Chapter VI: Part ONE: I (5)

Thanks again to the past measures taken to repress crime and to ensure good behaviour, the physical health of the kingdom leaves almost nothing to be desired. Epidemic diseases are practically unknown, as are also contagious venereal maladies. It is the constant, and possibly rather trying and officious, visitations made by the sanitary inspectors into every homestead, small or great, patrician or plebeian, which have doubtless helped to induce this highly commendable condition of affairs. Disease and dirt are the two evils which are attacked without rest or mercy by the councillors appointed for their control, and by their equally energetic representatives. Cleanliness is not reckoned as next to godliness in Meleager; it is an inherent part of religion itself, and hygienic regulations are perpetually being enforced upon what is now become a willing, though no doubt in past times it was an unwilling, population. I suppose many English Puritans would look askance at the thermal establishments which exist both in the cities and in the rural districts, seeing that the two sexes have here opportunities of studying one another in a nude state; but then, as I have said before, Meleagrian morals do not exist for morality's sake, but have evidently been framed for the special purpose of securing a healthy vigorous race. Early marriage is encouraged, but, paradoxical as it may appear, large families are not considered desirable; whilst there is a curious custom which permits of a husband no longer cohabiting with his wife after she has borne him three children living. I have heard that this eccentric, and no doubt to many offensive, notion also prevails in the upper ranks of the civilised Latin races, though possibly my informant may have been mistaken in his statement. I gather that such a tacit understanding has its origin in the fear of over-population, and certainly the limited land surface of Meleager possessing a desirable climate may plead as a reasonable excuse for the holding of this whimsical tenet, which seems to savour of the school of Malthus. Apparently the growth of population in Meleager is somewhat analogous to that of modern France, and seeing the high place in which French philosophy and culture are held by the leading nations of the Earth, the Meleagrians are at least erring in good company.

Turning to the coarser side of the question of public morals, prostitution exists, but neither to a great extent nor openly. Those who can recall the nocturnal conditions of the main London thorough-fares during the latter part of Queen Victoria's reign would be agreeably surprised to detect no outward flaunting of vice after dusk in the streets of Tamarida; and the least tendency to riot or disturbance is promptly quelled by the military patrols. Not that licence and debauchery do not abound, for there are, I believe, plenty of resorts of a certain class in the towns; but the doings of such places do not rise to the surface, and those who frequent them dare not offend the quiet of their neighbours.

Meanwhile the priestesses of the Sun are constantly busied with the ultimate fate of the harlot, and their emissaries are often engaged in reclaiming girls from a licentious career and in training them to become useful wives, for such early lapses are held lightly by the mass of the people. And in not a few instances these "_filles de joie_" become wedded to their paramours, and make good mothers. Such an outlook is of course utterly unmoral to large sections of the civilised and Christianised nations of Europe and America; but the Meleagrian view is shared by many other races of the Earth who have enjoyed a longer and perhaps a better record of civilisation than have these complacent modern nations whose ancestors were half-naked savages in the days of the Roman Empire. Universal chastity, in short, is a feature almost exclusively confined to northern tribes of barbarians, for whom it has great natural advantages certainly, for it tends to breed a hardy and prolific race. But I do not think it can be classed as a genuine virtue in itself, and it always tends promptly to disappear the moment the trammels of education and development are assumed. Now the Meleagrians can lay claim to be an intensely civilised race, whereby I mean their rulers have been engaged in the study of the arts of peace and progress for many centuries, and have consequently left behind them the old barbarian necessity for absolute chastity, though they still recognise its value as a wholesome ingredient of married family life. For with marriage chastity in their eyes takes on another aspect, which must not be confounded with the former, and that is faithfulness. A faithless wife is very rare indeed in Meleager, and her treatment at the hands of her neighbours is not enviable.

XII

Religion has already entered so significantly into my narrative that I feel I must apologise for a special dissertation on this subject. Yet I have never so far described the exact nature or scope of the Meleagrian faith which may be said to permeate and regulate the whole private and public existence of the people.

The inhabitants of Meleager--and in the ensuing statements, of course, I always except the hierarchy--are worshippers of the Sun, who is their sole deity. He is visible to them for a large portion of almost each day; he is tangible, in so far as they can feel the warmth of his beams; he is alive and in constant motion, as they watch him "ride the heavens like a horse" and disappear into the waters of the western sea only to uprear again next morning above the eastern horizon. As in the old Greek mythos, the Sun is popularly supposed to drive his golden chariot with its flaming wheels and with its yoke of fretting stallions across the dome of heaven, till finally god and car alike pass over the containing rim of the Meleagrian world. Below the flat surface of the land and sea the Sun-god inhabits a vast palace, whose splendours far exceed anything known to men. Here he rests after his daily labours amongst his numerous progeny, and refreshes himself after his late exertions undertaken solely for the benefit of the favoured race, that in the illimitable past he created in his own image. The firmament is his field of action; the space below the ground is his haven of retirement. At night the dome of heaven shorn of his effulgent presence is lighted only by the sparkling stars; "jewels of the Sun," as they are termed in Meleagrian parlance; or else the great vacant arc is illumined by the sickly lustre of the Moon. For the Moon stands to the Meleagrian mind, as it did largely to the antique and mediæval imagination, for all that is uncanny and malign. Few Meleagrians will walk abroad in clear moonlight, if they can reasonably avoid so doing; and in the many tales and legends that are current the Moon in her various phases and with her evil influence always occupies a prominent place. The oldest legend concerning the Moon, that is a legend parallel with such theories as the origin of the rainbow or the story of the Ark on Mount Ararat of the Jewish Pentateuch, relates how in the days of chaos there were two Suns, rivals, who fought one another for the possession of the beautiful world of Meleager; and that after a titanic combat, wherein the heavens thundered and the mountains belched forth fire and smoke, and the waters tossed and hissed furiously, the benign Sun conquered and slew the opposing deity, whose dead body still floats abroad in the sky, wherein it serves as an eternal trophy to the prowess of the victor. In the popular imagination however the corpse of the vanquished Moon is not wholly impotent for ill. A scintilla of mischievous vitality is still believed to lurk in its form, during the hours of the night, what time the Sun himself is absent from the heavens. The average Meleagrian therefore has a peculiar dread of the night, and of a moonlit night in a special degree. The practice of magic, both of the black and white types, is fairly common in all ranks of Meleagrian society, and its preparations and philtres are always popularly associated with the period of the Moon's fulness, when that deity's surviving spark of life is deemed most active.

The cult of the Meleagrians for the Sun not only recognises his vital warmth and fructifying properties, but also attributes to him the gathering or dispersal of the clouds which drop the refreshing rain upon the thirsty soil and swell the opening buds of tree and plant. The winds are also under the Sun's control, and are apparently regarded as his offspring, who sometimes disobey their august parent's injunctions, and either sportively or maliciously vex the people of Meleager with unwelcome gales that imperil the fisher-folk at sea, and injure the springing crops on land. But speaking broadly, the Meleagrian is of St James's opinion that "every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of Lights with whom is no variableness neither shadow of turning." And in truth the unchangeable benignity and faithfulness of the Sun-god are so evident to his people that one can scarcely wonder at their fixed belief in his omnipresent power for good, and at his unsullied reputation of their sole benefactor.

The scheme of public and private worship has evidently been modelled on features found in Pagan, Mohammedan and Christian religious systems. The brief prayer to the Sun's majesty, which I have quoted elsewhere, that is uttered by all on their knees at the hours of sunrise and sunset, savours in principle of the terse invocations to Allah, deemed by Mahomet as most suitable to the human temperament and understanding. On the other hand, the weekly obligatory holiday derives probably from Jewish tradition. Again, the elaborate ceremonies held annually in the principal temple whereat the King offers incense in public at the crystal altar of the Sun seem to recall the mediæval pageants of the Roman Church, though possibly they may be copied from much older forms of worship on the Earth. But in contrast with these strictly spiritual forms, it is noteworthy that the occasions of births, deaths and marriages are treated in a civilian spirit, if I may so express it. Births are merely registered or reported to the appointed members of the council or their itinerant officials; marriage is almost wholly a betrothal within the family circle, and consists of an exchange of rings between the bride and bridegroom in the presence of their respective relations. Death is accompanied with small display of ceremony. Cremation is compulsory here, and after the corpse has been duly prepared, a pyre is made either in the garden of the deceased's home or else in a public enclosure utilised for the purpose. In aristocratic or wealthy families the ashes are generally preserved within the family chapel or mausoleum; those who are poor or indifferent merely leave the little urn in the public columbarium. There are regular charges by the Government for the performance of cremation, varying with the opulence or poverty of the family applying. Death is never attended with any demonstration of woe or wailing, or indeed by any sort of openly expressed mourning, except in the case of widows and orphans, who usually hold themselves in retirement for a month or so after the event. To mourn loudly or to give vent to excessive grief is regarded as ill-bred, at any rate in the upper classes, as also indicating the fear lest the departed one may not through his life have earned the full benefits of the Hereafter, which is the due reward of every well-behaved citizen. Of course, genuine sorrow and desolation are not scorned or mocked; such feelings are respected by those outside, but it is the custom and aim of the Meleagrians to conceal their feelings as assiduously as possible; and indeed to hide a stricken heart under a smiling face is accounted no small virtue in itself, and in the nobility a necessary proof of gentle manners.

Death is universally regarded as the portal to another life, which may be either material in the form of a reincarnation on the planet itself, or of a spiritual or higher phase of existence in the mystical realm of the Sun-god. In any case, it is held that the continuity of personal existence is not interrupted by the accident of death, though there is no definite opinion or belief as to the nature of the new life that succeeds. Having no literature in print or script, naturally all such theories of the Hereafter are very nebulous, so that numerous views as to the nature of the future life are held, though all such views are variable rather than contradictory or combative. Thus many aver that the Meleagrian never really dies, but that a death in one spot merely connotes a birth in another; and that the individual is born again and again, each time into a different social sphere, till finally he becomes a member of the hierarchy, whose priests when they expire are absorbed directly into the family of the Sun-god.

And here I may state that, paradoxical though it may appear, the theory of the Hereafter is apparently held as firmly by the hierarchy as by the people at large. Of course the opinions of these enlightened persons differ fundamentally from those of the ignorant mass of the Meleagrians, whose easy-going theory of transmigration of soul, or rather of vital personality, is naturally repugnant and absurd to their educated minds. Their aspirations are necessarily more lofty, though what their actual fixed belief is I cannot tell, and I much doubt whether any member of the hierarchy could explain it satisfactorily himself. For these councillors have full cognizance of all the faiths and creeds, to say nothing of the numerous forms of un-faith and philosophic doubt, that flourish on our Earth, to guide or hinder them in their choice of a definite religion; yet I am assured, and I believe the assurance, they all cling to the belief of the Hereafter in spite of the knowledge of their own Great Imposture and their close acquaintance with terrestrial ethics. Probably the simple but precise religious education of their childhood produces a mental soil wherein agnosticism and infidelity positively refuse to take root and flourish; and though they must have received a most painful rebuff in the total destruction of their early religious teaching, yet their minds are so attuned thereby that they merely cast about with more or less success to find some suitable theory or form of belief that will fill the aching void created by the recent revelation of The Secret and all that it implies. That any one of them has actually been converted to any Herthian creed, I very gravely doubt. From generation to generation for some two thousand years these councillors have watched so many prophets and messiahs arise in all corners of our Earth, and again they have noted the beginning, the rise, the zenith, the decline and the extinction of so many cults;--how can they possibly assert which is or was the genuine form of belief? Their conclusions, if conclusions they can be called, remain as a sealed book to me; and though I have taken part in many arguments on this weighty subject with the Arch-priest and also with other members of the hierarchy, I shall never really catch a firm grip of this elusive religious _fata morgana_ of the Meleagrian intellectuals. In one important respect however I have learned that the councillors are pretty unanimous--namely, in extolling the expressed opinion of St Paul that the blessing of the Hereafter is not necessarily an inalienable gift to man. "The wages of sin is death," and "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?" are, I know, maxims that are admitted and approved by these all-knowing members of the hierarchy. Sin, they hold, is any disobedience or treachery in connection with their sacred trust of ruling the people of Meleager for their own good; and the failure or omission to perform plain duty brings its own punishment in the shape of Death, not the casual death of the body but a complete blotting out and annihilation of the soul, the termination of progressive personality both now and for ever. This view of their responsibilities acts as a warning voice in the ear of each councillor, who may ever be tempted to a possible betrayal of his trust either towards his own order or towards the Meleagrian people; and it is perhaps this sense of an automatic obliterating Nemesis that makes the elaborate machine of Meleagrian state craft work so smoothly in the hands of those who are alike strictly accountable both as rulers and servants of the community.

XIII

Although I have described the three estates of the realm as being clearly delineated by their social boundaries, yet there is one element of union betwixt them all that I have so far left unnoticed. This I may call the intellectual bond that in some degree seems to weld together these three well-defined classes. There is, of course, no literature in the accepted term amongst the Meleagrians, for they own neither books nor manuscripts, the power to read and write being vested solely in the educated hierarchy. On the other hand, the brains of the people are at least as quick and comprehensive as are those of Earth-dwellers, whilst the tenacity of memory in the more gifted individuals is amazing. In our English life, even in this generation of compulsory popular education, it is no uncommon thing to meet with persons in the humbler ranks of society who despite all these modern boasted advantages have for one reason or another failed to acquire or to remember the arts of reading and writing. Some proportion of such illiterates is undoubtedly of inferior mentality, but a large fraction also consists of persons whose minds are conspicuously acute and retentive. Again and again when on the Earth have I been struck by the marked ability of invention and memory displayed by certain individuals who cannot decipher a journal nor write a letter. On the other hand, the mass of the semi-educated, who are all voracious readers of the trashy or unwholesome printed stuff of the present time, are appallingly, hopelessly ignorant of all things that are worth learning or remembering. In Meleager, with its literary limitations, intellect is shown not in a smattering of ill-digested education, but in natural taste, in the exercise of memory, and in exceptional powers of invention. One reads in works belonging to the past of the _improvvisatori_ of Italy, of the bards of mediæval Wales, of the minnesinger of Germany, of the troubadours of Provence, and it is this obsolete type of self-culture that dominates and guides the aspiring Meleagrian mind. There exists hardly a family or household in each estate that does not possess at least one member who is born with a definite taste or instinct for mental prowess, which is shown in his capacity to learn and retain in youth the myths or poems repeated to him by his elders. From these early and simple efforts of the mind such an one passes to the higher plane of invention and of composition. A stripling so endowed is almost always persuaded to persevere; his tales or verses are listened to and discussed with all seriousness by his friends and family; and if his efforts come to find favour he may by degrees win a reputation that will tend to spread. The popular class in particular produces many such orators, whether they declaim original matter or the works of others. These persons are in frequent demand at all gatherings in their immediate circle, whilst a certain proportion of them are able to obtain a wider notoriety and to gain their living from the fees they receive for their powers of entertainment. In these successful instances the poet or entertainer, if he be of humble origin, will often be invited to appear and recite in the houses of his superiors; and if his good luck or genuine talents lead him yet further, it is not unlikely he may eventually, if he be so minded, obtain a species of social adoption into a higher sphere than that of his birth. It is no very uncommon thing for an _improvvisatore_ so endowed to be finally elected into the estate of the nobility, and to be allowed the use of the crimson robe, though such a privilege is never extended to his wife or family. Having once attained to this eminence, in spite of his plebeian origin he is of course eligible to be entered as a neophyte, which is the first step towards ultimate admission to the ranks of the hierarchy.

This then is the ladder that has occasionally assisted certain naturally gifted members of the lower social orders to ascend even to the council of state; thus it is that the intellectual cream of the Meleagrian populace is enabled to rise to the surface. No doubt the proportion of plebeians in that exclusive assembly is very small; still such a consummation is shown to be not wholly unattainable, and the hope of so exalted an honour, however remote and improbable, acts as a spur to such persons of the middle and lower classes as own exceptional abilities and possess the ambition to serve their country in this wise.

Meleagrian poetry, to which I am of necessity or politeness compelled to sit a constant listener, seems to me to be at least on a level with that of my former country; whilst the tales, be they amorous, didactic, gruesome or comical, are often delightful in themselves and are moreover always related with a charm and restraint of manner that might well be adopted by our own professional lecturers who have the backing of innumerable libraries behind them. There is in fact an enormous quantity of what I may call floating unwritten literature of considerable value; for any tale or poem which happens to hit the taste of an audience soon becomes public property, and is learned by rote and repeated by other less successful orators, so that the author's fame becomes widespread. I have only to add that the ear, the wit and the memory of this illiterate race are all so delicately adjusted and attuned that it is no easy matter for the average would-be entertainer to acquire popularity and high recompense in his self-chosen profession. It is only a very few who rise to general esteem and to high honour and affluence; whilst of the others a large proportion are content to cultivate a good method and modest style of recitation, and only to declaim the works of such as have already attained a definite celebrity.

XIV

Since I wrote these pages I have met with an extraordinary but most fortunate experience, which I have been able to turn to my own profit with regard to the safe delivery of my manuscript. I shall relate the circumstances as briefly as I can, for I have not overmuch space left on this scroll, and I find my message must be limited to one piece.

Yesterday, being the holiday of the week, I rode out a-hunting with Hiridia and other members of my Court amid the hilly region of forest that lies behind the city. We were engaged in hotly pursuing a wounded doe, and in the course of our chase came upon a wide open plateau in the midst of the woods. Across this we all galloped, and my mount being far fleeter than those of my companions, I soon outstripped them all and rushed forward into the forest beyond. I am not usually very intent on hounding down a stricken animal, but on this occasion I continued to charge wildly ahead, dodging the many trunks and branches in a manner that would have done credit to a colonial Bushman. The hot lust of the chase for once fired my blood, and I felt the true afflatus of the eager sportsman in my brain, as I tore madly onward, recking nothing of the surrounding danger or the possibility of getting lost. Suddenly I was stopped in my headlong career by the bough of a tree striking me full across the breast with considerable force. A quick struggle to retain my saddle and stirrups, an unusually fierce plunge from my excited horse, and a moment later I found myself clinging with both arms to the opposing branch with my steed escaping from under me. I watched his quarters disappear into the enveloping scrub, and for a few seconds could distinguish the crackling sound of his tearing through the undergrowth till all was silent. I now dropped cautiously to the ground below, where I found myself none the worse for my misadventure, save for a few scratches and bruises. My plight, if disagreeable and untimely, was not in the least fraught with danger, for I was sure to be sought and discovered by my comrades at any rate before many hours could pass. I felt however no inclination to lie quietly where I had fallen, so I decided to retrace my steps in the direction whither I imagined my friends to be approaching. So I rose and began guessing my way by means of the broken twigs and trampled grass caused by my horse's late gallop in the forest. But I must evidently have soon strayed from the desired direction, for after a time I lighted upon a well-defined track or pad, such as used to be familiar to me in the Australian bush; and thinking this track would certainly lead me towards some habitation, I followed its meanderings beneath the tall trees, whose leafy heads served to exclude a good deal of the waning afternoon light. Having threaded this little path for no small distance I suddenly found it emerge from the woodlands into a charming secluded little valley, watered by a clear purling stream trickling through bright green pastures that were thickly set with masses of the fragrant yellow narcissus. Beyond the brook and facing me stood a house of some size, recalling one of the mysterious Algerian _koubbas_ with its plain white-washed walls and its low cupolas. I hastened forward with the intention of demanding assistance, and had already leaped the narrow stream and was ankle-deep amongst the perfumed yellow blossoms, when I caught sight of a figure in long white draperies seated in a chair that was set on the usual low gallery outside the house. As I drew near enough to distinguish the man's countenance, I was seized with a sudden spasm of intense astonishment, for the white-robed senator sitting there full in the golden light of the setting sun was no other than my old acquaintance on Earth--Arrigo d'Aragno!

But if real surprise were manifested (as I have no doubt must have been the case) on my own visage, I am sure I never saw terror, genuine abject terror, ever depicted so plainly on any face before. Some hideous apparition or the sudden realisation of an impending doom could alone have produced that look on any countenance. D'Aragno's complexion turned ashy-grey, his thick lower lip fell, his eyes took on a glassy stare, as they surveyed my approaching form; yet so stupefied was the poor man from shock that he was obviously unable to arouse himself. Naturally, I was the quicker to recover from the effects of this unexpected meeting, and with a voice fairly well under control I merely remarked in English: "Have you no word of greeting, Signor d'Aragno, for your King, who stands in some slight need of your help?" My words seem to have brought the required force to break the spell of temporary paralysis, for the poor fellow, half-rising from his seat, began to blurt out some incoherent sentences. I drew still nearer, and my advance, whilst certainly increasing his horror, at least served to render d'Aragno more active in his movements, for hurriedly bestirring himself and casting a furtive look round the peaceful empty scene, he motioned to me to enter the house by an open doorway just behind his chair. When we were both inside the room, he hurriedly bolted the door, and then sank utterly exhausted on to a couch, whereon I feared for a moment he was about to indulge in a prolonged, or perhaps even a fatal, fainting fit. Presently however, to my relief, he exhibited signs of recovery, whilst I stood motionless at a little distance from him, patiently waiting for him to speak and feeling to my intense inward satisfaction that somehow or other I had in this unsought and unexpected interview the advantage over my late captor on Earth.

"Why, why have you entered my house? How have you managed to find me? Who can have told you of my whereabouts?" Such were the first questions the prostrate d'Aragno contrived to hiss out from his swollen purple lips. But I continued to maintain my calm not to say haughty attitude, and thus allowed the unhappy councillor for some time longer to imagine that I had found my way hither with the special purpose of his discomfiture, for from his confused and disjointed ejaculations I grew quickly to comprehend that our strange encounter was liable to prove a fatal catastrophe for him, d'Aragno. After keeping silence thus for several minutes, with a contemptuous smile of amusement and pity, I told him of my accident out hunting and how I had wandered hither by the merest chance. My statements seemed at first slightly to mollify his alarm, but an instant later he was again in contortions of renewed terror lest my comrades should trace me to this spot and report the matter to the hierarchy. I began to grow impatient and rather angry with this unedifying exhibition of selfish cowardice, so I spoke at last sharply to the agonised senator. But I need not trouble my readers with a detailed account of our lengthy conversation, beyond that its salient points were these, and very interesting they were to me. It seems that d'Aragno did accompany me in my strange aerial voyage to Meleager, which terminated (as I had so often expected) at the temple on Mount Crystal. From that time up till the present moment he had been living in strict retirement in this remote sequestered valley, in accordance with the inexorable rule of the hierarchy, which positively forbids under pain of immediate death any meeting or communication whatsoever between the Earth-born King of Meleager and the envoy who has selected him for that royal office. And now in truth a deadly bolt had fallen out of the blue into the quiet existence which d'Aragno looked to enjoy for the remainder of his days in this pleasant place of hiding. I could not repress some qualms of sympathy for my unwilling host; still, such feelings were not a little tempered by the secret sense of gratified vengeance, when I reflected on the dictatorial advice and threatening attitude of which I had had experience some few years ago in London. However I brushed aside my rancour, and assuming a cheerful countenance I patted the lamenting senator familiarly on the back, bidding him take courage, as my courtiers were not likely to seek me in his house, and even if perchance they did come this way, what was to prevent the concealment of my presence here? So we fell to less dismal discourse, and likewise to food, for I was very hungry and insisted on my host supplying me with a substantial meal, which he fetched himself. I sat down to eat with a good appetite, the while poor d'Aragno, too agitated to ply a knife and fork, watched me do justice to the cold meats, rolls, fruits and excellent home-grown wine he had placed before me.

During this time d'Aragno gave me information on several points that had hitherto puzzled me. I learned from him that the Meleagrians always keep two ambassadors on the Earth, who are replaced from time to time, and need nevermore repeat their excursion thither. I also gathered--indirectly, it is true, for d'Aragno was discreet to the verge of obstinacy--that constant intercommunication is maintained between their envoys on the Earth and the hierarchy in Meleager by means of crystal-gazing globes, whose properties allow of a code of signalling, no matter what the intervening space may be. Possibly there are other sources of mutual information between the two planets, but this use of crystal-gazing I conclude to be one of their principal means employed. On the subject of my own levitation or conveyance whilst in an unconscious state to Meleager, d'Aragno simply pursed his lips and steadfastly refused to reply; so seeing any attempt on this head would prove idle, I finally turned the conversation. In the matter of his own position and safety in Meleager, my host was more communicative. He was, he said, treated with the greatest distinction by the whole hierarchy, with whom he was in constant touch, by means of a subterranean passage running from his chosen place of retirement to the Temple of the Sun in Tamarida. He assisted at all the more important meetings of the inner ring of the council, and was frequently visited by members of the hierarchy in his country home. Nevertheless, this sword of Damocles, in the shape of the ancient stern enactment, ever hung above his honoured head, should he by any evil chance, such as the present, come into personal contact with the monarch he had himself enticed and brought to reign in Meleager. Any collusion or meeting, so he informed me, between these two personages, was if discovered to be followed by the immediate death of the hapless envoy, no matter how innocent he might be, nor how accidental and unforeseen his encounter with the Child of the Sun. This death penalty was a fundamental law, which could never be broken nor abrogated. I suppose the very notion of a combination between these two persons seemed so fraught with danger to the state as to have been the original cause of so savage and sweeping an edict. No wonder then that poor d'Aragno, who was obviously in no hurry to terminate his quiet but highly agreeable evening of life, seemed overwhelmed with fear at the unlooked-for apparition of myself. I perceived a distinct cooling of my recent dislike towards him as he proceeded to tell me of the pleasant years he hoped to spend in this delicious retreat, where he was served by attendants who were deaf and dumb. He showed me with affectionate pride the many rolls of manuscript filled by his own pen with choice passages from our worldly authors that had lain embedded in his marvellous and highly trained memory, which he daily continued to transcribe. With a sly expression he also rose and slid aside a panel of the wall, revealing within a small space, that sheltered about a dozen tiny volumes of printed matter, which (so I conjectured) he had brought away with him from the Earth hidden on his person to his final destination. These consisted chiefly of English and Italian classics, and amongst their number I can recall the Shakespearean Plays, the Essays of Montaigne and Bacon, the _Divine Comedy_ of Dante, the _Faust_ of Goethe and the _Travels of Gulliver_. These books were of very small size and of such minute print that their owner confessed they required to be studied through a magnifying glass. For a moment I paused to wonder whether these treasures were ever produced in the presence of any of those white-robed brethren of the council who were in the habit of paying d'Aragno visits in his home of honourable exile. Nor could I resist asking d'Aragno, as I fingered these mementoes of his sojourn on our Earth, whether he had included in his library any of my own works, seeing how extravagantly he had praised them during our interviews in London; but my host gravely shook his head, for a sense of humour is rather rare amongst the more exalted members of the hierarchy.

At length I came to business, the business I stoutly intended to transact ere ever I quitted this secluded house, the business which a lucky chance had thrown in my way towards a possible fulfilment of my present desire. "And now," began I, "Signor d'Aragno, for I know you by no other title, pray what return do you propose to render me, if I do not immediately on my arrival at Tamarida inform the Arch-priest of this delightful but altogether informal meeting between us?" My hearer's fat face waxed pale and puffy as he almost cringed before me at the bare thought of the possibility of such a catastrophe. "What is your wish?" proceeded as a hoarse whisper from between his bloodless lips. I thereupon set to explain to him the exact nature of the boon I demanded--namely, the safe transmission of my message to Earth; and I also declared to him that it was the ambition to overcome what all the wiseacres of our planet would deem insuperable that largely prompted my intention. At first d'Aragno's face betokened blank dismay at my request, yet when I went on to tell him that I had no wish for my packet to be delivered to any particular individual, but that I was fully content for it to be deposited on the Earth's surface, provided only it were dropped on dry land, he assumed a less despondent bearing.

After a pause for meditation d'Aragno replied: "Your scheme is not altogether incapable of accomplishment, for I who brought you hither own at least the means of conveying an object of moderate compass to your Earth. I am implicitly trusted here, and as to any missive I may care to dispatch to Earth no question will be asked, and it will be sent on the next occasion. But remember, I can only undertake to do this once, and once for all. If therefore you will hand over to me your manuscript, written closely as you will but confined within one solitary sheet of our vellum, I will engage to have it conveyed whither you ask. You, however, on your part must swear never to divulge the incident of our chance encounter to-day, and for this mutual exchange of oaths it is expedient for us both to have recourse to the Meleagrian formula in its most solemn aspect. And I must notify you here that we in Meleager are all believers in the Hereafter, which we hold is arranged for us according to our merits in this our present life. We all (and I am no exception) build much on the Hereafter, albeit we may seem overmuch attached to life itself; we therefore dread the forfeiture of our future prospects in the mysterious world to come, however uncertain we may feel of their precise nature or degree. Now we hold also that the breaking of a formal oath of special sanctity on the part of a councillor of Meleager of itself brings this punishment or disability in its train, so by binding myself by this most sacred rite I run the risk of losing what I deem of intense value--namely, every chance of spiritual growth in the Hereafter. You, on your side, must also perform your share of the contract faithfully, and for that joint purpose I now propose that we two participate in the sacred act of an interchange of oaths. Have I your consent to this?"

I agreed, being anxious to learn the nature of this solemn binding covenant, whose rupture is regarded as the prelude to such serious spiritual losses and disadvantages. I therefore closely watched d'Aragno busy himself with the necessary preliminaries. First he fetched a vase of gold into which he stuck a few thin rods, that he subsequently lighted to the accompaniment of a prayer, whereupon a strong aromatic odour began to pervade the room. He then bade me stand opposite to him and at the same time bend over the vase so that we obtained the benefit of the pungent incense smoke full in our nostrils. He next clasped both my hands in his, entwining our respective fingers, and then pressed his forehead against mine. This attitude, however sacrosanct and traditional, rather tickled my natural propensity to mirth, as I noted the incongruity in this close semi-embrace between my own six feet four inches and squat d'Aragno's five feet and little over. Nothing however in this pose seemed to strike my host in a humorous light, for he continued with the most serious expression to clutch me with all his force till the drops of sweat were pouring from his face. Meantime he kept muttering prayers or threats with ceaseless energy in an undertone, until, when I myself was almost wearied out with my stiff and stooping attitude, he suddenly with a final burst of imprecation snatched the burning incense sticks from the vase and trampled them vigorously underfoot till they had ceased to smoke. The compact, or rite, or oath was now completed, so that we were mutually bound, I to the strictest secrecy and silence, and he to the task of dispatching my scroll of manuscript to Earth. D'Aragno now unfolded his plan of campaign to me. "In your own private garden at the palace," said he; "beneath a group of seven tall palms stands a marble seat where I am told you are often in the habit of sitting in meditation. Behind that same seat is a flagstone of the paved terrace which has a copper ring inset. Bring your piece of parchment concealed in your mantle to this spot when there will be none to observe your actions, for the palace spies do not penetrate thither. Pull up the ring, which will yield easily to your effort, and then throw down the scroll into the hollow that exists beneath. That is all, but see that you do this on the seventh day from to-day between the sixth and seventh hours. I shall be waiting in the gallery below, which ramifies from the underground passage that connects the temple with my place of retreat. For three days in succession I shall come to this spot below the marble bench; but if by the third day no scroll is thrown down to me, I shall deem myself absolved of my oath, for I dare not attend thus more than three days running. But you may rely on my punctuality and good faith. Having duly obtained your scroll, I shall encase it in a metal cylinder and it shall then be transmitted to Earth on the first opportunity, which ought to occur within the next few weeks. The case with your manuscript enclosed will be dropped in some lonely place inland, where it may or may not be ultimately discovered, brought to a civilised city, deciphered, studied, discussed and published. For myself, I fail to grasp your evident sense of satisfaction in so trivial and futile a scheme; but it is clear you are obstinately bent on your purpose, and by my recent oath I am bound under the severest spiritual penalties to aid you. Yet who on your Earth will ever be found to believe in your fantastic story? And even if it were held worthy of credence, of what value would it prove to your fellow-men? Or again, what possible tittle of benefit would you gain by stirring up Herthian interest in this account of your adventures in Meleager?" And d'Aragno's face for a moment took on the quizzical yet imperious look I had noted when he was addressing me at length in the parlour of the great London hotel some five years ago.

By this time darkness had fallen outside, and this circumstance now urged my host to speed my departure. Quickly leaving the house in the obscurity of the encroaching nightfall, together we crossed the glen with its murmuring brook, and scaled the opposite bank to enter the depths of the enclosing forest. Following a rough path we advanced for some time without exchanging a word, till at last we debouched into a wide open space where we halted. The sharp dewy freshness of the night air was now upon us, whilst the hooting of distant owls and other nocturnal sounds filled our ears, as we stood gazing into the dark blue vault overhead. The stars glistened with the peculiar brilliance associated with a touch of frost, and shining above the tree-tops was a conspicuous planet far surpassing its companion stars in size and lustre. D'Aragno paused, and pointing towards the ascending orb quietly informed me it was the Earth, my old domicile; and somehow this piece of information caused in me an indefinable thrill, so that I could not repress a slight shiver, as I fixed my eyes on my far-away abandoned home. At the same time a curious tale of my childhood leaped, as it were, into my memory, for I began to understand with a greater clarity than ever before the extraordinary nature of the fate that had befallen me.

I recalled the story, the conceit of a long-forgotten evangelical writer whose works were popular with my parents, of how a certain inhabitant of the Evening Star was so struck by the surpassing beauty of the planet we call the Earth that he prayed to his Deity for permission to visit this unknown world. His entreaty was granted, but upon one condition--namely, that on his being translated thither he should never return, but should share in whatever conditions and laws of existence might prevail on the star of his choice. He eagerly consented to this pact, so overwhelming was his desire or his curiosity; and falling into a deep slumber he was transported (much as I had myself been conveyed) to his elected sphere, wherein he awoke to find himself in an ancient city of the Levant. The strange visitor was well received by the reigning sultan and the citizens of the place, who did all that lay in their power to make life pleasant for their interesting guest, whose unique story they thoroughly believed. Time sped by agreeably enough amid these novel surroundings, so that the stranger daily grew fonder of his environment till one evening, when he chanced to stroll by himself without the city walls and to enter an attractive garden that was filled with curious erections of stone and marble set amid masses of flowers and shaded by lofty trees. It seemed a peaceful spot, but the Stranger was so puzzled by the solitude of the garden that on his return to the city he asked the sultan whose property was the beautiful shady enclosure with the carved monuments and the groves of cypresses, and for what purpose was it used. The monarch looked astonished at the question, but told his guest it must have been a cemetery, a burial-ground, the garden and final home of the Dead. Again the Stranger was perplexed: "And what are the Dead?" Then the sultan tried to describe death and the common lot of all the sons and daughters of Adam to his listener, who grew more and more amazed as he endeavoured to grasp the prince's unfamiliar explanations. "But will you yourself die also?" he finally asked the sultan. "Most assuredly," answered the latter; "all of us, from the highest to the least, king and beggar, man, woman and child, we must perforce all obey the summons of Death when it comes." Without speaking another word, the Stranger quitted the palace in profound silence and with head bent in cogitation over this astounding law of nature he had just heard for the first time. It took him many days of further inquiry and self-communing before he could realise this sudden compulsory cessation of active life which inevitably awaited himself, sooner or later, whether as the result of disease, of accident, of violence or of decay. Long did he reflect, and finally he came to the conclusion that, seeing how soon and how suddenly Death might call him, Life itself so far as its pleasures and its interests and its intrigues were concerned was but a step on the road to Death, which was the final goal with its vista of eternal joy or pain or oblivion. Naturally, the pious writer of this ingenious allegory had sought therefrom to point a lesson of the vanity of all worldly pleasures and success, and of the consequent need of preparation for the after-life, which alone matters; but I had always loved the simple conceit for its own sake without troubling myself much about the inevitable moral. And as I continued to gaze upward at the scintillating orb slowly rising over the topmost branches, I could not refrain from a comparison between my own conditions in Meleager and those of the mysterious stranger in the Oriental city of his adoption. It seemed a notable coincidence, and I vaguely wondered whether the author had really possessed a true inkling of the possibility of such an exchange of planets as had been suggested in the tale.

D'Aragno's harsh whisper recalled me from my reverie, and from the contemplation of my former sphere to that of tangible objects in my present abode. He bade me follow him across the open starlit glade, all gleaming with heavy dewdrops, and so led the way up-hill to a point whence there was a wide open view bounded by the sea. Far away below us against the misty horizon I could discern two specks of pale yellow light, and I scarcely needed my companion's information to make me realise that these were the twin lanterns of the lighthouses guarding the entrance of the harbour of Tamarida. We were standing also on a fairly wide pathway, apparently a bullock track, and I saw that d'Aragno had led me to one of the chief inland routes of traffic, which I had merely to follow down-hill in order to descend directly into Tamarida. He bade me farewell with some slight show of approval, even stooping so far as to imprint a perfunctory kiss on my hand, the while he pointed out the guiding beacons beneath me. He now bade me farewell and a safe arrival before turning from me with rapid steps. I watched his dwindling white-robed figure cross the exposed glade and then disappear, a tiny luminous speck, into the enclosing forest, and that was my last glimpse of d'Aragno.