or of being instantly and privately executed, for the hierarchy would have no scruples in so acting if by their refusal to submit The Secret were in any way endangered. All this reasoning however on my part is, I admit, founded on pure supposition. For aught I can adduce to the contrary, the journey to and from the Earth may be accomplished by means of some unknown power of levitation, such as is only claimed on Earth by the mahatmas and skooshoks of Tibet, whose wild theories are laughed to scorn by all enlightened Europeans and Americans. There are, I know, vast vaults beneath the Temple of the Sun, and perhaps these may shelter aeroplanes and cars of a type and capacity undreamed of on Earth; on the other hand, these capacious cellars may merely contain treasure and archives, or indeed nothing at all. Possibly there may be elaborate machines concealed in the temple on Mount Crystal, for I am convinced that it is on this conspicuous mountain that the returning Meleagrian envoys from the Earth alight. But I frankly confess I am completely at a loss to explain the system of communication with the Earth; it is a fascinating subject for speculation, but I am also fully cognizant of its perils to any would-be investigator.

Although there can be comparatively little fear of intrigue arising between the King and the councillors of the second grade, yet there exists no real friendliness or confidence between us. They treat me outwardly with marked deference, whilst I in my turn always show myself cordial and polite, but I have no personal friend in the whole body except the Arch-priest, for whom I have conceived a genuine liking and respect. My intimate companions are practically confined to the nobility, and though they are ignorant and illiterate, yet I prefer their honest prattle to any cautious discussion or interchange of lofty ideas with the highly educated priesthood. Nevertheless, I cannot refrain from eulogising the unselfish devotion of these persons to their tasks of administration, which is shown equally by every member. The clique of the interior circle do not of course participate in the actual business of government, for they are presumed to have reached a higher plane of usefulness to the state, but the junior councillors pursue their avocations with unflagging zeal. The tedious work of registration, which entails constant vigilance and many journeys to remote places; the settlement of trade questions; the management of the twin departments of medicine and sanitation; the marshalling of taxation; the control of the army;--all these and many other duties occupy the whole existence of the councillors who know no rest or respite from their allotted tasks.

Take the instance of hygiene alone. The accumulated wisdom of some two thousand years of the Earth's progress in the science of healing lies all at the disposal of the executive hierarchy of Meleager. And I feel compelled to pay a sincere tribute to the intelligent industry of the councillors in their untiring efforts to produce everywhere a "_corpus sanum in civitate sanâ_." The abundant water-supplies of the cities; the meticulous care wherewith every source of contamination is traced; the constant experiments that are made daily in the hospitals (less elaborately equipped than our own, but fully as clean and serviceable); the thoughtful measures to preserve existing health and to improve the physical condition of the mass of the citizens;--all testify to the common-sense and thoroughness of the means adopted by the ministers of public hygiene and eugenics. Thanks to their wise measures pure water, pure air, wholesome food, the prompt eradication of all epidemics, and the segregation of the physically or morally unsound are gradually producing a race that for health and happiness has no parallel on our progressive democratic Earth, where the boasted advance of European civilisation only conveys in its train to healthy but nominally uncivilised tribes and nations every species of moral, physical and æsthetic evil that did not exist under the old conditions of isolation and ignorance.

Although belonging to the aristocratic caste, yet these servants of the state wield their power with magnificent impartiality, weeding out the weaklings alike in the families of noble, merchant or plebeian. Adult degenerates are always removed to the island of Madù off the northern coast. Here the sexes are kept apart, but the poor creatures are permitted to live in tolerable comfort and to receive visits from their relatives, who however (it must be confessed) usually display no very marked anxiety to avail themselves of this privilege. For as time advances, it is commonly coming to be regarded as a social offence to harbour in one's household any idiotic or misshapen being. Thus almost all Meleagrians now heartily concur in the state regulations whereby all infants with obvious mental or bodily defects are at once strangled by the officials who attend in the train of the visiting councillors, and they also make little or no objection to the deporting of grown criminals to Madù.

This public acquiescence in a measure destined solely for the improvement of the race as a whole is, I believe, of comparatively recent date. For a long time the removal of malformed and idiotic infants, as well as the enforced deportation of lunatics or seriously diseased persons, was strongly resented by their families; but firm persistence on the part of the hierarchy and a gradual spread of reasonableness among the whole community have slowly gained the public approval for severe regulations that were at first as novel as they were distasteful. I particularly mention this case, as it tends to show that though conciliation of the populace must always form one of the leading tenets of the council's policy, yet it can on occasion enforce an unpopular edict throughout the nation in its own interest, despite the indignant protests of all classes. I have been told that the then reigning King, a most enlightened Switzer, did splendid service for the council by personally in his capacity of Child of the Sun, ordering his father's own people to obey the new regulations. How long ago this struggle arose I have no notion; and oh, how often have I yearned to learn more concerning that predecessor of mine whose memory is still gratefully held by the hierarchy to-day! How and under what circumstances did he finally "cease to reign"? Did he later on attempt to oppose the ruling body, after having saved it from possible collapse? But no questions of mine, however artfully or artlessly addressed, could ever secure me any but evasive answers.

I can never fix in my inconstant mind my exact feeling towards these "potent, grave and reverend signiors" of the council, these impassive and industrious priests (who are in reality not priests at all, for their task is almost purely a secular one, the priestly office being practically merged in that of the statesman). And in the performance of these duties they are as unselfish as they are indefatigable; nor is there any apparent taint of personal jealousy or internal intrigue amongst the hierarchy. When during my rides abroad for pleasure or for hunting I see a pair of these white-robed councillors, equally servants and rulers of the state, visit some remote hamlet and observe the scrupulous care and the genuine interest wherewith they inquire into and carry out every necessary arrangement for the public weal; and when I consider the implicit faith placed by the country folk in their rulers, I am somehow reminded of the mission of the Apostles of old as they wandered through the towns and villages of the Roman world healing and assisting helpless humanity. At other times, however, I am inclined to regard them with a mixture of hatred and contempt, whenever I reflect on the unprecedented system of conscious fraud whereon all their beneficent action rests. How strange, for example, must it seem for a newly elected candidate to learn for the first time that the religious teaching he has imbibed from infancy is a deliberate fabrication, which he himself is now called on to champion and perpetuate; that the divinity of the Sun is a hollow myth; that his Child is a mortal from another planet; that the world of Meleager, far from being the special creation and care of the Sun-god, is in reality a mere speck in a vast solar system, such as has been propounded by our own astronomers Copernicus and Galileo. What a terrible moment it must prove for a sensitive soul, implected with the beautiful mythology of a lifetime, when in a trice the whole of his religious environment is stripped rudely from him like a garment! I often meditate on the unique moral dilemma that must face every new councillor. How fearful an awakening! How difficult for a conscientious nobleman to combine the two phases of a public benefactor and of a promulgator of an elaborate lie! Has any Meleagrian noble of high integrity I wonder ever had the courage or conscience, at the supreme moment, to protest, even at the risk of death? But I presume the preliminary training and preparation bestowed on all probationers are carefully contrived to soften so great a shock, and to lead the postulant gently towards the amazing revelations made at the time of his reception into the council.

The dress of the hierarchy is simple, consisting outwardly of a white woollen toga-like garment that is free from all ornament. I suspect the adoption of this style of dress is borrowed from that of classical Rome, whose laws and customs evidently form the basis of the Meleagrian constitution. A white wand is carried in the hand, and a white fillet is bound round the temples; only on the two great half-yearly festivals are the ornate gold-fringed garments worn in public. The robes of the Arch-priest are likewise of a white woollen material, which in his case are relieved by a bordure of gold brocade, whilst the wand and fillet are also of gold; but on state occasions he dons magnificent vestments of cloth of gold and wears a golden mitre on his head. The Arch-priest's office is naturally more sacerdotal in its nature than that of his comrades, for it is he who is entrusted with the due performance of all the services of the temple, and he too assists at the solemn ceremony of censing the crystal altar of the Sun, as I have already shown. He is also the custodian of the awful Fountain of Rejuvenation, though his guardianship is shared by other members of the inner ring. One day, finding the venerable head of the council in an unusually expansive mood, I ventured to question him openly upon the properties of this sacred well, this Zem-Zem of Meleagrian un-faith. He replied that its medicated waters, though highly beneficial to a mortal born of the Earth, would prove fatal to any Meleagrian rash enough to attempt their use. Moreover, he added that should anyone plunge alone and unattended into this well, the terrific suction of the current beneath would infallibly drag the body under, never to reappear. I then questioned him if many such accidents had ever occurred, whereupon he answered dryly that none had happened in his own experience; which equivocal reply I interpreted as admitting that fatal incidents in the past were by no means unknown. I then twitted him jokingly for not renewing his own youth, of course with all proper precautions, in the fountain of his charge, to which he replied with considerable asperity and horror, using the most solemn Meleagrian form of denial: "May the God perish first and the Sun be darkened!" After this vigorous negation he took his departure with some abruptness, nor could I ever entice him to speak again of the fountain.

I fully realise that my account of the hierarchy or governing class of Meleager is both incomplete and unsatisfactory, but I must plead again the many difficulties of obtaining information which I have already mentioned. In fact, it is from two sources only that I can derive any details whatever, these being my own limited opportunities of observation and discovery and the rare statements that the Arch-priest lets fall from time to time, for I am not on confidential terms with any other member of the council. From Hiridia and my friends of the nobility I can gather absolutely nothing, for the simple reason that their own ignorance of the private affairs of their ruling caste is even greater than mine. Indeed, the marvel is that I have been able to compile even the small amount I have inscribed here, considering the obstacles in my way of acquiring knowledge. I must sum up therefore by stating that I have very little communication with that body of councillors with whom my own position and prerogative are so closely interwoven, this state of affairs being due wholly to the persistent refusal of the latter to take me into their confidence.

IX

Of the nobility I can speak with more confidence, for with many of them I am on terms of intimacy and friendship. The well-bred gentleman is not confined in our own world to any special climate or nation, for he is to be found equally under a white, a yellow, a brown and even a black skin; and the gentle type is also indigenous on the planet of Meleager.

The aristocracy of Meleager is closely connected with the land, and it is to some extent strongly impregnated with feudal principles. Every noble is either the owner of an estate, be it large, moderate or small, or else is connected by family ties with the actual landowner. Each house forms a distinctive gens in itself, and all its male members are entitled to bear a badge, which is its peculiar mark. These badges at first suggested to my mind a relic of totem-kin, but I soon changed my opinion on this point, and now hold the family badge to be heraldic in its aim and use. I gather that the adoption of a conspicuous badge or emblem for each family is of considerable antiquity, and perhaps derives from reports made by the Meleagrian envoys on Earth at the period of the Crusades, when coat-armour came into fashion among the chivalry of Western Christendom.

The mass of the nobles exhibits various degrees of wealth and influence, and I have noted the existence of some ill-feeling between the leading magnates and the smaller landowners. The social cleavage between the two sets is however imperceptible, and the constant intermarriage between the families of what I may call the major and the minor barons tends to eradicate many cases of jealousy. This landed aristocracy has, of course, its chief residence in the country districts, though the wealthier families possess houses in the cities in addition. The country house of Meleager is usually of moderate size, and consists of a low square white-washed mansion enclosing a courtyard. The native love of colonnades is prominently exhibited in these houses, which are frequently surrounded on all sides by loggias that can be utilised according to the varying conditions of weather. The arrangements within are somewhat primitive according to our own luxurious standards of the twentieth century, but they are not without a sufficiency of comfort. The floors are generally tiled; there are no rugs or carpets, save some skins of beasts; the furniture, though often elaborately carved, is not plentiful. There are no family portraits, for the art of painting pictures is unknown, but in compensation for this defect there is always the curious family chapel or mausoleum. This has usually a low domed roof pierced by windows of coloured glass that admit only a dim light within the chamber which seems very similar to the _columbaria_ of the Romans, from whom I conclude this idea has been borrowed by their unknown admirers. Rows of small semicircular apertures line the walls, many of these standing empty, whilst not a few are occupied by busts of deceased members of the family. Beneath these effigies are placed small urns of metal or marble which contain the ashes, for cremation has for sanitary reasons been made compulsory in Meleager for many centuries past. Some of these busts are of no small artistic merit, and evidently well portray the features of the noble ancestors; others again are of inferior workmanship; whilst some are obviously merely conventional in their treatment. Such a collection certainly forms rather a gruesome substitute for a family portrait gallery, but its atmosphere does not seem to depress the spirits of the present generation, for I am always cheerfully invited to enter and inspect these queer oratories. The surrounding gardens are often beautiful, but are far less artificial than our own. One broad long flagged terrace usually suffices for the family to stroll; otherwise the paths and lawns are unkempt and neglected. These pleasances are however full of a luxuriant growth of wild or half-wild flowers, so that I found myself often being reminded of the exuberant gardens of old-world Italian villas in past days, before the late irruption of wealthy cosmopolitan tourists had succeeded in thoroughly vulgarising Italy and modernising all its old peaceful haunts.

Country life as pursued in Meleager varies little in its essence from that of our Earth, _mutatis mutandis_, for time is pretty evenly divided between the attractions of sport and the claims of estate management and domestic concerns. Everything is, of course, conducted in a manner that would appear as primitive to our pampered sportsmen as it would seem suggestive to the antiquary, for both field sports and agriculture have remained here in the mediæval, or even sometimes in the archaic, stage of development. Firearms, though not unknown, are at least never employed, so that in hunting the spear, the net, the trap and even the bow still constitute the chief weapons of the chase. All ploughing is performed by oxen with wooden implements, and the thorough cultivation of the crops is on a tiny scale. Again and again have the conditions of Meleagrian rural life recalled to me the old-world bucolic practices of Tuscany and Castile, that even down to the close of the nineteenth century retained so many picturesque features of remote classical times. The tenor of existence in the country is quiet enough, and would prove unspeakably dull and irksome to the majority of our modern squires; but it must be remembered that the Meleagrian landowners have no newspapers, no novels, no Stock Exchange, no party politics to sweeten and distract their daily round, so that they are perfectly content to follow in the secure footsteps of their forefathers. Should the younger men find the calm routine of country life wearisome, there are other avenues of occupation open to such restless souls. In the first place there is the army, which is officered solely by members of the aristocracy, some of whom make a permanent profession of their military duties and attain in due course to the higher commands therein. The usual plan is, however, for the younger sons of the noble houses to spend some three or four years in the army, after which they marry and come to settle in homes of their own, where they busy themselves for the rest of their lives with a medley of sport, agriculture and domestic economy. Again, the life at Court is open to a certain number of those who care neither for a career in the army nor for the monotony of the countryside. Here they participate in the constant variety of the palace, and hope to win honorary appointments in the royal household. A few, more adventurous still than their fellows, proceed to Barbaria either for the purpose of better hunting, or for the sake of the harder and more exciting life in a new sphere of energy. Some proportion of these latter obtain grants of land in this less than half-occupied territory, where they found new estates modelled on the old lines, much as the younger scions of our gentle English houses emigrated and settled in Virginia. Such experiments moreover are strongly commended and encouraged by the special councillors who are charged with the conduct of colonial affairs.

Yet another and a far more important means of escape from the alleged tedium of family or rustic routine is the career of the probationer, who aspires eventually to be elected a member of the hierarchy. This ambition cannot, however, be gratified before the age of thirty, when the intending candidate is admitted to the school of the neophytes. Here for a year he receives a course of lectures on Meleagrian history and is taught the rudiments of Latin grammar, but no instruction in reading or writing is yet afforded him. At the end of a twelvemonth of such preliminary training, the neophyte is either rejected as unfit or unsuitable, or else he is admitted a probationer of the seminary attached to the Temple of the Sun. In that case he receives a five years' course of far more advanced tuition; he is taught to read, write and speak the Latin language; and presumably he is also instructed in astronomy, politics, theology and other subjects concerning which his existing notions must be strangely vague or wholly erroneous. This long period of instruction entails a severe strain on the pupil, who is henceforth cut off from all private and external ties and interests, for he is never allowed to quit the precincts of his seminary. Of his final election and reception into the council of the hierarchy I have spoken elsewhere. Whether or no any candidate has ever failed to obtain his election and has been consequently compelled to remain in the institution for years, perhaps for the term of his lifetime, I cannot say; yet I do know for a fact that for its inmates there is but one door leading out of the seminary of probationers and that is the door which admits to the council chamber.

I always enjoy my occasional visits to the country seats of the nobility, where the calm useful healthy life affords an agreeable change to me from the atmosphere of the palace, which seems always charged with mystery and intrigue. The genuine greeting of my host and the members of his family, the delightful blend of divine honours and of frank hospitality wherewith I am everywhere received, the pride shown in their farms and agricultural schemes, the general air of repose and safety, all tend to soothe a mind that has grown perplexed and wearied with the endless cares of an exalted but anomalous office. The conversation of these uneducated but well-bred persons is certainly not exciting, and might fairly be described as trivial, but really I do not think, from past experience, that it is more trifling or banal than the average talk of the British aristocracy which of recent years has elevated sport and money-making to be the prevalent topics of society (using that term in its narrow technical application). And though all these excellent folk in Meleager are of necessity quite illiterate in the sense that they cannot read and write, their memory is marvellous, so that often after the evening meal the different members of the household recite whole poems in the Meleagrian language, or else tell stories that are by no means devoid of wit and imagination. Often too there is singing to the native lute of sweet melodious songs, which are well rendered by the fresh voices of the young performers.

The land tenure of Meleager may perhaps be best described as a modified form of primogeniture. The family estate, whether large or small, descends in tail male, and only in the failure of masculine issue in the whole family to the female heirs of the last possessor. This strict entail is, however, subject to certain limitations, which tend to allow provision for the widow and daughters of the landowner. Moreover, all members of the family have a species of life interest in the estate, so long as they continue unmarried. Thus on the death of a father, the eldest-born will inherit, but the new owner's younger brothers (and also his unmarried uncles), if still residing under the family roof, own the right to remain in their old home. Patriarchal life in this manner becomes highly developed, and the family council consisting of all its male and all its unmarried female members can exercise considerable power over all private affairs within the scope of the family circle. Thus the expulsion of an unworthy relative can be arranged, and this inherent family rule is admitted and upheld by the hierarchy. A noble thus expelled forfeits his right to bear the family badge, and also has to relinquish the crimson cloak and tunic of his order. A member so degraded sinks automatically into the ranks of the plebeian or third estate, and is generally lost sight of. Such incidents are rare, but they do occur occasionally, and this private form of prerogative to drive into social exile is undisputed.

Although a very distinct line is drawn between the Reds and the Greens, between the noble and the mercantile classes, there seems no contempt or envy of class on either side. Such jealousy as exists is rather noticeable within the ranks of the aristocracy itself, wherein, though nominally all are of equal rank, some are rich and some poor, some influential and some of little account. And the same remark holds good of the conditions prevailing in the mercantile class. Taxation of the landed interest is raised in two ways: first by a direct tax on land itself, which is apportioned at certain intervals; and second, by a poll-tax on every noble. Occasionally a landed estate left without any male heirs is sold for the benefit of the female inheritors; but it is clear that in the vast majority of cases the present estates in Meleager have descended in unbroken succession and unreduced in area for many generations.

As to the characteristics of the Meleagrian nobles, doubtless they have their failings, but these in my estimation are fully redeemed by their many good qualities. There is apparent some display of haughtiness in the higher nobility towards other less wealthy members of their own caste, but their attitude and bearing towards their many dependents and also towards the general populace would be worthy of imitation even in our so-called democratic world. Of course such intimacy as I can attain with them is necessarily limited, when one considers my own range of knowledge and their utter inability to grasp the meaning of any one of the many serious questions that perpetually vex my mind. I sometimes have the sensation of living in a world of shadows, with which I sport and even converse, for the mental gulf fixed between me and them is fathomless and unbridgeable. Even my Hiridia, faithful friend and delightful companion though he be, seems often a plaything rather than a co-equal being of the same flesh and blood as myself. I can study all these people and analyse with ease their simple empty minds; I can sympathise with their artless pleasures and pastimes; I can play and sing and hunt and bathe and feast with them;--but I cannot talk with them seriously any more than can a septuagenarian professor carry on a rational conversation with a child. Yet all the same they are charming grown-up children; and was it not the Divine Master of our world who more than once insisted that to share His promised kingdom all His grown-up hearers must become as little children? Nevertheless, despite such consoling thoughts, the fact remains that I am always lonely.

* * * * *

Of the mercantile class I intend to say very little. So much that I have just written applies with equal force to the Greens, or second estate of the realm. I am often entertained by the leading merchants of Tamarida and Zapyro, but these occasions really produce little more than the exchange of polite formalities, and I know far less of these persons than I do of the nobility. A portion of this class is connected with the land in the form of yeomen, or small freeholders, whose properties are however confined to Barbaria or to the poorer districts of the Regio Solis. In their case the law of primogeniture is enforced more strictly than amongst the landed aristocracy, for as the yeoman's estate is reckoned insufficient to provide for all the males of the family, only the eldest son enjoys the paternal acres. The younger sons are accordingly dispatched to make their living or fortune in some trade, and it is usually the stalwart young men of this small landed stock who supply the greater part of the petty officers in the army. The great majority of the Greens, as they are commonly termed, are traders either on a large or a small scale, though a certain number fill some of the lesser official posts of stewards and assistants in connection with the work of the hierarchy. In the case of members of this order who have amassed considerable wealth and are desirous of entering the class of the nobles, application is made to the council, and such appeals are either granted or refused after a full hearing of the circumstances. The royal consent is likewise necessary for the bestowal of this coveted privilege; and I may add that such applications constitute the sole exception to the general rule, that the nobles are never given to intrigue with myself. Naturally they are jealous concerning the prerogative of their order, and some at least are certain to resent fiercely any such attempts of outsiders to be admitted to their ranks. A good many of such appeals are rejected, but in the event of a successful application a large contribution has to be paid to the coffers of the temple and the palace; a landed estate has somehow to be purchased, usually in Barbaria, and then the fortunate postulant doffs the green robes and dons the red, which he is now permitted to wear, and also assumes the use of a badge granted him by the King, who selects the emblem he deems most suitable. The position of the new-comers for a considerable time, perhaps for a couple of generations, is not an enviable one, for they are treated coldly and looked at askance by the majority of their fellow-nobles. But as the older folk pass away, and memories grow shorter, the new lord, or rather his progeny, becomes gradually absorbed by matrimonial connection into the mass of the nobility, and intermingles with the rest. Still, the stigma of having risen from the Greens clings, I fancy, to this type of pseudo-aristocratic house for a long time. On the other hand, marriage with a junior member of the nobility at once confers the husband's rank on a bride of the second estate, who henceforth ceases to hold open intercourse with her own family. Contrariwise, ladies of the nobility who ally themselves with merchants or yeomen sink to the level of their husbands' station.

* * * * *

With the populace again I have more intimacy and sympathy than with the Greens, and through my attendants and bodyguard at the palace I am brought more closely into touch with the people at large. This third estate of the realm consists of all the manual labourers, the artisans, the fisher-folk, and in short all such persons as live by receiving wages, whether in money or kind. I have already hinted that their condition and well-being form the constant care of the councillors, who see that their homes are sanitary, well built and generally adequate, whilst the wages paid must be deemed sufficient to support the individual or his family in decency and comfort. In fact, the supervision of this, the largest and economically the most important section of the community, constitutes the first care of the hierarchy. The people seem hale and happy, nor do they exhibit any envy of the better-fed and better-clad Greens, nor yet of the majestic and privileged Reds. The rules of family life prevail less strongly here owing to the wider dispersal of its members, but they are nominally identical with those in the classes above. There are no law courts in Meleager, and usually disputes and difficulties in this class are settled, as I have already shown, in the judgment hall of the capital, where I sit on most days. The women-folk of the third estate live in less seclusion than do those of the nobility and merchants, a result that is due (as in our Mohammedan countries) to the necessity of the poor having to perform their marketing and daily business in public. This same class also may be said to include the numerous tribe of indentured labourers, mostly from Barbaria, whose status somewhat resembles that of the Roman slaves under the Empire. Vice and drunkenness, though by no means unfrequent, are not conspicuous in this class; whilst the police patrols keep a pretty sharp eye on the landlords of the lower sort of wine-shop and brothel. These resorts of the more dissipated of the people are also visited at times by the councillors charged with their management and reputation, so that the streets of Tamarida at night would compare favourably with those of most European cities, and such debauchery as does exist is assuredly kept well concealed behind doors and is not allowed to offend the eyes or the ears of the passer-by in the streets, which, though dark and narrow, can be safely traversed by all after nightfall. A few cases of quarrelling and use of the knife occur and are severely punished by the lash whenever the culprits are brought to book; deliberate murder is very rare; theft is not frequent; assaults on women and children are practically unknown. So far as my observations tend, I can sum up without hesitation by saying that the proletariat of Meleager is a remarkably happy, healthy, well-behaved, industrious and sober body under what I may call the benign despotism of councillors who have not only been educated to command by years of special training, but also possess a natural gift for such functions.

X

I should not like the reader from anything I have written hitherto to carry away the impression that, because I am myself debarred from their society, the women of Meleager own a status at all similar to that prevailing in Mohammedan countries. On the contrary, setting aside the exceptional case of their semi-divine monarch, the sex has little to lament on the score of inferior or unfair treatment. The Council of Seventy, it is true, contains no female element, but to balance this, the college of the priestesses of the Sun, which I shall describe presently, wields considerable powers in the government of the state. Moreover, the severe restrictions concerning their relations with the King rest, at least nominally, on religious grounds and would therefore naturally be less likely to cause resentment. I think therefore I had better first discuss the existing attitude of my female subjects towards myself, for on this point I can at least offer some correct and detailed information, both from personal knowledge and as the result of inquiries I have from time to time cautiously ventured to make of the older women, with whom alone I am permitted to hold social intercourse.

No unimportant part of the religious training which every girl receives at her mother's knee in Meleager is the Sun Myth, with its picturesque fables of the Sun-god and his incarnated Child. The divine nature and mission of the latter are always dwelt on by the teacher with particular insistence and with due solemnity; and his sanctity is described as placing him outside the pale of ordinary men with ordinary passions. And not only this. Should the Child of the Sun forget the sacred character of his entrusted mission to his father's people and flout his father's precepts so far as to stoop to philander with any maiden of his kingdom, not only will the disobedient monarch incur his divine parent's grave displeasure, but also a most terrible fate awaits the unhappy object of his attentions. From this last portion of the advice instilled into the growing female mind, I conclude that alarming scandals have actually occurred in the past; and who can marvel at it? But how recent or remote are these love intrigues in date; and how or where or when they were detected and punished I am quite ignorant, nor am I ever likely to receive enlightenment thereon. But it is also in harmony with my theory of past troubles of this nature that a salutary story (which is by no means regarded here as a legend) has long been in circulation. The tale itself is strongly reminiscent of the old Greek myth of Zeus and Semele, and in Meleager it takes the shape of an intrigue between a foolish maiden of the people, Anata by name, and the then reigning Child of the Sun, who fell a victim to her charms or her advances. For it is gravely related that Anata actually made her way to the private apartments of the King by stealth. Whether or no she obtained any satisfaction from her forbidden interview will never be known, but it is certain her body was found next morning in the royal bed-chamber charred and almost unrecognisable as the dire result of her clandestine embraces in the arms of the son of the God of Fire. To become the mistress therefore of the Sun-child, should the monarch descend so low as to forget his divine calling, is but the certain prelude to an ignominious and horrible death; and such a belief is firmly held by all women dwelling on Meleager. It is also pronounced dangerous (as it is voted most decidedly immodest) for any young woman, whether maiden or married, to allow even the casual glance of the Sun-child to fall full on her face; so that it is usual for all girls to fling the light veil, or mantilla, which every Meleagrian woman wears, over her features in the event of her encountering accidentally the person of the King. This custom, however, is not an actual regulation, and I have often noticed girls, especially those of the populace, indulge in a good solid stare as I have come riding or walking down the streets of the capital, though sooner or later some pretence of covering the eyes with the veil was carried out. Amongst the nobility this formal hiding of the face is more strictly insisted on, if only as a detail of good breeding. From what I have seen, the young women of Meleager are short, dark and comely, with fine brown merry eyes, small features, and dark hair. In extreme youth they are often remarkably pretty and attractive, but after child-birth they are very liable to lose their elegant symmetry, and to find what was an agreeable plumpness exchanged for a rather prominent bulkiness of figure.

I have never yet so much as spoken to a woman below the age of thirty or thereabouts, and though the fundamental law forbidding my intimacy with any woman in the pride and beauty of her youth is quite wise and logical, according both to the letter and the spirit of Meleagrian state craft, yet it is a rule that presses very cruelly upon myself. For remember, _I_ do not grow old and languid; my own vitality is mysteriously renewed at short intervals, and male youth craves the society and companionship of female youth; whilst also in my case this natural desire can never diminish with the passing of the years. In this respect I stand therefore betwixt the devil and the deep sea, between Scylla and Charybdis. On the one hand, I have to curb my juvenile longings and tastes which tend rather to grow stronger and more insistent; whilst on the other, any attempt to circumvent this ordinance of the hierarchy would not only end in my own discomfiture, and possibly removal, but would most certainly result in the miserable fate of any poor favourite of my choice. The story of silly Anata's disgrace was not invented by the hierarchy merely to serve as an empty fable, one may be sure of that. I feel convinced, too, that the palace teems with spies for this very purpose of thwarting any such intrigue, and though hitherto I have given no cause even for suspicion, I feel my position most acutely. It is so false, and I know it to be false, and so do those who have manœuvred this particular piece of policy concerning their monarch.

When women have once exceeded the age of thirty (which is considered the child-bearing limit in Meleager), and have presumably lost all officially suspected attraction in the eyes of the Child of the Sun, the embargo is removed, though there is never much intercourse between the King and the middle-aged or elderly ladies of the nobility. Whenever I honour the country home of one of my nobles with my presence, all the young women of the household, married or unmarried, are removed elsewhere, but such as are above the fixed age of thirty are suffered to remain, though even in these cases I note that I am seldom left alone with women, no matter what their age. No doubt the female mind, so strongly imbued in childhood with the inherent mystical terrors of their monarch, still shrinks with awe from too close proximity with such a force of potential danger. Possibly, however, I may err on this point, and in reality some ancient notion of etiquette unknown to me is being served by this noticeable self-effacement on the part of the older women. Of course, the deference wherewith I am treated by the male folk is intensified in the case of the ladies, who regard me much in the same light that a bigoted Catholic would regard a tangible apparition of St Peter or St Paul in their houses.

Politically, women possess no rights, but then no more do the men, except the handful who compose the executive council, so they cannot well complain of invidious treatment on this score, even were they anxious to discover grievances of sex. As with the historic Prussian queen, their empire admittedly lies in the nursery, for all children are completely under the charge of their mothers according to immemorial custom. In the nobility the tacit law seems to be that the man is master outside the house, whilst the woman is mistress within doors; and this maxim is generally acted upon throughout all spheres of social life. Women are exempt from the poll-tax, which is levied on all males, and indeed no taxes are exacted from women at all, except in the rare and transitory instances of unmarried heiresses of landed estates. Whether or no, vague, restless, unsatisfied aspirations and longings occasionally assail the minds of some of the younger men I cannot say for certain; but I do feel sure that the womanhood of Meleager is absolutely satisfied with its present lot and cannot so much as conceive of any betterment of existing conditions. The conversations I have had with the wives or sisters of my hosts at different times were usually of a rather stilted and uninteresting nature; but I never failed to note their supreme content and buoyant cheerfulness.

Nevertheless, although women have never been admitted into the ranks of the hierarchy, and presumably never will be, yet they possess a species of council of their own sex in the college of the priestesses of the Sun, who inhabit a large block of buildings contiguous to the great temple. This institution is based on rules somewhat similar to those which prevail in the Council of the Seventy, but it is worked and administered on broader lines, and the age limit is not so strictly drawn as in the case of the hierarchy. Girls who have no desire or vocation for matrimony may enter the portals of this convent (if I may so term it) as novices; nor is the acceptance of applicants confined to one social class, as is the rule concerning the probationers of the hierarchy. On the contrary, a fair proportion of the inmates of this convent are drawn from the middle and lower classes, and thus the atmosphere of the convent is of a distinctly democratic type. Even the highest office of all, that of Domina, or lady abbess, is occasionally attained by a plebeian, for the rules of election here are carefully compiled so as to secure the choice of the most popular and capable of the candidates. The senior ladies of the convent are kept in constant touch with the members of the council, who frequently apply to the priestesses of the Sun for advice in various matters of a social and remedial nature, which may be deemed expedient. Thus all regulations concerning the welfare of women and children have been carefully scrutinised and approved by the Domina and her assessors before ever they are enforced by the officials of the council. But how closely and on what lines the temple and the convent work together is of course beyond my knowledge, though it is evident that the two institutions are conducted in apparent harmony with one another.

XI

It is scarcely fair to offer any comparison between the moral progress as shown in Meleager and that prevailing on the Earth, and in any case such a comparison would prove impossible, seeing how varied and how complex are the many moral systems of the greater planet. With our numerous nationalities it is only logical there should result great diversities of opinion on ethics, and we are made to realise our difficulty in estimating any average sum-total of earthly morals to bring into the field of comparison. Has not one writer of note averred that the views of sexual morality held by the phallic worshippers of old and by the extreme Puritans of to-day rest equally on a common religious foundation? And has not our British poet of empire somewhere written that

"The wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of Khatmandù,
And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban"?

In the instance of my own kingdom the many defunct and surviving systems of the nations of the Earth have all been studied and have doubtless been partially adapted here and there, so that in a sense the Meleagrian outlook on morals is extremely interesting, as affording the result of careful unprejudiced investigation over a wide space of time. But of course the outcome of these secret researches and deductions cannot possibly be agreeable or obvious to any one people or set of thinkers on Earth, for it will be remembered that whereas the Earth is a congeries of tribes and climates and faiths, so Meleager is homogeneous, unless one takes into account the colder and almost unexplored parts of Barbaria. And thus, as the consequence of careful study for many, many generations by acute well-trained intellects, a sort of eclecticism has been created here in the field of morals, as has already arisen in the case of religious tenets.

Here there are no hard and fast rules on moral behaviour, but each individual is supposed to be guided by his or her instincts, which it is considered expedient to depress or encourage, according to the benefit or damage that may accrue thereby to society at large, or to the state, if you prefer to regard it as such. The open exhibition of harmful instincts then is looked on by the ruling caste of Meleager as an occasion not for punishment but for segregation; such tendencies in themselves being disregarded so long as they are practised in secret and kept, as it were, under personal control. And here I am speaking only of traits and tendencies, not of actual crimes, of fraud or violence, for the punishment of which there exists a severe code based apparently on the Mosaic laws. A cold-blooded murder is repaid by a death penalty, which is carried out privately in the case of a nobleman, by beheadal in prison of a merchant, and by public hanging in the case of a plebeian. Crimes of assault are met with strokes from the lash coupled with a fine; outrages on children are punished by death. But vile crimes and executions are very rare indeed, and this highly desirable state of things I attribute to the long period wherein the rulers of Meleager have been gradually eliminating the feeble-minded and evil-disposed members of the community by their careful and judicious system of segregation. Other cases of wrong-doing of a more venial type are usually met by a scale of fines, which are intended to compensate the injured party for any damage he may have incurred; whilst minor instances of violence or disturbance of the peace are frequently punished by an order to administer a certain number of lashes there and then in open court, this penalty being not uncommonly awarded to drunken or refractory persons belonging to the seafaring, peddling, long-shore and such humbler sections of the populace.