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 theinner 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 lainembedded 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, theDivine Comedyof Dante, theFaustof Goethe and theTravels 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 thrownin 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 dispatchto 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 sacredact 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 snatchedthe 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 obtainedyour 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 onthe 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 endeavouredto 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 topmostbranches, 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 fromme 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.
Left to myself I strolled leisurely along the stony but clearly perceptible track, which from this elevation began to wind down the mountain slope towards the coast. I had not walked much above a mile when a sound, at first faint but ever growing in intensity, smote upon my alert ears. I stood still to listen, and soon recognised voices calling in unison, together with the barking and yapping of dogs. It was evidently the search-party that was on its way to rescue me in the forest. Calmly I proceeded, and at a turn in the pathway I could just detect the advancing throng of men, both mounted and a-foot. So soon as these had realised the identity of the figure approaching in the subdued starlight, the whole band halted an instant as if struck stupid, and then from their midst rushed forth Hiridia with a shrill cry of delight and threw himself on the rough ground at my feet, which he covered with kisses. The other members of the party now hurried towards me to show their joy and relief in a manner fully as rapturous if more restrained. I received their felicitations and answered their questions in an indifferent tone, making light of my late misadventure and only expressing concern for the loss of my favourite horse, which however they assuredme had been caught riderless in the woods. Apparently the notion of the wild beasts roaming in the thickets had chiefly aroused their anxiety for me, but this last suggestion I repudiated with quiet scorn. "What has the Child of the Sun," I asked, "to fear from his Father's humblest subjects, the beasts of the forest? Would they have dared to approach his sacred person save to crouch at his feet and lick them in token of his divinity?" At this rebuke all my attendants stood crestfallen and ashamed. Nevertheless, they ventured to express concern for my presumed state of hunger—the Meleagrian is invariably a good and frequent trencherman—but I merely remarked that in no wise was I suffering from want of food: a state of things by the way which was by no means so remarkable as it appeared to my devoted retainers, in view of the hearty meal I had swallowed at d'Aragno's house, that I naturally forbore to mention. Altogether the genuine pleasure and the awestruck feelings wherewith I had been received by my followers afforded me no little satisfaction, as, mounted on a pony with Hiridia proudly holding my bridle, I was escorted by this adoring throng down the steep circling path that led towards the capital. The night was well advanced when finally we arrived at our destination, where I found the whole household in a condition of intense alarm, which speedily was converted into a frantic demonstration of joy on the news of my safe return andthe subsequent sight of myself in their midst. I thought it prudent to attend the public supper in the great hall despite the lateness of the hour, although after my recent refreshment at d'Aragno's I had little appetite left.
The ensuing morning I was visited by the Arch-priest, to whose ears had been brought tidings of my mishap of the previous day. He came ostensibly to inquire for my health, but his face betrayed not a little anxiety. I was able to soothe him however, telling him the story of my accident had been grossly exaggerated by the palace servants, and that I was none the worse for a few hours' solitary wandering on foot in the woods, and that I had already chanced upon the right path before ever I had met with the party of searchers. By thus truthfully reciting the half (in this case so much more valuable than the whole!) of my late movements, I was easily enabled to set his fears or suspicions at rest, and after some further conversation on other topics he left my apartment wholly satisfied with his interview.
XV
I amwriting these last few lines by the light of my flickering lamp, as I sit in my favourite gallery that overlooks the city and the harbour of Tamarida. There is a multitude of things I still dearly long to add to what I have already written, but the swift flight of time and this closely covered scroll forbid any such intention on my part. There are, however, two matters, one of public and the other of personal concern, that I should like to hint at before I finally consign my manuscript to its appointed bourne within the next few hours.
First of all, in my bald, inadequate account of the people and polity of Meleager, I fear I have not dwelt sufficiently on the unswerving loyalty of the hierarchy to their own order and to their fixed devotion to what they consider the perfect common-weal; to the general happiness and content of the whole population, and to the universal sense of peace and plenty that prevails here. But remember, I neither praise nor blame, neither approve nor condemn the system that produces ends so desirable in themselves, which form the recognised aim of every conscientious statesman. I have merely described things in Meleager as I have found them. I have made no comment thereon, but onlysuggest to the thinkers and politicians of the Earth to discover better and more honourable methods of attaining equal results.
The other question that vexes my mind is purely personal, or rather egoistic. I wonder greatly whether my present plight in Meleager will excite feelings of pity, of contempt or of envy in the minds of my readers. As to the first, I am cut off from all domestic ties and affections; I am unspeakably lonely with the oppressive sense of solitude in a crowd; in certain lights I may even be regarded as a prisoner on parole; I am perpetually spied upon, and every action on my part, however innocent or well-intentioned, is apt to be regarded with uneasy suspicion by those who are my real masters. Again I am in the position of a conscious participant in that gigantic scheme of fraud, The Secret, by means of which all the state craft of Meleager is worked. I am also, to fit me for the continuance of my royal office, subjected at fairly short intervals to a series of personal indignities that may endow me with the requisite strength and youth at the moment when my body is beginning to exhibit signs of languor and dissolution. In compensation for these trials and disadvantages, I enjoy perfect health; I dwell in a magnificent palace surrounded by adoring courtiers and servants; I even experience the inestimable delight of performing public duties which are gratefully and rapturously accepted by my deluded subjects; I taste the sweets ofdivine honours, and at the same time can gratify some of the natural tastes of a mortal man. It amuses me to leave to others I shall never meet the solution of a question I cannot answer for myself!
As I lift my eyes from my parchment, I note a thin streak of oriflamme above the eastern horizon, and I know that very soon the new-born day will be heralded by clarion and cannon from the battlements of the great temple overhead. I have but time and space left me to add the word Farewell and the name I bore on Earth....