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TRAXSMlGliATION. 


MORTIMER  COLLIXS, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"MARQUIS    AND    MERCHANT, 

&c.  &c. 


"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting  ; 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  satting, 
And  Cometh  from  afar." 

Wordsworth. 


IN  THREE  VOLUMES. 

VOL.  n. 


LONDON: 
HURST  AND   BLACKETT,   PUBLISBERS, 

13,   GREAT   Mx^RLBOROUGH   STREET. 

1874. 
All  rights  reserved. 


L0NT10N : 

PRINTED  BY  MACDONALD  AND  TUGWELL, 

BLENHEIM  UOUSE. 


J 


TRANSMIGRATION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MARS. 

The  Castle  hall  was  marvellous  high, 
Its  ceiling  sky,  and  yet  not  sky  ; 
Its  front  a  single  window-pane, 

Bright  as  fire  and  keen  as  ice : 
Higher  it  was  than  Sarum  vane, 
Wider  it  was  than  sanguine  Seine, 

From  a  diamond  vast  a  thin-cut  slice. 
Thin  !     'Twas  thinner,  the  Sisters  knew, 
Than  any  rose-leaf  that  ever  grew. 
Than  leaf  of  gold  that  is  hammered  flat, 
Than  gauzy  wing  of  the  dancing  gnat. 
Than  the  haze  in  summer  that  veils  the  holt — 
Yet  would  it  flatten  a  thunderbolt. 
Sweet  to  see  the  long  light  slant 
Through  that  infrangible  adamant. 

The  Ladder  of  Light. 

AWOKE.     I  found  myself  free  from  all 
the  evils  and  wrappages  of  humanity. 

VOL.  II.  B 


> 


:>> 


Z  TRANSMIGRATION. 

I  was  in  a  ^reat  hall,  whose  floor  and  roof 
and  sides  were  all  transparent — translucent ; 
through  them  I  could  see  the  earth  below 
(for  this  hall  was  suspended  in  mid-air)  and 
the  planets  above,  and  the  battle  of  the 
winds  outside. 

1  could  not  see  myself — I  was  formless, 
and  traversed  ether  like  a  flame.  It  was  a 
new  sensation,  and  a  very  pleasant  one.  To 
get  rid  of  one's  clothes  at  eventide  is  no 
common  luxury ;  but  to  get  rid  of  the  body, 
the  spirit's  clothing,  that  precious  old  suit 
for  which  one  feels  one  was  never  properly 
measured,  is  a  delight  unutterable.  I 
enjoyed  being  immaterial,  and  heartily 
hoped  it  would  last. 

The  tnaguificent  Hall  of  Spirits  wherein  I 
found  myself  was  a  palace  of  light  and 
beauty.  It  was  immense  ;  its  walls  were 
thin  slices  of  diamonds,  thin  as  a  butterfly's 
wing,    cut   from    stones  of  enormous  size. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  3 

which  would  have  appalled  the  terrestrial 
diamond  merchant — who  is  usually  also  a 
bill-discounter.  Not  long  had  I  regarded 
the  scene  around  me,  when  another  flying 
flame  came  close  to  me,  and  I  learnt  by 
strange  intuition  (no  words  being  spoken) 
where  I  was,  and  what  I  must  be.  This 
shapeless  wonder  of  the  sky  was  a  mes- 
senger-angel ;  from  him  I  learnt  that,  before 
returning  to  the  earth  in  another  shape,  I 
must  pass  a  certain  time  in  another  star.  / 
could  choose  my  own  star  ! 

This  was  confoundedly  embarrassing. 
There  was  not  only  the  whole  solar  system 
at  my  service,  but  also  Sirius  and  Aldebarau 
and  Rigol,  and  a  great  many  other  stars 
about  which  one  would  like  some  informa- 
tion. I  thought  at  first  of  trying  the  lost 
Pleiad,  being  of  opinion  that  lost  stars,  like 
lost  women,  are  those  most  easily  found ; 
but  I  finally  decided  in  favour  of  the  planet 

£2 


4  TRANSMIGRATION. 

Mars.  "It  comes  within  forty-six  million 
miles  of  the  earth,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and 
that's  like  being  a  next-door  neighbour 
among  planets."  I  confess  that  I  longed 
for  my  own  old  planet.  What  with  Radi- 
cals and  wiseacres,  our  globe  is  rather  used 
up ;  but  I  like  it  very  much,  and  I  never  so 
thoroughly  understood  my  liking  as  when  I 
was  in  the  glorious  diamond-built  Hall  of 
Spirits.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  an  unspeak- 
able luxury  to  have  legs  and  artus  again, 
and  to  drink  vile  beer  in  a  wayside  inn  of 
England  !  My  experience  is  that  the  spirit 
gets  chilly  without  the  body,  and  that  the 
fmest  aerial  arrangements  compensate  not 
for  the  loss  of  one's  own  book-room  and 
wine-cellars.  The  Hall  of  Spirits  was  a 
splendid  bit  of  architecture ;  but  you  could 
not  call  it  snug.  I,  although  divested  of 
my  corporeal  attire,  felt  that  I  should  prefer 
a    little   comfort   to   all    this    radiancv.      I 


TKAXSMIGRATIOX.  5 

wished    myself  back    at    Five   Tree    Hill. 

Many  flying  flames  passed  through  the 
Hall  of  Spirits  while  I  was  there,  and  by 
their  colours  I  learnt  to  know  them.  That 
mysterious  messenger,  Raphael  the  hierarch, 
kept  close  to  me  awhile.  From  him  I 
learnt  that  tlie  red  flames  were  the  spirits 
of  men  of  war,  the  green  flames  of  men 
who  loved  the  common  things  of  earth,  the 
blue  flames  of  those  who  delighted  in  the 
aerial  realms  of  poetry.  The  intermediate 
tints  denoted  heterogeneous  intellects.  An 
Emperor  came  through  the  Hall  of  Spirits 
while  I  was  there,  and  his  flame  was  of  an 
orange  colour.  In  liim  had  blended  the 
green  of  earthly  delight  and  the  red  of 
fierce  warfare. 

I  cannot  explain  how  it  was  I  learnt  from 
Raphael  the  innumerable  things  he  had  to 
tell  me.  No  words  passed.  Our  flames 
blended — that  was  all.     The  junction  mys- 


6  TRANSMIGRATION. 

terious  told  me  all  I  wished  to  know.  I 
learnt  that  almost  all  the  spirits  coming 
from  Earth,  or  any  other  star,  passed  through 
the  water  of  Lethe,  and  forgot  altogether 
what  had  previously  occurred  to  them. 
None  were  excepted,  save  those  who  hearti- 
ly believed  in  the  doctrine  of  metempsycho- 
sis ;  I,  being  such  a  believer  (the  only  one 
during  more  than  a  century),  was  to  be 
rewarded  by  a  return  to  earth,  with  my 
memory  of  previous  events  perfectly  clear. 
But  this  not  yet.  I  was  to  abide  awhile  in 
the  Hall  of  Spirits  ;  thence  I  was  to  pass  to 
tlic  planet  I  had  chosen,  and  spend  some 
time  there. 

I  confess  that  I  very  nmch  liked  the 
arran<2cmcnt.  In  time  niv  liome-sick  fancv 
for  earth  faded  away,  and  I  grew  satisfied 
with  this  radiant  dwelling  between  sky  and 
sea.  An  existence  entirely  free  from  all 
the  inconveniences  of  earthly  life  has  much 


TRANSMIGKATION.  7 

to  recommend  it.  A  flame-like  spirit  can- 
not well  be  worried  with  rheumatism  or 
creditors ;  the  Saturday  Review  does  not 
reach  the  Hall  of  Spirits.  That  Hall  is  a 
glorious  and  delicious  place  of  rest ;  it  is 
every  way  translucent.  Below,  through 
the  diamond  floor,  the  earth  lies  beneath 
you,  and,  as  it  revolves  on  its  axis,  city 
after  city,  country  after  country,  become 
visible.  Looking  down  through  the  clear 
air,  you  can  see  the  very  places  you  knew 
on  earth  ;  I  made  out  Five  Tree  Hill,  and 
wondered  who  had  come  to  live  at  Beau 
Sejour. 

Then  around  us  was  the  infinite  jether, 
sometimes  cool  blue,  sometimes  darkened 
by  storm,  sometimes  filled  with  amazing 
colour  by  sunrise  or  sunset.  Vast  birds  of 
lovely  plumage  and  most  melodious  song 
were  often  seen  and  heard.  From  Raphael 
I  learnt  that  the  upper  air  is  inhabited  by 


8  TRANSMIGRATION. 

innumerable  birds,  which  never  descend  on 
the  earth.  They  haunt  the  atmosphere  far 
above  the  peaks  of  the  highest  mountains, 
and  make  their  nests  on  asteroids,  which 
perpetually  revolve  through  the  higher 
regions  of  the  earth-encircling  air. 

Looking  upward  through  the  adamantine 
ceiling,  we  saw  stars  swimming  in  the  calm 
blue  sky ;  and,  by  some  strange  power  of 
the  diamond  disc,  it  was  possible  to  see  who 
dwelt  in  those  stars,  and  what  manner  of 
people  they  were.  The  creatures  inhabit- 
ing them  widely  differed — the  inhabitants  of 
Jupiter  being  of  somewhat  a  Johnsonian 
turn,  while  creatures  of  a  lighter  type  re- 
sided in  Mercury.  The  people  of  Venus 
were  very  much  like  the  inhabitants  of  our 
own  planet,  but  perhaps  slightly  more 
erotic. 

Through  the  wondrous  roof  we  saw  this 
universe  of  planetary  life  ;  through  the  floor 


TRANSMIGRATION.  9 

was  visible  the  revolving  earth,  with  all  its 
events,  so  important  to  the  people  dwelling 
there,  so  intensely  unimportant  to  a  disem- 
bodied spirit.  Once  live  without  material 
clothing,  and  you  become  thoroughly  con- 
vinced of  the  absurdity  of  those  wars  in 
which  people  hack  away  at  each  other's 
bodies.  Many  another  thing  seemeth  also 
absurd ;  when  a  small  green  flame  has 
passed  through  the  Hall  of  Spirits,  I  have 
marvelled  at  the  difference  of  its  dimensions 
from  the  splendidly-arranged  creature  who 
represented  it  below.  How  very  little  soul 
serves  to  sustain  a  rather  magnificent  body, 
with  even  more  magnificence  of  silk  and 
satin  and  the  like  ! 

In  the  Hall  of  Spirits  I  stayed  not  long, 
though  long  enough  to  learn  a  few  valuable 
lessons.  I  learnt  that  the  importance  of  a 
man,  when  disembodied,  is  seldom  in  pro- 
portion to  his  importance  when  on  earth. 


10  TRANSMIGRATION. 

When  that  dirty  yellow  soul  of  an  emperor 
arrived — a  flame  like  that  of  a  farthini^  rush- 
light — there  came  also  the  perfectly  blue 
clear  fire  of  a  great  poet,  burning  with  an 
intense  purity  that  filled  all  the  vicinage 
Avith  light.  Emperor  and  poet  had  their 
positions  thoroughly  reversed  in  the  Hall  of 
Spirits.  Of  course  the  poet  was  one  who 
would  not  have  condescended  to  speak  to 
an  emperor  in  his  mundane  existence;  but 
in  the  eyes  of  idiots  the  imperial  adventurer, 
with  a  nation  under  his  thumb,  was  a  more 
fortunate  man  than  the  quiet  poet,  who 
lived  on  lyrics  of  love.  Look  at  the  con- 
trast now.  See  that  pure  blue  flame  burn- 
ing like  sapphire  struck  by  sunlight.  See 
the  emperor's  yellow  rushlight  dimly  strug- 
gling with  the  darkness.  Which  of  the 
twain  enters  eternity  with  happier  omen  ? 

Time   seemed    to    vanish    in    this   higher 
sphere.     I  cannot  say  how  long  it  was  that 


TRANSMIGRATION.  11 

I  sojourned  in  the  Hall  of  Spirits  before 
passing  to  the  planet  Mars.  I  know  that 
in  course  of  time  I  so  thoroughly  enjoyed 
the  freedom  of  spiritual  life  that  I  felt 
loth  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  fleshly  form 
again.  I  njade  the  acquaintance  of  an  Irish 
poetess,  a  flame  half  red  half  green,  with 
whom  I  carried  on  what  on  earth  would  be 
called  a  flirtation.  Indeed,  we  actually 
embraced  each  other,  and  I  felt  uncommonly 
like  Ixion  when  he  embraced  a  cloud. 
There  was  a  certain  ethereal  pleasure  in 
minn;liniT  two  flames,  but  I  think  both  the 
poetess  and  I  regretted  at  that  moment  our 
transition  into  an  immaterial  sphere.  Love- 
making  grows  rather  dull  when  your  charmer 
has  not  only  no  petticoats,  but  no  waist  to 
hang  them  on. 

Mars.  I  wt  there  all  on  a  sudden,  with- 
out  any  warning.  The  managers  of  post- 
mortem adventures  are  perhaps  a  little  too 


12  TRANSMIGRATION. 

abrupt.  I  found  myself  in  the  fleshly  ap- 
parel of  a  Mars- man,  walking  up  to  a  village 
inn  on  that  planet.  The  scene  was  curious. 
It  was  rather  late  at  night,  but  the  radiant 
hue  of  the  red  Mars  atmosphere  made  things 
easily  visible.  When  I  had  resided  some 
time  on  Mars  I  met  with  a  distinguished 
chemist,  who  informed  me  that  their  atmo- 
sphere is  composed  of  three  gases,  oxygen, 
nitrogen,  and  pyrogen.  The  latter,  a  gas 
unknown  on  earth,  gives  the  atmosphere  a 
ruddy  hue,  and  produces  that  heat  which 
drives  all  the  snow  of  the  planet  to  its  two 
poles- 

I  walked  through  the  lighted  doorway  of 
a  village  inn.  I  found,  on  the  following  day, 
that  it  was  called  the  "  Ghost  and  Gridiron." 
I  noticed,  in  course  of  time,  that  the  inns 
in  Mars  had  odd  signs,  and  the  people  and 
places  odd  names.  Quite  right,  as  they  did 
odd  things.     A  portly  inn-keeper  welcomed 


TRANSMIGRATION.  13 

me  on  my  arrival,  asked  whether  I  would 
like  supper,  sent  me  to  see  my  room  in  the 
company  of  a  buxom  chambermaid.  Every- 
thing was  delightful.  The  room  was  airy, 
the  bed  clean,  the  chambermaid  coy,  the 
landlord  jolly.  I  supped  on  rump-steak, 
with  sauce  made  of  a  Mars  shellfish ;  but 
the  steak  was  cut  from  a  creature  far  su- 
perior to  our  ordinary  ox,  and  the  shellfish 
was  more  delicious  than  the  best  Whitstable 
oysters.  I  drank  therewith  a  malt  liquor  of 
the  landlord's  own  brewing,  much  better 
than  London  stout  of  Meux  or  Whitbread. 

Well  I  slept.  I  was  conscious  of  some- 
thing in  the  air  which  rendered  it  quite  dif- 
ferent from  my  native  telluric  atmosphere. 
I  learnt,  in  time,  that  it  was  the  wonderful 
gas  pyrogen,  heretofore  mentioned,  which 
does  not  exist  in  any  other  planet  of  the 
solar  system.  This  gas  has  such  healthful 
power  that  I  found  there  was  not  a  single 


14  TRANSMIGRATIOX. 

doctor  on  the  surface  of  Mars.  The  profes- 
sion is  unknown.  People  die  of  nothing 
but  old  age.  There  are  centenarians  enough 
to  make  Mr.  Thorns  tear  his  hair. 

It  was  eventide  when  I  somehow  or 
other  found  myself  at  the  doorway  of  the 
"  Ghost  and  Gridiron."  I  had  not  no- 
ticed its  situation.  When  morning  came, 
I  found  that  it  was  in  a  picturesque  village ; 
a  noble  church,  embowered  in  woodland, 
rose  right  opposite  me,  and  I  felt  glad 
at  heart  that  the  people  of  Mars  were  a 
religious  people.  It  was  a  glorious  Sum- 
mer morning.  I  dressed  rapidly.  I  found 
that  the  fates  which  directed  my  path  had  not 
only  invested  me  in  a  costume  such  as  the 
people  of  Mars  wear,  but  had  also  placed  in 
my  pocket  a  purse  of  the  Mars  coinage.  It 
was  of  extreme  beauty,  delightfully  design- 
ed and  clearly  cut.  On  one  side  was  a 
crowned   head   in   profile,    with    a   legend 


TRANSMIGRATION.  15 

to  me  unintelligible ;  on  the  other  was 
the  archangel  Michael  slaying  the  devil. 
Satan,  with  a  spear  through  his  breast,  and 
the  archangelic  foot  on  his  throat,  looked 
pretty  well  done  for. 

For  breakfast,  if  I  may  mention  such  a 
trifle,  I  had  coffee,  and  the  thinnest  curls  of 
forest  bacon,  and  ripe  peaches,  and  a  cream 
like  that  of  Devon.  When  it  was  finished, 
and  I  had  strolled  into  the  village  and  won- 
dered at  its  quaintnesses,  I  asked  the  land- 
lord for  my  bill. 

He  looked  amazed. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  where 
you  may  come  from,  but  I  thought  every- 
body knew  that  His  Majesty  the  King  keeps 
up  all  the  inns,  and  that  nobody  is  al- 
lowed to  pay  for  anything.  I  suppose  you've 
been  living  in  some  far  away  country  place, 
and  haven't  heard  of  our  great  Reform  Bill. 
Why,  sir,  we've  abolished  money.     It  saves 


16  TRANSMIGRATION. 

such  a  lot  of  trouble.  If  you  want  anything 
you've  only  to  ask  for  it,  and  nobody  is  al- 
lowed to  refuse.  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  got  a 
dinner  and  breakfast  that  you  liked.  I  take 
as  much  pleasure  in  serving  any  customer 
now  that  they  don't  pay  for  it." 

I  wanted  my  jovial  landlord  to  accept 
some  coin,  but  he  assured  me  that  money 
was  useless  in  Mars,  and  that  anyone  at- 
tempting to  pay  for  anything  would,  if  found 
out,  be  publicly  flogged.  As  I  had  no  de- 
sire to  commence  my  career  in  the  planet 
with  such  contumely,  I  did  not  insist  on 
paying  my  bill. 

I  wandered  out  that  morning  into  the 
pleasant  village,  desirous  of  ascertaining  what 
manner  of  planet  I  had  come  to  inhabit. 
MethouQfht  a  visit  to  the  church  would  be 
a  good  commencement.  When  I  came  to 
walk  towards  it,  I  found  it  was  much  farther 
off  than  it  seemed  ;   and  I  then   got  the  first 


TRANSMIGRATION.  17 

inkling  of  the  fact,  which  1  subsequently  es- 
tablished, that  in  the  atmosphere  of  Mars 
you  see  much  farther  than  in  our  planet. 
An  eminent  chemist  of  Mars  has  shown  very 
clearly  the  reason  of  this,  but  the  demon- 
stration is  too  abstruse  to  be   inserted  here. 

To  my  surprise,  between  me  and  the 
church  there  was  a  lake  as  wide  as  Winder- 
mere, When  I  reached  the  margin,  I  found 
a  ferry  boat,  with  a  very  pretty  girl  ready 
to  ferry  me  across ;  and  here,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  chapter  which  I  have  to  write  on 
the  ladies  of  Mars,  I  may  perhaps  be  allow- 
ed to  say  that  I  never  saw  one  ugly  woman 
on  that  planet.  Whether  it  is  the  pyrogen 
in  the  atmosphere,  or  the  absence  of  money, 
I  don't  know  ;  but  they  are  all  lovel}',  and 
they  last  lovely.  The  canon  forbidding  a 
man  to  marry  his  grandmother  would  have 
some  significance  in  Mars. 

The  ferry-girl  took   me  across.     It  was 

VOL.  II.  C 


18  TRANSMIGRATION. 

quite  half  a  mile,  but  she  would  not  let  me 
help  her.  When  I  asked  her  what  there 
was  to  pay  for  the  ferry,  she  requested  me 
to  give  her  a  kiss — which  I  did  without 
hesitation.  I  began  to  think  Mars  by  no 
means  an  unpleasant  place  of  residence  for 
a  gentleman  of  genial  and  expansive  tastes. 

When  I  came  within  the  shadow  of  that 
church,  it  amazed  me.  I  knew  Sarum 
spire  :  this  was  far  higher.  More  amazing 
was  it  that  trees  stood  around,  higher  than 
the  spire  itself.  I  was  gazing  in  perfect  awe 
at  the  glorious  church  and  the  grander 
woodland,  when  I  heard  a  sound  near  me, 
and  beheld  a  gentleman  of  middle  height 
and  middle  age,  balancing  himself  with  some 
difficulty  on  the  churchyard  wall.     He  was 

"  A  noticeable  inau,  with  great  grey  eyes," 

and  his  forehead  looked  like  an  ivory  dome 
for  genius  to  inhabit. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  a  denizen  of  earth  on 


TRANSMIGRATION.  19 

this  planet,"  he  said,  "  That  is  a  fine  spire. 
I  forget  their  Mars  measure,  but  it  is  about 
a  thousand  feet  high,  so  far  as  I  can  make 
out.  And  the  trees  are  higher  !  They  go 
in  for  the  material  sublime  in  this  vagrant 
red-tinged  island  of  the  sky." 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?"  I  asked. 

"Long?"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  much 
like  surprise  in  those  seldom  perturbable 
eyes.  "Long?  Well,  it  may  be  a  century, 
and  it  may  be  an  hour.  I  have  given  up 
time.  I  have  taken  to  eternity  for  a  change. 
It  suits  me." 

"  I  find  myself  in  Mars,"  I  said,  "  with  no 
particular  idea  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do,  and 
with  no  notion  in  the  world  how  long  I  am 
to  remain  here.  What  would  you  advise  me 
to  do?" 

"  I  advise  !  I  thank  Apollo  Ekaergos 
I  never  advised  man  or  woman  in  my  life, 
and  when  boy  or  girl  wants  advice  I  whip 

c2 


20  TRANSMIGRATION. 

it.  My  dear  earth-brother,  you  are  in  Mars 
— accept  Mars — take  everything  easily.  I 
have  tried  several  of  our  planets,  and  this  is 
the  best  I  know.  They  are  too  philosophical 
in  Jupiter,  and  too  fast  in  Venus.  Mars  is 
pne  of  the  few  planets  where  they  really  un- 
derstand life.  Shall  we  travel  together  ?  I 
want  to  make  a  descriptive  account  of  the 
planet,  which  I  dare  say  Longman  or 
Murray  would  publish  when  I  return  to 
earth." 

I  agreed,  only  too  happy  to  meet  an 
earth-denizen  who  was  evidently  a  man  of 
genius.  Somewhere  or  other  I  had  seen  his 
likeness,  but  where?  I  knew  I  ought  to 
know  him.  I  did  not  like  to  ask  a  man  his 
name,  when  he  might  have  left  it  behind  him 
with  his  skin. 

"  There  is  a  fine  altar-piece  in  this  church," 
lie  said.  "  Will  you  look  at  it?  The  Mars 
people  are  not  quite  equal  to  us — they  paint 


TRANSMIGRATION.  21 

well  enough,  but  they  can't  produce  poetry. 
Still  I  like  thera.  They  have  not  yet  in- 
vented the  Radical." 

"  I  never  had  much  to  do  with  politics,"  I 
remarked,  "and  scarcely  know  a  Radical 
from  any  other  sort  of  fool.  Mine  is  rather 
a  vague  notion  of  such  matters  ;  but  in  the 
days  when  I  was  an  Englishman,  I  was  loyal 
to  the  King,  in  my  own  uninstructed  way." 

My  acquaintance  rocked  himself  back- 
wards and  forwards  on  the  wall,  looking 
ridiculously  like  an  owl.  Suddenly  he  said : 

"  Come,  let  us  see  this  fresco." 

I  went  with  him.  It  was  a  grand  painting 
— two  men  and  a  dog — nothing  more.  But 
one  of  those  men  was  Odysseus,  and  the 
dog  was  Argos.  I  looked  at  my  companion 
with  surprise.  I  had  expected  something 
perfectly  and  patently  orthodox.  He  ex- 
plained to  me  that  Homer  was  the  bible  of 
the  planet  Mars. 


22  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  How  can  that  be  ?"  I  asked.  "  How  in 
the  world  did  Homer  migrate  here  ?" 

"  How  did  you  and  I  get  here,  my  friend  ? 
It  has  been  coolly  asserted  that,  at  tlie  time 
of  the  siege  of  Troy,  Homer  was  a  camel  in 
Bactria.  That  I  deny.  The  soul  of  man 
never  passes  into  any  lower  creature  ;  the 
soul  of  that  supreme  man  we  call  the  poet, 
never  passes  even  into  the  lower  ranks  of 
men,  A  poet  is  as  high  above  a  man,  as  a 
man  above  a  dog;  and  as  to  Homer,  wliy,  he 
canie  hero  as  we  came.  He  had  in  his 
memory  his  great  epic  the  Iliad.,  his  great 
romance  the  Odyssey.  He  translated  them 
instinctively  into  the  language  of  Mars. 
Mars  accepted  his  legends,  his  tlieology,  his 
ethics,  and  I  think  Mars  was  right.  If  you 
must  have  a  multitude  of  gods,  the  Homeric 
gods  are  the  best.  I  believe  in  one  only 
— ivhom  I  knowy 

These  last  words  he  uttered  witli  a  deep 


TRANSMIGRATION.  23 

gravity,  as  if  to  cling  to  the  idea  of  God  was 
the  central  thought  in  his  mind ;  and  thus 
indeed  I  found  it  when  we  became  friends. 
It  was  one  delight — the  conscious  feeling  of 
a  present  God.  It  saved  him  from  all 
cynicism,  from  all  dissatisfaction.  The  song 
of  a  bird,  the  beauty  of  a  sunset,  the  laugh 
of  a  girl,  were  all  divine  gifts  to  him — he 
intensified  the  enjoyment  of  life  by  always 
remembering  the  Giver  of  that  enjoyment. 
Pen,  ink,  and  paper  fail  to  make  what  I 
mean  intelligible.  You  could  not  be  in 
that  man's  company  without  feeling  that  he 
was  never  alone. 

The  Homeric  fresco  was  fine.  There 
walked  Odysseus,  disguised  by  the  power  of 
the  goddess  who  guided  him,  but  grand  in 
his  disguise.  Royal  was  his  bare  throat, 
a  pillar  of  power  ;  wide  his  stately  chest ; 
and  as  he  stood,  liis  strong  hands  reached  to 
his  knees.     The  honest  swineherd  looked  a 


24  TRANSMIGRATION. 

dwarf  beside  him.  Huge  Argo,  aged  and 
deaf,  blinking  wearily  by  the  palace  gate, 
was  suddenly  alive  again  at  his  master's 
tread — alive  a  moment,  and  then  dead  for 
ever.  The  painter  had  caught  the  poet's 
vision  perfectly. 

"  We  must  come  to  this  church  some 
day,"  said  my  companion.  "  There  is  rather 
a  fine  preacher.  I  also  have  preached,  but 
usually  with  the  effect  of  driving  my  con- 
gregation gradually  away." 

"  You  are  a  poet,"  I  said.  "  Poets  should 
not  preach." 

"  We'll  go  farther  than  that.  Poets 
should  write  no  poetry.  They  may  think 
it,  they  may  whisper  it  to  the  lady  they 
love,  they  may  even  recite  it  to  a  great 
audience,  when  poetry  can  breed  a  passion 
of  war,  but  write  it — never  1  No,  poetry  is 
spoilt  by  being  formulated.  It  is  a  world — 
the  common  poetaster  would  make  it  a  map !" 


TRANSMIGRATION.  25 

We  passed  out  of  the  church,  and  walked 
up  a  lovely  slope  of  emerald  green,  which 
gave  a  charming  view  of  the  lake  below. 
We  sat  on  an  ancient  boulder  of  granite, 
and  looked  down  upon  the  lake,  alive  with 
sails,  and  the  trees  mysteriously  hiding 
quaint  corners  of  wilful  water.  We  heard 
light  laughter.     Mars  was  merry. 

"  There  is  no  sea  on  this  planet,"  said  my 
companion.  "  I  think  that  an  admirable 
arrangement.  There  are  plenty  of  pleasant 
lakes,  fed  by  rivulets  and  from  the  hills  ; 
but  sea  there  is  none.  And  you  have  yet  to 
discover  the  fortunate  power  of  the  water 
of  Mars." 

"What  is  that?"  I  said. 

"  Come,  we  will  climb  to  the  summit  of 
this  hill — there  is  a  spring  there — you  shall 
try  it." 

It  was  rather  hard  work,  the  hill  being 
about  the  height  of  Coniston  Old  Man,  and 


26  TRANSMIGRATION. 

very  like  it.  Quite  at  the  top  there  was  a 
quaint  well,  with  an  arch  of  stone  over  it, 
and  maidenhair  fern  fluttering  around. 

"Make  a  cup  of  thy  palm  and  drink," 
said  my  companion. 

I  obeyed.  I  was  strangely  refreshed. 
The  water  had  the  perfect  pure  taste  of 
water — the  most  delicious  of  all  liquid 
tastes — but  it  had  also  the  power  of  a  noble 
wine. 

"  Ah  !"  quoth  my  companion,  "  now  you 
know.  'Tis  the  famous  gas  of  Mars,  the 
element  unknown  to  our  poor  planet. 
Pyrogen  blends  with  oxygen  and  hydrogen, 
producing  a  water  that  is  superior  to  any 
wine  I  have  ever  tasted — and  I  have  tried 
several  varieties  on  several  planets." 

I  took  another  draught — and  liked  it. 
There  is  no  fluid  so  enjoyable  as  water. 
Water  with  pyrogen   in   it  is — well,  it  is  a 


TRAXSMIGRxVTION.  27 

drink  to  ruin  la  Veuve  Clicquot,  and  the 
Marquis  de  Lur  Saluces. 

"  I  am  of  opinion,"  proceeded  my  com- 
panion, always  looking  very  wise,  but  with  a 
touch  of  humour  about  his  mouth  that  was  de- 
lightful, "  that  water  of  this  kind  would  be 
uncommonly  useful  on  our  poor  old  pauper 
planet  Earth,  where  people  drink  very 
bad  beer.  Although  not  particularly  fond 
of  my  fellow-creatures,  I  should  like  to  give 
them  something  not  wholly  poisoned  to 
drink  ;  but  I  see  no  way — I  really  see  no  way, 
so  I  suppose  you  and  I  had  better  drink  when 
thirsty  at  these  wayside-wells,  and  be  thank- 
ful that  there  is  such  a  gas  as  pyrogen." 

I  admitted  my  thankfulness.  Indeed,  the 
waters  of  Mars  are  treasures  unutterable. 
Not  all,  as  1  think,  are  equally  strong ;  but 
all  have  a  delicious  healthful  stimulus,  with- 
out departure  from  the  taste  of  water  in 
absolute  purity.      The  result  is  not  to  be 


28  TRANSMIGRATION. 

described.  No  man  in  the  world  witli  a 
palate  would  prefer  the  finest  wine  in  the 
whole  catalogue  of  vintages  to  water,  if 
water  could  only  give  him  that  intellectual 
stimulus  he  needs.  This  is  given  by  the 
water  of  Mars. 

"  I  think  I  shall  call  you  Mark  Antony," 
said  my  companion,  abruptly.  "  You  re- 
mind me  of  him  in  many  respects.  Yes,  it 
is  a  good  name — it  is  separable  ;  you  can  be 
Mark  sometimes — Antony  on  great  occa- 
sions." 

"  And  what  shall  I  call  you  ?"  I  asked. 

'^"Eanjae.  'Tis  Punic  Greek  for  'he  hath 
stood.'  Stood  I  have,  in  days  now  past, 
against  the  armies  of  fools,  idiots,  braggarts, 
blockheads.  It  was  no  easy  matter,  Mark. 
The  very  men  who  learnt  from  me  professed 
to  laugh  at  me.  They  deemed  themselves 
wiser  than  I,  because,  catching  up  a  stray 
idea   of  mine,    they   could   make   it  more 


TRANSMIGRATION.  29 

intelligible  to  the  public  than  I  could. 
They,  with  their  one  small  stolen  idea  !  Of 
course,  they  could  explain  it.  My  difficulty 
was  that  I  had  too  many  ideas.  So  only 
the  men  who  think  know  what  I  did  for  the 
world  ;  and  I  often  wonder  whether  I  shall 
have  better  fortune  in  my  next  avatar.  It 
will  come  soon,  I  suppose." 

I  began  to  understand  to  whom  I  was 
listening.  Listening  was  a  necessity,  but  a 
very  delightful  necessity,  when  "Eo-tt^o-c 
talked.  We  were  ascending  the  hill  as  we 
thus  conversed,  and  on  its  very  summit  was 
a  curious  old  ruin.  I  had  not  (indeed  I  have 
not  now)  any  scientific  knowledge  of  the 
archaeology  of  Mars  ;  but  it  was  the  sort  of 
antique  edifice  that,  in  tlie  England  of  to- 
day, would  be  ascribed  to  the  Romans. 
There  was  an  ancient  column,  with  circles 
carved  on  the  capital,  and  all  covered  with 
an  orange  lichen. 


30  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"Ea-rrjo-e  leaned  awhile  against  this  quaint 
old  relic  of  the  past.  Then  he  suddenly- 
said, 

"  No3  tristia  vitae 
Solamur  cautu." 

"  There  need  be  nothing  very  sad  in  this 
pleasant  planet,"  I  replied. 
What  said  he  ? 

"  Ah  !  is  not  memory  sad,  my  friend, 
And  thought  of  that  sweet  youthful  time, 
When  life  was  love,  when  love  was  life. 
When  not  to  love  was  crime  ? 

"  I  sang  my  sweet  a  song  so  sad. 
She  came  into  my  arms  to  say, 
'  O  dai'ling,  such  another  tale 
Please  tell  another  day.' 

"  Her  beautiful  bright  eyes  had  tears 
Within  them — diamonds,  sapphire-drowned — 
Her  white  arms  trembled  as  they  stretched 
My  willing  waist  around. 

"  I  said,  '  My  own  sweet  Genevieve, 
I'll  tell  you  tales  by  day  and  night, 
And  some  shall  be  of  love's  despair. 
And  some  of  love's  delight. 

*' '  I'll  sing  you  songs  to  make  you  laugh, 
And  sadder  songs  to  make  you  weep. 
Songs  sweet  as  after  sunshine  rain. 
As  kisses  after  sleep. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  31 

"  '  Songs  also  like  the  clarion-blast 
Of  England,  ready  for  the  fight ; 
But  which  would  you  like  best  by  day, 
And  which  like  best  by  night  ?' 

"  She  laughed  a  merry  little  laugh. 
My  Genevieve — a  joyous  sprite  ; 
She  said,  '  O  sing  of  love  at  noon. 
And  sing  of  love  at  night.'  " 


32 


CHAPTER  II. 

^'Ecrrr]cr€. 
"  He  holds  liiin  with  his  glittering  eye." 

ARK  ANTONY,"  said  "Earvae,  "let 
^'^  us  sleep  to  night  at  the  Ghost  and 
Gridiron.  Several  times  have  I  visited  that 
inn,  and  I  have  come  to  the  belief  that  its 
gridiron  is  more  real  than  its  ghost.  No 
ghost  have  I  seen ;  but  rump-steak  have  I 
eaten  that  could  by  no  means  liave  been 
cooked  except  on  a  gridiron.  When  I  was 
on  earth  I  have  more  than  once  dined  with 
the  Sublime  Society  of  steak-eaters,  and  liad 
my  slice  of  ox  cooked  by  a  Royal  Duke,  and 


TRANSMIGRATION.  33 

served  by  a  Knight  of  the  Garter.  Honi 
soit  qui  mal  y  pense.  Let  the  man  blush  who 
thinks  rump-steak  and  oysters  beneath  the 
dignity  of  princes  and  poets." 

We  were  skirting  the  lovely  margin  of  the 
lake  on  our  way  to  the  Ghost  and  Gridiron. 
The  loftiest  oaks  and  cedars  that  I  had  ever 
seen  overshadowed  this  beautiful  piece  of 
water ;  but  for  all  that,  and  though  sunset 
was  almost  past,  so  translucent  was  the  lake 
that  you  could  see  the  fish  in  its  depths. 
"Earrjae  would  put  his  long  white  hand  in 
the  water ;  lo,  a  fish  would  come  at  once  to 
greet  it,  acknowledging  some  strange  mag- 
netic mastery  in  the  man.  The  birds  sang 
more  sweetly  as  he  passed  beneath  the  trees. 
The  very  weather  smiled  on  him.  His  faith 
in  the  kindness  of  God  had  perpetual 
reward. 

"  Why  do  you  link  together  prince  and 
poet  ?"  I  asked,  as  we  stood  awhile  watcli- 

VOL.  II.  D 


34  TRANSMIGRATION. 

ing  a  white  bat  that  rushed  from  the  hills 
above  into  the  quiet  lake.  "  What  connex- 
ion can  there  be  between  them  ?" 

"  How  often,  I  wonder,  during  the  next 
few  centuries,  shall  I  be  asked  this  question  ? 
The  prince,  of  course,  represented  the  prose 
of  the  world.  His  early  ancestors,  who 
founded  his  family,  was  a  poet,  depend  on 
it.  Look  what  poetic  power  there  was  in 
Alfred  ...  in  Edward  the  First,  when  he 
commissioned  Peter  I'lmagineur  to  build 
those  crosses  to  Eleanor  ...  ay,  and  even 
in  Charles  the  Second,  when  he  swam  with 
that  peasant  on  his  back,  and  made  love  to 
the  blacksmith's  wife,  as  he  was  out  wood- 
cutting with  Penderel.  In  a  line  of  princes 
there  will  be  fools ;  but  their  inception  is 
poetic,  and  poetic  also  is  their  correlation  to 
the  people  they  rule.  The  king  is  the 
nation.  When  a  nation  comes  to  its  worst 
and  kills  its  king,  as  in  the  cases  of  England 


TRANSMIGRATION.  35 

and  France,  you  have  in  truth  a  national 
suicide.  It  is  not  the  prince  merely  who  is 
to  blame,  it  is  the  whole  people.  To  kill  a 
king  is  national  suicide  ;  to  compel  him  to 
abdicate  is  national  lunacy.  The  worst 
hereditary  monarch  that  ever  reigned  is 
better  than  the  best  elected  ruler  or  usurper. 
Experience  shows  these  things ;  but  it  takes 
long  time  to  teach  the  ordinary  unornamental 
but  careful  biped." 

"  Almost  as  long  as  it  takes  to  teach  him 
to  love  poetry,"  1  said. 

"  Almost.  There  are  few  things  that  so 
perplex  the  commonalty  as  the  connexion 
between  poetry  and  politics.  Yet  has  poetry 
no  reason  to  exist,  except  when  connected 
with  politics ;  for  one  is  the  vision  of 
life  as  it  is,  and  the  other  is  the  vision 
of  life  as  we  desire  it  to  be.  Therefore 
is  it  that  no  man  is  worthy  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  politician  who  is  incapable  of 

D  2 


36  TRANSMIGRATION. 

understanding  the   poetry   of  his  race  and 
country." 

We  reached  the  Ghost  and  Gridiron,  and 
the  disinterested  landlord  was  evidently  very 
glad  to  see  us  again.  "Ea-rria-e  had  been 
here  more  than  once  previously.  He  had 
indeed,  ore  rotundo,  remonstrated  with  the 
landlord  in  regard  to  the  sign  of  his  inn, 
maintaining  that,  with  such  a  name,  a  ghost  is 
as  requisite  as  a  gridiron.  Alas,  there  was 
no  ghost. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night,  I  remember. 
The  world  was  calm  ;  the  beauty  of  the  sky 
was  unutterable,  for  the  rich  glow  of  py- 
rogen in  the  atmosphere  made  it  seem  as  if 
the  stars  were  visible  through  a  soft  haze  of 
ruby.  ''Earrja-e  and  I  fared  sumptuously,  and 
enjoyed  ourselves.  We  strolled  after  sup- 
per into  the  garden  of  the  Ghost  and  Grid- 
iron. Nothing  had  we  drunken  save  water, 
but  water  of  Mars  made  us  joyous  and  full 


TRANSMIGRATION.  37 

of  life.  How  the  stars  rained  influence  upon 
us ! 

"  I  want  an  adventure,"  I  said,  as  we 
walked  across  the  soft  lawn. 

There  was  a  nightingale  singing  wildly. 
I  pined  to  fight  or  to  love — preferably  both. 
Another  nightingale  broke  into  song  ;  then 
suddenly  more  and  more. 

"  Ah !  never  elsewhere  in  one  place  I  knew 
So  many  nightingales," 

said  my  companion.  "  And  do  you  know 
the  omen  ?  Wherever  there  is  a  nightin- 
gale there  is  a  possible  adventure." 

"You  mean  that?"  I  said — "  or  is  it  an 
invention  of  the  moment?" 

"  It  is  true.  Where  the  nightingale  sings, 
there  love  loiters.  Love  is  loitering  here, 
depend  on  it,  awaiting  his  opportunity. 
You  want  an  adventure  :  I  do  not.  Alas  ! 
I  have  had  only  too  many  !" 

As   my  comrade    spoke,   I   could   see   a 


38  TRANSMIGRATION. 

radiant  light  in  Iiis  marvellous  eyes.  He 
seemed  to  remember  past  events  in  our  old 
planet  somewhat  wistfully. 

^'Avpiov  ^'ahtov  "aao),"  he  said. 

"  Who  once  has  heard  the  nightingale 
Sing  love-songs  in  the  night, 
ShaU  evermore  on  sea  or  shore 
Sigh  for  sweet  love's  delight. 

"  That  song  is  clear,  and  every  year 
Frets  the  fair  summer  tide ; 
It  rings  full  plain  where  lime-sheaths  rain 
And  lilac -blooms  abide. 

"  And  he  who  hath  heard  that  brown-eyed  bird, 
When  stars  climb  heaven's  blue  steep. 
Ere  the  next  star  dips,  let  him  kiss  fair  lips, 
Else  shall  he  never  sleep." 

Thus  did  "Earrjae  improvise.  T  laughed 
at  his  humours. 

"  Nightingales  may  sing,"  I  said,  "  and 
glad  am  I  to  hear  them ;  but  their  song  will 
scarcely  conjure  up  kissable  lips  in  the 
vicinage  of  the  Ghost  and  Gridiron.  No  ; 
there  is  no  adventure  to-night,  I  fear." 

"  Unbeliever  !"  he  said.     "  Adventure    is 


TEANSMIGRATION.  39 

tremulous  in  the  air.  I  can  feel  its  electric 
menace  and  monition.  You,  who  profess 
to  pine  for  it,  cannot  apprehend  its  coming. 
Listen." 

There  was  a  shrill  voice  of  alarm — a 
woman's  voice.  By  the  starlight  (Mars, 
unhappily  for  its  poets,  being  moonless)  we 
discerned  a  female  form.  We  heard  harsh 
sounds  in  Celtic  brogue  behind ;  an  un- 
graceful monster  of  a  man  followed  the 
flying  demoiselle,  using  strong  language, 
wherein  Irish  and  Latin  seemed  to  mingle. 
I  caught  and  collared  him  as  he  passed. 
He  collapsed,  and  I  restored  him  to  con- 
sciousness with  a  mild  kick.  Meanwhile, 
"EaTTjae  had  consoled  the  lady,  who  turned 
out  to  be  exquisitely  pretty  and  transcend- 
ent! y  clever. 

"  They  christened  me  by  a  name  which 
means  joy,"  she  said,  when  her  enemy  had 
departed,  and   she  was  safe  under  our  care. 


40  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  Alas !  there  must  have  been  something 
unfortunate  in  that  baptism,  for  sorrow  has 
been  my  most  unchanging  fate.  Imagine 
m}'  being  accosted  and  persecuted  in  this 
planet  by  that  dreadful  man  who  worried 
me  on  earth !" 

Her  voice  had  a  sob  in  it. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Lady  of  Joy," 
said  ''EaTTjae.  "  Develop  your  own  natural 
character.  That  dreadful  man  will  not  come 
near  you  again,  for  fear  of  my  friend  Mark 
Antony's  valiant  boots.  That  dreadful  man 
deserves  some  excuse,  my  child  ;  for  who 
could  hear  you  sing  and  not  love  you  ?  But 
forget  him  ;  you  are  safe.  I  will  be  your 
chaperon.  My  young  friend,  Mark  Antony, 
will  make  himself  agreeable  to  you.  Mark, 
did  I  not  tell  thee  there  was  magic  in  the 
nightingale's  note?" 

"  What  magic?"  asked  the  lady. 

"  0,  Mars  is  all  magic,"  answered  "Uanjae. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  41 

"The  brown  bird  slugs,  the  cool  air  rings, 
And  Echo  answers  sweet. 
And  young  feet  rush,  and  young  cheeks  flush. 
And  young  lips  murmur  and  meet." 

With  such  encouragement,  could  I  do 
less  than  kiss  the  Hps  of  the  iniprovisatrice, 
lady  of  joy  ?  I  don't  know  whether  I  could, 
but  I  did  not. 

"  Now,"  said  ''Earrrjcre,  "  let  US  come  to  an 
agreement.  Here  we  are,  three  ancient 
dwellers  upon  earth,  who  have  come  into 
residence  on  the  planet  Mars.  Of  myself 
there  is  no  necessity  for  anything  to  be  said. 
My  step-dame  planet  will  find  me  out  in 
time.  Of  the  lady  whom  they  christened 
Joy,  there  is  this  delightful  thought,  that  if 
her  life  had  many  sorrows,  it  gave  to  others 
many  joys.  As  to  you,  Mark  Antonj',  answer 
for  yourself.  1  know  your  history  well,  for 
I  read  your  character,  and  character  is  the 
root  of  history.  You  have  been  a  fortunate 
fool.     If  you    pass  through   the  ordeal  of 


42  TRANSMIGRATION. 

lliis  planet  wisely,  you  will  lose  your  foil}'', 
and  retain  your  fortune.  Now  is  your 
chance — perhaps  it  is  my  chance,  too — 
perhaps  it  is  Joy's.  Let  us  travel  together. 
Let  us  look  for  other  earth-dwellers,  of 
whom  many  are  Avandering  about  Mars. 
Let  us  explore  the  planet,  picking  up  any 
comrades  we  may  find." 

I  agreed.  Joy  agreed.  We  went  back 
to  the  inn,  to  make  our  arrangements  for 
the  night.  They  were  difficult  at  first  sight, 
and  would  on  earth  have  been  full  of  very 
delicate  considerations;  but  when  you  have 
been  stripped  of  your  suit  of  flesh,  and 
passed  on  to  another  sphere,  you  reject  trivial 
matters.  The  portly  and  hospitable  land- 
lord informed  us  that  he  had  but  one 
vacant  bedchamber,  that  it  contained  four 
beds,  that  we  were  welcome  to  three  of 
them,  but  that  the  fourth  was  always  kept 
vacant  for  a  guest  of  curious  habits,  who 


TRAXSMTGRATIOX.  43 

usually    made  his  appearance   at  mirlnight, 

I  turned  to  "EarTja-e  inquiringly.  He 
laughed  a  quaint  little  laugh,  and  looked 
raerril}^  at  Joy,  who  blushed  about  as  much 
as  the  tinge  at  the  core  of  a  raaiden-blush- 
rose. 

"What  say  3'ou,  Miss  Joy?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  reply. 

"Absurd  traditions  of  earth  cling  around 
you,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  surprised.  It  is 
the  same  with  me.  I  am  always  expecting 
to  see  a  book  or  a  newspaper ;  and  the 
Mars  people  have  very  wisely  declined  to 
invent  the  art  of  printing  yet.  I  am 
always  expecting  to  feel  very  ill,  and 
have  to  call  in  a  doctor ;  but  in  Mars  the 
smell  of  a  flower  is  the  only  medicine  known. 
The  rose  infallibly  cures  rheumatism  ;  smell 
a  lily,  and  you  shall  never  again  be  fool 
enough  to  think  yourself  a  poet.  The  mi- 
mosa pudica,  shrinking  from  the  very  look 


44  TRANSMIGRATION. 

of  humanity,  is  the  best  medicine  in  the 
world  for  naughty  girls.  A  grain  of  it  v/ould 
have  cured  Juliet — indeed,  a  grain  of  it 
would  have  robbed  Eve  of  that  curiosity 
which  some  people  deplore.  I  don't.  Wo- 
men ought  to  be  inquisitive.  If  I  had  my 
way,  all  the  Post  Offices  should  be  kept  by 
post-mistresses  ;  they  would  do  such  an  im- 
mense deal  of  good,  by  stealthily  reading  all 
the  letters,  and  communicating  their  contents 
to  other  people.  But  I  am  thinking  of  Earth  ; 
the  folk  of  Mars  don't  seem  to  have  a  grain 
of  curiosity  in  their  composition.  It  is  the 
one  great  fault  of  this  pleasant  planet." 

"You  seriously  think  it  a  fault?"  I  said. 

"  I  fancy  so  ;  if  you  look  at  the  matter 
philosophically,  curiosity  is  at  the  basis  of 
all  the  sciences.  The  astronomer's  desire  to 
know  how  f\ir  the  sun  is  from  tlie  earth  is 
closely  akin  to  the  gossip's  desire  to  know  who 
was  the  father  of  her  neighbour's  illegitimate 


TRANSMIGRATION.  45 

cliild.  Here  in  Mars  they  ask  no  questions. 
The  note  of  interrogation  is  unknown  in  their 
punctuative  system,  if  they  have  any  such 
system.  It  saves  a  deal  of  lying,  of  course, 
for,  when  people  persist  in  asking  questions, 
you  naturally  invent  answers.  But  I  think 
it  decreases  scientific  research.  If  you  ob- 
serve, these  Mars  people  have  not  yet  invent- 
ed newspapers  or  factories  or  mines  or  law- 
yers or  hotel  bills.  Isn't  it  sad  ?  The  depth 
of  their  ignorance  is  really  tragic.  It  is 
shown  by  our  immediate  difficulty.  Imagine 
theirexpecting  a  lady  to  sleep  in  a  quadruple- 
bedded  room  I" 

"  Do  you  talk  in  your  sleep,  Mr.  "EarrjaeV 
asked  Joy,  humorously. 

"  I  alivays  talk,"  he  replied.  *'  You  will 
hear  my  voice  all  through  the  midnight 
murmuring  musically.     You  will  hear 

"  A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook, 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
That  to  the  sleeping  woods  aU  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune." 


46  TKAXSMIGRATION. 

"  What  a  charming  prospect !"  said  Joy, 
laughingly,  to  me.  "  What  will  be  the  re- 
port to-morrow  morning?  Shall  we  have 
'drunken  deep  of  all  the  blessedness  of 
sleep  ?'     I  sadly  fear  not." 

Joy  accepting  the  situation,  we  took  ap- 
propriate refreshment,  and  went  upstairs. 
The  landlord  guided  us.  The  room  was  a  very 
large  one,  almost  square,  with  a  bed  in  each 
corner,  curtained  in  with  adequate  decorum. 
One  of  these  beds,  with  a  green  coverlet, 
was  reserved  for  the  mysterious  gentleman 
who  had  the  habit  of  turning  up  at  midnight. 

^'Earrjae  took  three  or  four  turns  up  and 
down  the  room,  walked  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows, and  expressed  in  strong  language  his 
disgust  that  Mars  had  no  moon,  then  found 
his  way  into  bed  with  exemplary  rapidity. 

Joy,  who  was  at  the  opposite  corner  to 
mine,  diagonally,  knelt  down  in  the  smallest 
possible   amount    of    liueu,    and    said   her 


TRANSMIGRATION.  47 

prayers.     Then    she  disappeared    amid  the 
lavender-scented  sheets. 

I  could  not  sleep.  I  tried  all  possible 
experiments.  I  endeavoured,  with  closed 
eyes,  to  imagine  my  own  breath.  I  counted 
myriads  of  sheep  passing  slowly  up  a  sheep- 
walk.  I  followed  the  movements  of  that 
snail  that  climbed  five  feet  up  a  wall  every 
day,  and  slid  back  four  feet  every  night.  1 
set  myself  to  extract  square  roots.  I  dis- 
covered the  exact  instant  at  which  the  hands 
of  one's  watch  (if  one  had  not  forgotten  to 
wind  it  up) would  coincide  between  one  and 
two.  I  calculated  the  duration  of  the  box- 
woods of  the  British  Isles,  on  the  assump- 
tion that  every  curate  plays  croquet  for  a 
year  before  he  finds  a  wife,  and  was  amused 
to  discover  that  the  time  was  exactly  the 
same  as  that  Mr.  Gladstone  fixed  for  dis- 
establishing the  Church.  I  made  poetry. 
Even  that  did  not  cause  me  to  sleep. 


48  TRANSMIGRATION. 

Confound  it !  And  there  was  "Earrjae 
snoring  tremendous! 3^  in  his  corner,  while 
Joy's  pretty  nostrils  emitted  what  might  be 
described  as  an  unconscious  lyrical  eifusion. 
Why  can't  I  sleep  also  ? 

Has    it    ever   happened   to   you,    gentle 
reader,  to  be  sleepy  when  you  desired  to  be 
sleepless,  or  sleepless  when  you   desired  to 
be   sleepy?     Both    are  irritating.     I   often 
write  in  my  sleep,  and,  when  I  see  the  non- 
sense I  have  written,  wonder  if  it  may  con- 
tain some  hidden  meaning,  like  the  dreams 
of  Nebuchadnezzar.     Often  again  I  cannot 
sleep  ;  the  brain  lamp  burns  too  clearly,  and 
will  not  let  itself  be  puffed  out  by  any  effort 
of  will.     This  night  I  was  only  too  lucidly 
awake,    wliile    my    friends    were    enjoying 
slumbers  which  I  heartily  envied. 

Suddenly  the  door  of  our  chamber  open- 
ed. The  landlord  appeared  in  the  dishabille 
that  one  expects  of  a  landlord  at  midnight. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  49 

With  him  came  the  vagrom  guest  ...  a  boy 
almost,  a  boy  that  might  pass  for  a  girl  .  .  . 
with  long  light  hair  and  a  tremulous,  excited 
face,  and  wild  eyes.  "  Androgynos,"  I 
thought. 

There  was  soon  silence.  Incurious,  the 
new-comer  threw  himself  on  his  bed  with- 
out undressing.     But  I  heard  him  say  : — 

"  O  silent  stars,  that  gaze  on  Mars  ! 
O  liquid  wells  of  living  light ! 
When  ends  my  day  of  storm  and  strife  ? 
When  comes  my  night  of  love  and  life  ? 
When  comes  good  night  ?" 

This  settled  me.  I  fell  asleep,  and  dreamt 
I  was  the  man  who  built  Stonehenge. 


VOL.  II. 


50 


CHARTER  III. 

THE  CITIES  OF  LAKE  AND  ISLAND. 

"  Gemma  quod  Heliadum  pollice  trita  notet." 
"  Et  latet,  et  lucet  Phaeton  tide  condita  gutta." 

"VTES,  I  slept.  If  anyone  asked  me  at 
-■-  what  time  I  awoke,  I  can  only  say 
that  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea.  After 
first  dreaming  that  I  was  building  Stone- 
henge  with  large  blocks  of  stone  brought  in 
balloons  from  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt — and 
next,  that  I  was  Ares  caught  in  a  magic 
golden  net  of  Hephaistos — and  next,  that  I 
was  back  at  Five  Tree  Hill,  with  Mavis  Lee 
by  ray  side,  where  the  rivulet  ripples  by 
Saint    ApoUonia's    Chapel,  I  fell  into   that 


TRANSMIGRATION.  5 1 

profound  and  dreamless  sleep  which,  anni- 
hilating thought,  annihilates  trouble  and 
care  likewise.  That  night  I  dreamt  no 
more. 

When  at  length  I  did  awake,  slowly  and 
calmly,  with  a  feeling  of  perfect  refresh- 
ment, I  found  the  sun  high,  and  the  room 
vacant.  Joy  had  fled  ;  so  had  the  andro- 
gynous lover  of  midnight ;  so  had  "EaTrjae. 
I  cared  nothing ;  I  was  heartily  thankful  to 
them  for  not  awakinsj  me.  The  air  was 
warm ;  I  resolved  to  commence  the  day 
with  a  swim  in  the  lake  near  by. 

Under  a  noble  cedar  a  pair-oar  was 
moored.  I  got  into  it  and  rowed  into  deep 
water.  Then,  undressing,  I  took  a  header 
into  the  lake,  deriving  as  I  dived  marvel- 
lous refreshment  and  stimulus  from  the 
pyrogen  of  the  water  of  Mars,  What  sur- 
prised me  most  was  that,  the  specific  gravity 
of  the  water  being  much  less  than  that  of 

E  2 


52  TRANSMIGRATION. 

our  terrene  fluid,  I  went  far  deeper  down 
with  my  first  impulse.  Strange  to  say,  I 
could  remain  below  without  inconvenience. 
An  eminent  chemist  has  suggested  to  me 
that  tlie  pyrogen  in  Mars  water  is  not 
chemically,  but  mechanically  mixed  with  it, 
and  is  sufficiently  liberated  to  make  breath- 
ing enjoyable.  I  don't  know  about  this  ; 
I  do  know  that  I  breathed  as  easily  under 
water  as  above  it. 

Having,  like  Lyndhurst,  given  up  being 
amazed  at  anything,  I  took  with  coolness 
my  arrival  at  what  was  clearly  the  entrance 
to  a  subaqueous  city.  Two  lofty  columns 
of  porphyry  bore  a  cross-piece  of  polished 
granite,  and,  between  them,  great  gates  of 
malachite  stood  open  wide.  I  hesitated 
whether  to  enter  or  not.  The  gate  had  no 
guardian.  Tlie  wide  sea-street  seemed  to 
pass  between  a  mile  of  palaces.  Much  I 
wondered  whether    indeed    this  was   some 


TRANSMIGRATION.  53 

drowned  city  of  long-past  times,  or  whether 
it  really  had  inhabitants. 

I  was  not  long  left  doubtful.  There 
emerged  from  one  of  the  great  buildings 
near  me  a  little  man,  with  no  attire  except 
a  pair  of  spectacles.  He  greeted  me  with 
whimsical  deference,  and  bade  me  welcome 
to  the  city  of  gems.  He  had  in  his  hand  a 
huge  ruby,  cut  en  cabochon,  which  he  seemed 
to  have  just  been  manipulating  with  a  deli- 
cate tool  of  steel. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  we  amuse  ourselves 
with  the  study  of  colour.  We  build 
palaces  of  diamonds.  We  shave  sapphire 
thin  as  a  butterfly's  wing.  We  catch  insects 
and  fishes  in  amber.  We  ignite  pyrogen 
with  the  hidden  heat  of  the  carbuncle. 
Look !" 

He  made  a  movement,  and  a  stream  of 
ruddy  light  ran  right  up  to  the  surface  of  the 
water.     Then   he   beckoned   me  to  follow 


54  TRANSMIGRATION. 

him.  We  entered  a  wide  saloon,  all  of 
porphjTy,  where,  on  a  table  of  white  mar- 
ble, lay  the  most  magnificent  gems  I  ever 
beheld  till  then. 

"You  are  from  another  planet,"  he  said, 
"  where  they  cannot  live  under  water  or 
cut  gems  like  these.  We  get  many  such 
visitors.      Here  is  a  memento  for  you." 

He  took  from  the  table  an  armlet  of 
platinum  ;  the  soldiers  of  Rome  wore  such 
armlets  in  gold  and  silver,  for  use  as  well 
as  adornment.  On  tiiis  band  of  platinum 
was  a  circular  drop  of  amber,  about  two 
inches  in  diameter  :  within  it,  with  wings 
widespread,  was  a  large  butterfly,  red  as  to 
the  head,  green  in  body,  witli  wings  of 
blue  sapphire  sprinkled  with  dots  of  dazzling 
o(»ld.  Around  the  great  amber  drop  was 
a  circle  of  dark  emeralds,  tlie  colour  of  deep 
sea  water,  set  in  thin  rings  of  virgin-gold. 

"Take  this,"  he  said,  "  0  son  of  a  strange 


TRANSMIGRATION.  55 

planet!       Wear    it    while    you   are   here.  " 

He  clasped  it  on  my  right  wrist. 

"  One  word  more.  Visit  the  island  in 
the  middle  of  the  lake.  There  you  will  see 
my  daughter.  This  armlet  will  cause  you 
to  be  recognized.    Farewell." 

It  was  so  clear  a  case  of  abrupt  dis- 
missal that  I  walked  back  through  the 
malachite  gateway,  and  at  once  sought  the 
upper  air.  As  I  rose  toward  the  surface,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  little  man,  with 
spectacles  on  nose,  intensely  watching  me. 
I  had  never  seen  so  comical  a  figure. 

I  swam  to  my  boat.  Having  given  up 
being  surprised  at  anything,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  "EaTTja-e  in  my  boat. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  thought  you  were  not 
drowned.  I  got  the  ferry  lass  to  take  me 
to  your  boat,  which,  by  the  way,  I  suppose  is 
borrowed  or  stolen.  It's  a  good  custom 
they  have  here,  to  put  pretty  girls  in  charge 


56  TRANSMIGRATION. 

of  ferries.  That's  a  fine  armlet :  Phaeton's 
sisters  must  have  been  very  lachrymose  the 
day  they  drowned  that  splendid  papilio  in 
their  electric  tears.  It  has  perhaps  not 
occurred  to  you  that  the  Phaeton  legend 
and  the  liquid  electrum  were  merely  the 
Greek  poetic  way  of  dealing  with  science. 
Homer  knew  quite  as  much  of  electricity  as 
my  dear  old  friend  Sir  Humphrey  Davy. 
By  the  way,  I  think  he  is  here,  fishing." 

"Where  are  our  friends  of  last  night?" 
I  asked. 

"  0,  I  don't  know.  Joy  got  up  in  a 
sorrowful  state,  and  gushed  away  in  tears. 
Extremes  meet.  The  Man  of  Midnight  was 
off  at  sunrise.  I  left  you  happily  asleep, 
got  a  glass  of  milk,  and  wandered  a  few 
miles  away.  Returning,  I  beheld  your 
vafjrant  bark.  I  was  reminded  ofanadven- 
ture  of  mine  on  another  planet.  I  never 
could  ride,  and  so  of  course  I  delighted  in 


TRANSMIGRATION.  57 

riding.  I  never  could  swim ;  equally  of 
course  I  loved  swimming.  On  a  short  tour  I 
had  hired  a  horse  of  the  most  contrary  and 
cantankerous  character,  and  found  myself 
one  day  on  the  margin  of  a  pleasant  lake. 
It  was  hot.  I  resolved  on  a  dip.  I  tied  my 
rampant  Rosinante  to  a  tree,  undressed,  and 
did  my  best  to  daringly  drowm  myself.  I 
might  have  done  so,  but  that  I  heard  a  clatter 
of  hoofs.  Rosinante  had  escaped  !  I  start- 
ed in  hot  pursuit,  deeming  myself  safe  in  that 
lovely  place.  When  thoroughly  out  ofbreath, 
I  managed  to  capture  the  animal,  a  mile  off 
from  my  clothes.  I  mounted  it,  and  rode 
back.  Imagine — no,  you  cannot  iniagine — 
my  horror  at  seeing  a  party  of  ladies  care- 
fully examining  my  apparel,  evidently  of 
opinion  that  it  belonged  to  a  drowned  man. 
There  they  were — a  female  jury,  waiting  for 
the  coroner." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?"  I  asked,  laughing. 


58  TRANSMIGRATION. 

All  this  time  I  was  pulling  toward  the  island, 
and  he  was  professedly  steering,  which  he 
did  by  pulling  the  rope  fiercely  with  the 
hand  that  at  the  moment  happened  to  be 
most  excited.     We  zig-zagged  greatly. 

"  What  did  I  do  ?  Well,  there  were  about 
a  dozen  of  them,  and  they  were  so  curious- 
ly examining  my  raiment,  and  reading  my 
letters  and  other  nonsense,  that  they  heard 
not  on  the  heather  the  hoofs  of  my  vaga- 
bond steed.  So  I  forced  the  villain  into 
the  lake,  and  they  heard  the  splash,  and 
beheld  a  nude  rider  on  a  nude  horse,  and 
fled  with  headlong  precipitation.  I  got  ashore 
again,  not  at  all  sorry ;  but  I  believe  they 
had  run  away  with  some  of  my  love-letters." 

We  ran  at  this  moment  into  a  lovely  little 
bay,  so  full  of  white  water-lily,  that  it  was 
hard  to  pull  the  boat  through.  We  got 
ashore.     "Eo-rrja-e  said : 

"Of  course  you  have  not  breakfasted." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  59 

"No." 

"  I  have  had  nothing  but  a  glass  of  milk. 
I  know  nothing  of  this  island,  but  as  a  rule 
all  Mars  is  right  hospitable.  Let  us  start 
in  search  of  food." 

There  was  a  city  in  the  distance  shining 
in  the  radiant  air,  built  apparently  somewhat 
like  the  city  beneath  the  mere.  Before  we 
reached  it,  however,  we  came  to  a  pretty 
cottage,  such  as  you  might  see  in  England 
itself:  lawn  in  front,  roses  and  honeysuckles 
and  wistaria  covering  the  walls,  and  peeping 
in  at  the  windows  in  friendly  fashion.  There 
was  a  wicket  gate,  that  seemed  to  invite  the 
hand.  There  was  not  only  fragrance  of  laven- 
der, there  were  bee-hives.  The  smallest  of 
white  dogs  basked  in  the  sunshine. 

"That  distant  city  looks  superb,"  said 
"Eo-T97o-e,  pausing  at  the  wicket  gate ;  "  but 
it  is  distant,  and  the  cottage  is  near.  Besides, 
no  wise  man  ever  yet  entered  a  city  who 


60  TRANSMIGRATION. 

could  find  shelter  in  a  cottage.  I  doubt 
whether  any  cottage  was  ever  more  hospita- 
ble than  this.     Let  us  lift  the  friendly  latch." 

He  did,  and  the  little  white  dog  rushed 
wildly  down  the  path,  with  more  barks  than 
any  other  dog  could  have  ejaculated  in  the 
time,  and  flew  frantically  at  "Earrjaes  legs,  and 
tore  with  its  sharp  little  teeth  a  fragment 
from  his  pantaloons.  Rushed  after  the  little 
dog  a  little  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  who 
picked  it  up,  and  made  a  curtsey,  and  led 
the  way  to  the  door. 

Behold  a  vision  !  A  tall  lithe  yet  lazy- 
looking  girl  with  very  thick  bright  brown 
curly  hair,  kept  short,  and  a  straight  Greek 
nose,  and  a  merry  mouth,  and  eyes  whose 
colour  no  one  could  possibly  state,  they 
changed  so  often.  They  were  never  one 
colour  right  through.  I  have  seen  them  a  soft 
brown,  with  scintillating  flashes  of  sapphire ; 
I  have  seen  them  a  blue-black,  with  dots  of 


TRANSMIGRATION.  61 

gold  in  them,  like  the  gold  leaf  in  acqua  cToro. 
She  was  standing  now  just  within  the  rustic 
porch,  where  the  fragrance  of  honeysuckle 
was  almost  painfully  delicious.  She  looked 
at  us  both  keenly  but  briefly,  and  when  she 
noticed  my  wonderful  armlet  of  amber,  she 
said : 

"  Ah,  you  have  seen  my  father.  He  is 
well,  of  course ;  he  never  was  otherwise." 

"Young  lady."  said ''^<rT77o-e,  without  giving 
me  a  chance  of  reply,  "we  are  hungry  and 
athirst.  We  want  that  vulgar  meal  known 
as  breakfast.  That  being  consumed,  we  shall 
be  in  a  condition  to  admire  your  beauty  and 
listen  to  your  pleasant  prattle." 

The  girl  broke  into  a  gay  laugh,  like  the 
silver  splash  of  a  water  force  in  the  land  of 
the  western  moors. 

"Breakfast  you  shall  have,"  she  said. 
"  Phoebe,  small  but  useful  handmaiden, 
make  coff'ee.     Phoebe   can,   I    assure    you, 


62  TRANSMIGRATION. 

make  coffee,  though  she  has  been  ignoraini- 
ously  punished  for  lamentable  ignorance  of 
her  multiplication-table." 

It  was  a  light  bow-windowed  room.  On 
the  table  were  soon  spread  delicate  cold 
meats,  cream  cheese,  salad  of  many  sorts. 
There  were  wines,  also,  beside  the  coffee  ; 
and  there  was  that  best  of  all  fluids,  the 
water  of  Mars.  We  breakfasted  with  energy 
and  enthusiasm. 

"  Alouette  !"  said  "Earva-e. 


63 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ALOUETTE. 
Tl^  yXavK    'AOijvat,'  ^yaye; 

TJITE  did  justice  to  our  pleasant  entertain- 
^  '  inent,  provided  for  strangers  with 
sucli  marvellous  kindness  and  good-humour  ; 
but  I  was  growing  used  to  Mars,  and  as  to 
'  EcTTT/o-e,  he  took  everything  as  calmly  as  he 
had  been  wont  to  do  in  quite  another  planet. 
When  we  had  s^ot  through  our  breakfast, 
the  lady  our  hostess  asked  if  we  would 
smoke  on  the  lawn. 

"Smoke!"  said  my  companion,  "itvv^ould 


64  TRANSMIGRATION. 

be  shameful  amid  this  perfect  flower  fra- 
grance." 

"  Try  !"  she  rejoined,  and  deftly  made  him 
a  cigarette  of  something  which  certainly  was 
not  tobacco.  Another  also  she  gave  to  me. 
As  I  smoked  it  I  felt  a  strange  quietude 
come  over  me.  It  was  not  narcotic,  it  was 
supremely  tranquil. 

*'  We  find  something  new  every  day  on 
the  surface  of  this  planet,"  said  "Ecrrrjae. 
"This,  lady  fair,  is  fresh  to  me.    What  is  it?" 

"The  Lost  Rose  of  Troy,"  she  said. 
"  When  that  city  fell,  every  planet  on  the 
borders  of  Simo'is  and  Scamander  perished. 
But  Odysseus  had  taken  some  seeds,  which 
he  gave  to  Nausikaa ;  and  Nausikaa  brought 
them  here,  where  the  flowers  flourish  abun- 
dantly. Perdita  Troiae  Rosa  the  learned 
people  call  it.  Every  part  of  it  is  useful. 
The  smell  of  the  flower  cures  all  maladies, 
restores  the  memory,  quickens  the  imagina- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  65 

tion.  The  berries  ripen  seldom  :  but  if  you 
can  obtain  a  ripe  berry  it  will  make  you  in- 
visible by  holding  it  in  the  palm  of  your 
hand.  The  petals  produce  a  more  delicious 
and  stimulant  wine  than  that  which  Christabel 
gave  to  Geraldine." 

"Earrjae  laughed. 

"  We  will  settle  down,  Mark  Antony,"  he 
said.  "  We  will  become  nursery  gardeners 
and  grow  the  Bosa  Perdita.  Is  there  a 
Covent  Garden,  my  child,  in  that  distant 
city?" 

But  the  girl  had  run  away  while  he  was 
talking,  and  we  were  alone.  My  companion 
smoked  placidly.  Rosa  Perdita  beats  to- 
bacco. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  name  of  that  noble 
city,"  he  said  presently.  "  I  have  dreamt  of 
it.  I  wrote  of  it  when  I  was  a  boy  on  earth. 
Let  me  remember. 

VOL.  II.  F 


66  TRAXSMIGRATION.     . 

'  Across  the  wide  plain,  many  miles  away, 
There  is  a  calm  and  stately  City.     Lo  ! 
Its  towers  and  arches  underneath  the  ray 
Of  the  great  Sun  are  smitten  into  snow. 
One  tower  of  marble,  with  a  roseate  glow, 
Square,  and  yet  light  of  build,  dwarfs  all  the  rest. 
It  seems  to  rise  a  thousand  feet  or  so ; 
Its  lordly  loveliness  is  manifest. 
Ay,  we  wiU  visit  thee,  fair  City  in  the  West.' " 

"  Our  hostess  will  tell  us,"  I  said. 

"  Call  her  Alouette.  All  women  are 
birds.  I  made  that  discovery  in  another 
planet.  She  is  a  lark.  She  does  not  look 
before  and  after,  or  pine  for  what  is  not. 
She  sends  her  spontaneous  cry  of  delight  to 
the  summit  of  the  sky.  Yes,  women  are 
birds.  I  have  known  one  or  two  owls  .  .  . 
and  0  dear  me,  how  many  parrots!  They 
are  scientific,  critical,  heterodox  .  .  .  the  fe- 
male atheist  that  talks  you  dead." 

"What  is  the  little  waiting-maid?"  I 
asked. 

"A  wren,"  he  replied.     "  Certes,  sir,  as 


TRANSMIGRATION.  67 

the}'  saj^  in  the  Mort  Arthur^  I  wish  either 
lark  or  wren  would  come  this  way.  Rosa 
Perdita  has  a  noble  flavour.  I  wonder  are 
there  any  ripe  berries  to  be  found  ?" 

Phoebe  the  wren  suddenly  came  near, 
singing  forgetfully.  She  stopped  with  a 
blush.  Snow,  the  little  dog,  was  barking 
gaily  at  her  heels.  She  was  one  of  those 
children  that  seem  innocently  soulless ;  they 
are  fresh  and  facile  and  flower-like. 

"  Where  is  your  mistress?"  said  "Earrja-e. 

The  question  was  instantly  answered.  We 
saw  Alouette  coming  down  the  garden  path 
in  a  gay  fashion,  with  more  cigarettes  on  a 
silver  tray,  and  glasses  of  the  Bosa  Perdita 
wine.  She  moved  so  easily  that  I  thought 
there  was  something  in  my  friend's  bird- 
theory.  It  seemed  as  if  she  might  have 
flown  into  the  air ;  and  really,  as  we  met 
her  father  at  the  bottom  of  a  lake,  we  could 
not  have  been  surprised  at  anything  of  the 

f2 


68  TRANSMIGRATION. 

kind.  She  might  have  flown  away  into  the 
illimitable  ether,  without  thoroughly  astonish- 
ing us. 

"More  cigarettes,  more  wine,"  she  said, 
placing  her  tray  on  the  rustic  table  near 
us. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  like  the  Lost  Rose  ; 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  wine.  Is  it 
not  better  than  Christabel's?" 

"  It  is,  I  must  say,  marvellously  good," 
said  "EaTTjae,  looking  curiously  at  the  liquid 
as  it  glanced  in  his  glass.  It  was  of  a  dark 
amber  colour,  but  almost  effervescent ;  the 
glasses  containing  it  were  amazingly  thin  .  .  . 
thin  as  the  wing  of  a  wasp  .  .  .  white,  but 
with  a  streak  of  crimson  running  irregularly 
and  capriciously  through  them.  "  I  like 
this  liquid,"  he  continued.  ""^  Rosa  Per dita 
beats  heather  as  a  basis  for  wine." 

"  I  made  it,  you  know,"  said  Alouette, 
''  and  I  aui  the  best  maker  in  Mars." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  69 

"  Ha  !"  quoth  "Eurrjae  .  .  . 

"  There's  not  a  girl  in  the  best  of  the  stars 
That  round  the  royal  Sun  goes 
Who  can  make  such  wine  as  our  Lady  of  Mars 
Makes  fi-om  the  Lost  Troy  Rose." 

*'  What  is  that  lovely  city  in  the  distance  ?" 
I  said  to  Alouette. 

"Troy." 

"Eo-TT/o-e  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  his  glorious 
eyes  were  filled  with  a  vivid  light. 

"  I  remember  the  vision  of  my  boyhood," 
he  cried.  "  Yes,  that  is  Troy,  and  I  shall 
see  Helen  and  Andromache.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is,  Mark  Antony  ?  Here  in  Mars 
the  glorious  things  rejected  on  earth  are 
preserved  immortally.  We  must  go  to  Troy. 
Will  you  come,  Alouette?" 

"Will  I  leave  you?"  she  said.  "Am  I 
likely  again  to  meet  with  such  charming 
strangers?  Depend  on  me  as  your  com- 
panion till  you  are  tired  of  me." 


70  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  We  accept,"  said  "Ea-rrjae.  "  I  answer 
for  Mark  Antony  as  for  myself.  We  are  both 
your  friends  and  servants." 

Such  is  Mars.  A  planet  of  discontinuity 
and  caprice.  Here  on  earth  the  French  tell 
us  that  nothing  is  certain  but  the  unforeseen. 
The  apophthegm  applies  to  Mars  more 
accurately.  Where  (even  in  France)  will 
you  find  a  young  lady  lil^e  Alouette  ? 

Off  we  all  walked  toward  Troy,  little 
Snow  being  of  tlie  campan}',  and  barking 
with  a  wild  garrulity  of  joy.  Phoebe  the 
wren  bowed  over  the  wicket-gate,  and  cried 
a  little  because  she  wasn't  allowed  to  go. 
Then  she  went  indoors  and  played  with  a 
kitten  and  a  doll,  and  ate  several  jam- 
tarts. 

The  great  gates  of  the  city  stood  before 
us.  A  myriad  horsemen  could  easily  have 
come  upon  an  enemy  through  those  mighty 
and    majestic   portals.     "  Yes,"    I    thought. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  7 1 

"  this  is  the  Troy  of  my  boyhood,  when  all 
the  futile  fuss  about  syntax  and  dialect  did 
not  prevent  me  from  perceiving  the  presence 
of  a  supreme  poet.  Yes,  this  is  wide-street- 
ed  windy  Troy.  Now  1  shall  see  Helen 
and  Andromache.  Now  I  shall  see  Cassandra, 
whom  Apollo  deigned  to  love.  Priam  will 
grant  me  an  audience ;  Hector  will  give  me 
a  smile ;  Paris  will  invite  me  to  dinner." 

I  said  some  of  these  things  to  ''Ear-rjae. 
He  smiled. 

"  You  may  meet  Homer  here,"  he  said  ; 
"if  so,  'twill  be  better  fortune  than  encount- 
ering all  the  swells  at  Queen  Hecuba's 
drawing-room." 

In  the  very  centre  of  Troy,  just  below 
the  enormous  tower  of  the  temple  dedicated 
to  Apollo,  there  is  a  very  pleasant  club, 
wherein  ladies  and  gentlemen  meet.  Lon- 
don had  such  clubs  once,  but  these  dull  decor- 
ous days  have  made  Saint  James's  Street  too 


72  TRANSMIGKATION. 

saintly.  The  Troy  Tory  Club  (anagrammatic, 
you  observe)  admitted  no  member  who  had 
not  a  special  vice.  Anything  like  virtue 
produced  inevitable  black  balls.  To  this 
club  Alouette,  being  a  member,  took  us  ; 
we  entered  its  superb  saloon,  and  were  much 
amused  at  the  scene  around  us.  It  was 
extremely  pleasant. 

London,  which  is  the  centre  of  our 
modern  world,  has  established  the  doctrine 
of  the  separation  of  sexes.  It  is  quite  new, 
and  quite  false.  Let  no  married  man  go 
anywhere  (faith !  not  to  the  Derby,  or  to 
Heaven  itself)  without  his  wife.  Our  clubs 
are  an  abomination.  Even  their  cookery  is 
beneath  contempt  to  the  man  who  knows 
what  a  good  home  dinner  is.  But  why  do 
men  go  in  for  this  absurd  isolation  ?  I  am 
no  advocate  of  woman's  rights  ;  and  I  think 
if  they  have  any  wrongs,  it  is  all  their  own 
fault ;   but  the  general  tendency  of  society  is 


TRANSMIGRATION.  73 

to  a  ridiculous  antagonism  between  the  sexes. 
I'm  on  the  women's  side,  and  alwa3's  shall 
be. 

We  entered,  at  I  have  said,  the  supper- 
saloon  of  the  Troy  Tory  Club  ;  and  I  saw,  at 
once,  several  persons  whom  I  knew.  It 
was  a  splendid  room,  at  least  fifty  feet  high, 
with  mirrors  around  the  walls,  and  mirrors 
in  the  very  ceiling  There  was  sumptuous 
entertainment,  and  multitudinous  company. 
Some  were  supping ;  others  playing  chess, 
always  a  favourite  game  in  Troy  since  King 
Laomedon  liked  it ;  others  merely  drinking 
the  nepenthe  of  the  country.  Alouette, 
who  knew  everybody,  pointed  out  to  me 
Hector  and  Paris  chatting  together.  Hec- 
tor looked  a  little  like  "  a  big  brother,"  and 
was  evidently  attempting  to  insinuate  advice 
of  some  sort  or  other  (probably  about 
Helen),  but  the  graceless  scamp  of  Ida 
leaned    back  in  his  chair,  and    picked  his 


74  TRANSMIGRATION. 

teeth  with  negligence,  and  was  saying,  as 
we  passed, 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  may  be  older  than 
I,  but  you  have  seen  nothing  of  the  world. 
It  is  absurd  for  a  Troy  Cockney  like  you  to 
talk  about  prudence  and  propriety  to  a  man 
who  has  decided  which  of  the  goddesses 
was  most  beautiful,  and  who  has  for  his 
guerdon  the  loveliest  woman  of  the  world, 
the  daughter  of  Zeus.  As  to  Here  and 
Artemis,  well — you  know  all  about  that. 
You  may  lecture  away,  my  dear  brother, 
but  you  can't  cure  the  incurable.  I  am 
smitten  with  the  inveterate  disease  of  love. 
Ask  Helen." 

"Think  of  Oenone,"  groaned  Hector. 

"  I  do — devilish  often,"  said  Alexander. 
"  Nice  child,  but  rustic.  You  wouldn't 
compare  that  little  villager  with  a  lady  of 
divine  birth  like  Helen,  married  to  the  King 


TRANSMIGRATION.  75 

of  Sparta  ?  'Gad,  what  a  lovely  moonlight 
there  was  on  Eurotas  when  I  took  Helen 
away,  while  Menelaus  was  stupefying  himself 
with  hot  Lacedaemonian  wine  !  " 

"  You  are  incorrigible  !"  said  the  tamer 
of  horses.  "  I  suppose  you  must  take  your 
course." 

"My  dear  brother,  you  are  the  first  of 
the  Trojans.  It  is  a  question  whether  you 
or  Achilleus  Pelides  is  the  first  man  in  the 
world.  It  is  no  question  that  I  possess  the 
first  woman  in  the  world.  And  you  know 
what  Cassandra  says  .  .  ." 

"  0  confound  Cassandra  !" 

"No,  don't — she's  a  good,  girl ;  and  even 
a  family  like  ours  need  not  object  to  a 
daughter's  intrigue  with  Apollo.  No,  I  like 
Cassandra  better  than  any  other  of  my  fifty 
sisters.  She's  too  clever  by  half.  However, 
you  know  what  she  says  ?" 

"What?" 


76  TRANSMIGRATION.       . 

"  That  I  shall  kill  Achilles." 

"  You,  boy  !"  said  Hector,  in  a  rage. 

"  Yes,  I  daresay  it  isn't  true.  I  care 
very  little,  as  I  regard  Achilles  as  a  thorough 
cad.  Fancy  the  cowardly  cur  in  petticoats 
with  Omphale.  Faith,  I  hope  Omphale 
made  her  handmaidens  flog  the  effeminate 
hero !" 

Hector  laughed  a  lusty  laugh.  "Ear'qa-e, 
who  had  heard  the  conversation,  which  in- 
deed courted  no  privacy,  took  a  chair  and 
sat  at  their  table,  giving  me  a  friendly  nod 
of  dismissal.  He  evidently  designed  to  talk 
with  Hector  and  Paris. 

I  turned  to  Alouette.  She  was  laughing, 
silently. 

"  He'll  talk  them  to  death,"  she  said, 
"  and  what  will  Homer  think  ?  Isn't  it  too 
bad?" 

"  Dreadful,"  I  replied.  "  But  come,  what 
are  you  and  I  to  do  just  now?" 


TRANSMIGRATION.  77 

"  I  am  going  to  have  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation with  Apollo,  who  has  just  come 
down  to  see  how  matters  are  going  on,  and 
who  has  promised  to  secure  me  a  seat  for 
the  Olympus  concerts  that  are  so  fashion- 
able now.     Good-bye — I  see  him." 

Alouette  ran  off  rapidly.  Apollo  Ekaergos 
had  shotthrouG;h  the  air  like  a  shaft  from  his 
own  bow.  The\'  met  outside  the  Troy  Tory 
Club.  I  left  them  together — though,  after 
his  conduct  to  Daphne,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  he  is  not  the  sort  of  person  that  the 
guardian  of  an  innocent  virgin  would  entire- 
ly approve. 

Being  now  companionless,  as  "Earrjo-e  had 
gone  off  to  moralize  the  world,  and  Alouette 
to  demoralize  it,  I  wandered  through  room 
after  room  in  aimless  fashion.  I  came  at 
last  to  a  small  room  in  which  stood  a  statue. 
It  was  a  female  figure,  life-size,  in  white 
marble ;  it  writhed  with  some  unutterable 


78  TRANSMIGRATION. 

woe  ;  you  might  say  the  marble  wept.  The 
sculptor  must  have  been  a  man  of  glorious 
genius,  for  he  had  given  to  solid  marble, 
like  that  of  Pentelicus,  the  sad  depression, 
the  quivering  agony,  of  human  flesh.  It  was 
painfully  beautiful. 

As  I  gazed  on  this  wondrous  work  of 
art,  fascinated  yet  tortured  by  its  agonized 
beauty,  I  heard  a  step.     I  turned. 

She  who  entered  was  tall,  pale,  with  yel- 
low hair  falling  plenteously  over  her  shoul- 
ders, with  a  wistful  prophetic  gaze  in  the 
bluest  eyes  I  ever  saw.  They  were  too 
blue,  too  clear,  too  deep.  She  looked  on 
the  lovely  anguished  marble  and  said,  in  a 
low  whisper, 

"  Troy  r 

It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  heard  that  word,  as 
if  all  the  deep  sorrows  of  Troy,  told  by 
Homer,  were  crushed  into  it.  I  said  no- 
thing.    No  words  could  have  been  uttered 


TRANSMIGRATION.  79 

in  the  presence  of  those  prophetic  watchet 
eyes,  in  the  very  depths  of  which  there 
seemed  to  be  great  tears,  like  diamonds  hid- 
den in  sapphire. 

"This  is  Troy,"  she  said,  with  a  sob. 
"  I  am  Cassandra.  Apollo  has  kissed  my 
lips." 

What  whims  one  has  !  Having  lived  in  a 
quite  different  world — for  it  is  a  long  way 
from  Piccadilly  to  Troy — I  wondered  whe- 
ther I  ought  to  challenge  Apollo. 

Beautiful  unhappy  foreseeing  Cassandra  ! 
Prophetess-daughter  of  a  most  royal  line  ! 


80 


CHAPTER  V. 


TROY. 


"  KaaadvSpa  irepl  roiv  fieWovrayv  TrpoSrfkol." 

CASSANDRA.  Like  unto  golden  Aph- 
rodite :  iKekr)  'xpvaer)  ' A^pohlrt].  Yes,  it 
was  she.  Perchance  no  other  woman  had 
ever  so  sad  or  so  grand  a  fate.  But  in 
this  new  Troy,  transferred  to  a  new  planet, 
perhaps  with  a  new  destiny,  I  was  quite  ready 
to  forget  my  Homer.  As  Alouette  had  run 
away  to  flirt  with  Apollo,  I  did  not  see  any 
reason  why  I  should  not  be  at  least  polite 
to  dear  old  Priam's  beautiful  daughter.  Nor 
did  I  regret  my  slight  civility. 

I   took    her  by    the  hands,  and  tried   to 


TRANSMIGRATION.  81 

fathom  the  depth  of  those  marvellous  blue 
eyes.  It  was  vain.  There  lay  within  them 
incredible  prophecy  of  too  certain  disaster  to 
the  noble  citv  whereof  Homer  has  suns;. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  "this  is  Troy,  and  will 
be  Troy  for  ever  in  the  glory  of  golden 
verse ;  a  magic  city,  with  a  terrible  doom. 
I  am  Cassandra,  and  divine  Apollo  has  clasp- 
ed me  in  his  arms  with  absolute  love,  and 
given  nje  the  sweet  gift  of  foresight.  Yes,  but 
no  one  will  believe  me.  'Tis  no  matter;  what 
is  the  use  of  knowing  the  to-morrow  ?  Two 
other  cities  almost  great  as  Troy  there  will  be 
in  the  world  unsettled  yet.  Neither  will  have  a 
Cassandra  ;  they  may  have  a  Helen,  beauty 
maddening  all  the  world  ;  a  Hector,  hero 
greater  than  the  world ;  a  Paris,  creature 
lovelier  than  woman  ;  but  never  a  Cassan- 
dra. I  alone,  having  touched  Apollo's  lips, 
and  having  heard  the  sweet  strange  music  of 
his  natural  song,  and  having  felt  the  fierce 

VOL.  II.  G 


82  TRANSMIGRATION. 

glance  of  his  eyes,  atri  now  the  Lady  of 
Light.  Let  the  world  pass,  for  I  have  kiss- 
ed Apollo.  Let  old  Troy  be  utterly  erased, 
except  in  verse  ;  and  let  my  father  and  my 
mother  go  to  some  convenient  alms-house, 
long  ago  established  for  old  Trojans  ;  let 
fair  Helen  go  back  and  set  the  fashions 
of  Eurotas ;  let  my  dear  father  sadden  that 
he  never  believed  Cassandra's  words. 

"  But  as  for  me.  Stranger,"  she  said, 
"  Apollo's  harmless  kiss  has  sent  me  forth 
into  the  world.  I  know  all  that  will  happen, 
and  also  know  that  not  a  creature  will  be- 
lieve me." 

"  I  should  like  to  argue  that  point,"  1 
said.  "  Come,  I  believe  you  at  once.  Tell 
me  whatever  you  foresee,  and  I  will  believe 
it." 

As  I  spoke,  her  wonderful  blue  eyes 
scintillated  a  strange  light.  She  clasped  her 
hands  nervously  above  her  head. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  83 

"  I  see  Rome,  Paris,  London  !" 

"  Rome  ?" 

"  Yes.  The  city  of  strength !  Ah  !  what 
Rome  will  do !  It  will  fall  like  Troy  at  last, 
but  not  so  nobly.  It  will  be  the  heaviest 
and  fiercest  centre  of  force.  What  Rome 
does  will  last." 

"And  Paris?"  I  said. 

"A  city  of  cowards,  rebels,  and  harlots  ! 
A  city  of  stolen  splendour — of  brag  without 
resolves.  Rome  is  to  be  the  soldier-city  ; 
Paris  will  be  the  harlot-city  ;   London " 

"  What  of  London?"  I  asked. 

"  What  of  London  ?"  said  Cassandra.  "  It 
is  to  be  the  f^reatest  city  of  the  greatest 
kingdom  in  the  world  ;  no  more,  no  less. 
It  will  contain  the  noblest  men  and  the 
rascalliest  villains  God  has  created.  It  will 
be  the  dwelling-place  of  the  greatest  poet  in 
the  world.  London  need  ask  nothing 
nobler !" 

g2 


84  TRANSMIGRATION. 

I  thought  of  Shakespeare,  and  was  in  love 
with  Cassandra  at  once. 

I  have  been  blamed  for  so  suddenly  falling 
in  love  with  Cassandra.  So  far  as  I  can 
understand  my  distant  relations,  who  have 
well  ...  an  interest  in  my  welfare  is 
the  correct  phrase,  there  are  three  objec- 
tions. 

1.  She  is  older  than  I. 

That  I  deny.  Since  I  have  been  in  Mars 
I  have  discovered,  by  the  records  of  the 
Heralds'  College  of  that  planet,  that  I  am 
the  man  who  once  was  Adam. 

This  is,  of  course,  decisive. 

2.  She  has  been  talked  about  with  Apollo. 

"  O  dear  me  ! 

Where  is  the  lady, 
Who  has  never  beside  the  sea, 
Or  where  heather  and  furze  bloom  free, 
Or  under  woodland  shady, 
Taken  a  kiss  ? 
Was  it  a  miss, 
Lady,  lady,  lady  ? 


TRANSMIGRATION.  85 

"  O  dear  me  ! 

"What  will  follow, 
When  there's  a  minute  of  joyous  glee, 
When  a  kissable  mouth  you  see, 
And  its  tempting  beats  you  hollow  ? 
Why  despond 
If  your  corespond- 
ent is  joyous  Apollo  ?" 

After  all,  you  know,  Apollo  is  mere  sun- 
shine, and  perchance  the  lady's  love  might 
be  mere  moonshine.  But  .  .  .  and  this  is 
a  devilish  determinate  but  ...  I  never  could 
love  a  lady — whom  I  loved  at  all — less  be- 
cause she  had  interchanged  a  few  kisses  in 
the  gaiety  of  youth.  What  a  direful  prim 
prig  she  would  be  if  she  hadn't !  Have  / 
kissed  nobody? 

Ah! 

3.  She  is  a  professional  prophetess.  What 
nonsense !  She  is  as  good  as  an  estate  in 
Leicestershire.  I  shall  go  to  Stationers' 
Hall  and  arrange  for  publishing  the  Cassan- 
dra Almanac  at  once. 


86  TRANSMIGKATION. 

Among  the  women  of  Troy  I  thought 
Cassandra  the  most  beautiful,  as  certainly 
she  was  the  wisest.  I  wish  I  could  put  her 
on  paper.  No  painter  could  do  it.  She 
was  voice  and  eye.  Her  voice  startled  you 
— her  eye  held  you.  Andromache  was  all 
bosom.  Helen  was  .  .  .  But  the  clear,  keen 
eye  of  Cassandra,  and  her  exquisite  con- 
tralto voice,  made  me  forget  all  my  earthly 
engagements,  and  go  in  for  a  fierce  flirtation. 
You  know  what  men  are  ! 

A  prophetess  is  really  a  temptation.  Fancy 
the  luxury  of  a  wife  who  could  tell  you  all 
the  events  of  the  day  before  you  drank  in 
bed  your  matutinal  coffee.  That  would  be 
a  noble  idea.     Cassandra  says : 

"  If  you  go  shooting  to-day,  you'll  kill 
plenty  of  game." 

Or — "  If  you  go  into  the  City  to-day, 
you'll  successfully  swindle  somebody." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  87 

Or — "  If  you  ride  in  the  Row  to-day, 
you'll  meet  Incognita." 

Or — "  If  you  stay  at  home  to-day,  your 
uncle  will  make  his  will  in  your  favour." 

And  in  all  these  cases  she  will  be  speak- 
ing the  truth.  Unhappily,  that  villanous 
flirting  son  of  Leto  has  laid  a  spell  upon 
her,  so  that  even  her  husband  could  not 
believe  her,  much  as  he  might  try.  He 
would  go  into  the  City  when  she  counselled 
him  to  look  after  the  birds,  or  see  Incognita 
in  the  Row  when  he  should  wait  at  home 
for  his  venerable  pecunious  uncle. 

In  the  Troy  Tory  Club  we  had  a  very 
pleasant  little  dinner  that  day — Cassandra, 
Alouette,  "'Ea-rrjae,  and  I.  It  was  a  new 
sensation.  There  was  choice  cookery  of 
quite  unusual  kinds  ;  the  culinary  artists  of 
Ilion  had  devised  original  dinners  during 
the  time  of  that  immortal  ten  years'  siege, 
and   the  fashion   of  them    remained  ;    and, 


88  TRANSMIGRATION. 

after  the  dinner  was  over,  we  went  into  the 
general  saloon,  where  there  was  a  most 
brilliant  society. 

There  was  Helen.  I  have  since  seen  Mr. 
Leighton's  attempt  to  depict  her,  of  course 
entirely  from  imagination.  Had  he  con- 
sulted me,  I  would  have  lent  him  a  charm- 
ing sketch  of  her,  which  Apollo  made  one 
day  on  the  back  of  a  note  from  Cassandra. 
Much  more  like  Cassandra  was  the  modern 
artist's  Helen.  The  sister  of  the  Dioscuri 
was  of  middle  height,  brown-haired,  brown- 
eyed,  with  small  soft  hands,  a  wicked  way 
about  her,  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye,  a 
tendency  to  low  bodices,  an  artistic  way  of 
showing  her  ankles.  Everybody  said  in 
Troy  that  she  was  much  liker  to  Leda  than 
to  her  reputed  father ;  and  I  can  well  be- 
lieve it.  Indeed  all  the  ladies  in  Troy  were 
jealous  of  her,  since  she  was  more  danger- 
ous   than    even    Cressida.     As    Paris   once 


TRANSMIGRATION.  89 

remarked   to  me,  mournfully    rather,    over 

some  (papfMUKOv  vr)7revde<i, 

"  A  woman  who  goes  wrong  once,  won't 
stop  at  twice." 

When  he  said  that,  in  bitter  fashion 
(and  after  a  good  dinner)  I  thought  the 
auburn-tressed  King  of  Lacedaemon  was 
avenged.  It  is  doubtless  an  exciting  thing 
to  run  away  with  another  man's  wife  ;  but 
how  dreary  it  must  be  to  get  tired  of  her, 
and  how  unpleasant  the  thought  (mitigated 
only  by  the  slight  satisfaction  of  getting  rid 
of  her)  that  she  will  probably  run  off  with 
some  other  man  ! 

I  can't  say  I  admired  Helen.  Rather  a 
minx  from  the  first,  as  her  very  early  ad- 
ventures with  Theseus  sufficiently  proved. 
Not,  in  my  judgment,  worth  ten  years' 
fighting  and  a  couple  of  epic  poems.  How- 
ever, she  understood  the  art  of  making 
society  pleasant,  and  one  or  two  evenings 


90  TRAXSMIGRATION. 

"Earrja-e  and  1  spent  at  Paris's  palace  in  Alex- 
ander Square  were  uncommonly  delightful. 
The  young  prince  deserved  Homer's  epithet, 
BeoecBr)^.  There  was  never  anyone  more 
beautiful.  When  I  saw  him,  I  understood 
why  Zeus  had  made  him  the  supreme  ar- 
biter of  beauty — the  judge  between  the 
trinity  of  goddesses. 

Paris  was  the  best  company  in  the  world. 
I  thought  Helenus  rather  like  Mr.  Pitt,  and 
Nestor  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  But 
Paris  was  as  adventurous  as  Grammont,  and 
as  witty  as  Luttrell.  We  had  one  grand 
night  together;  Helen  didn't  know;  "Earrjae 
and  Alouette  were  engaged  on  a  spiritual 
seance,  or  an  sesthetic  tea,  or  a  meeting  for 
the  mutilation  of  unmitigated  muffs.  So 
Paris,  finding  T  was  not  engaged,  said  to  me 
at  the  Club, 

"  Let's  have  a  jolly  evening.  Helen's 
got   a  grand    concert ;     and    music  always 


TRANSMIGRATION.  91 

gives  me  a  confounded  lieadache.     Who  do 
you  think  has  just  come  to  Troy?" 
"Who?"  I  asked. 

"  KipKjf    ev7r\oKa/xo<;,     avhrjecraa,     beautiful 

daughter  of  the  phaesimbrotous  Sun.  She 
is  here  with  all  her  mischief,  all  her  music, 
all  her  fun.  I  like  Circe,  though  perhaps 
she  goes  a  little  too  far  sometimes  ;  but  she 
extinguished  a  great  many  fools  and  knaves, 
and  for  that  she  deserves  kudos.  Aiaie  has 
proved  a  useful  island,  lessening  the  num- 
ber of  hospitals  and  gaols  and  lunatic 
asylums.  If  a  fellow  comes  there  and  calls 
himself  a  poet,  Circe  turns  him  into  a  dog, 
and  has  him  whipt  when  he  howls.  If  he 
professes  to  be  an  independent  and  impar- 
tial statesman,  she  probably  makes  a  pig  of 
him,  and  allows  him  plenty  of  wash.  When 
she  catches  a  brave  soldier,  she  metamor- 
phoses him  into  a  lion  ;  and  so  has  usually  a 
small  army  of  those  fellows  about  her." 


92  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"Has  she  got  any  followers  of  that  sort 
here  ?"  I  asked. 

"She  may  perhaps  have  one  or  two," 
said  Paris,  "  but  if  so,  they  will  be  the 
quietest  specimens." 

"  And  you  don't  think  she'll  try  to  turn 
j'ou  or  me  into  any  sort  of  quadruped  ?" 

"Since  I  saw  those  three  goddesses  on 
Ida,"  said  Paris,  "  I  have  been  magic-proof. 
As  for  you,  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if  you 
let  Circe  befool  you.  I  can  imagine  a  man's 
being  cheated  by  her  in  her  own  island,  but 
'•   not  in  this  sober  city  Troy." 

The  sobriety  of  Troy  had  not  struck  me, 
but  I  could  not  contradict  the  King's  son ; 
so  I  accepted  his  opinion,  and  went  with 
him  to  Circe's.  It  was  a  jolly  reception ; 
lots  of  the  fastest  people  in  Troy  ;  only  two 
lions  in  the  room,  who  lay  quietly  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  bit  nobody,  so  far  as  I  know. 

Circe  is  not  quite  my  style.     Very  tall, 


TRANSMIGRATION.  93 

bright  blue  eyes,  immensely  wig-like  hair, 
and  the  most  lovely  contralto  voice  in  the 
world  .  .  .  finer  than  even  Alboni's.  I 
must  say  I  wonder  Odysseus  cared  much 
about  her.  She  and  Paris  seemed  on  very 
familiar  terms ;  when  she  took  to  singing 
songs  for  his  delectation,  I  thought  of  Helen's 
brilliant  concert.     Thus  she  sang  : 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  the  Sun, 

And  you  the  chief  est  judge  of  beauty. 
The  goddesses  were  stript  for  you, 
The  world  well  knows  what  you  have  won  ; 
But  did  you  make  your  judgment  true? 
Ah,  did  you  do  your  duty  ? 

"  I  want  a  little  flattery. 

So,  Alexaudros,  please  have  mercy. 

You  tried  grave  look  and  careful  touch, 

Tested  with  care  each  deity  .  .  . 

Tell  me,  was  Aphrodite  much 
More  beautiful  than  Circe  ?" 


94 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ROME. 
"  Roma  tibi  subito  motibus  ibit  amor." 

/^DDLY  enough,  "Earrjae  and  I  were  early 
^-^  next  morning.  The  Simois  was 
rather  high  ;  we  fancied  a  cold  bath ;  we 
strolled  down  from  our  inn,  the  Eos  and 
Tithonus — a  good  sign  for  early  breakfasters 
— and  had  a  very  pleasant  dip  under  the 
rosy-blossomed  oleanders.  It  was  a  lovely 
morning.  The  soft  sweet  odour  of  a 
myriad  flowers  came  out  beneath  the  sun- 
rise.    Every  bough  above  us  had  its  fragrant 


TRANSMIGRATION.  95 

bloom  ;  every  herb-tuft  crushed  by  our 
naked  feet  had  its  delicious  smell. 

"  I  am  young  again,"  said  "EarTjae. 

He  looked  it.  Those  marvellous  eyes, 
which  had  been  the  wisest  on  Earth,  seemed 
the  noblest  and  bravest  in  Mars.  I  won- 
dered what  the  dull  fellows,  the  sartores 
resarti,  who  had  misunderstood  "Ea-rrjae  on 
Highgate  Hill,  would  think  of  him  in  Troy. 
His  name  is  perpetuated  on  that  hillock, 
as  I  perceived  when  last  I  wandered  thither 
to  lunch  with  a  poet. 

Here  by  Simois  how  young  he  looked  ! 
There  was  a  grey  granite  cavern  where  we 
had  deposited  our  apparel.  As  we  raced  up 
to  it,  sparkling  spherules  all  over  us,  we  ran 
against  a  nude  young  lady,  who  appeared  to 
have  also  dij)t  in  the  divine  stream.  How 
fast  she  ran  away,  laughing  gaily,  roseflusht 
all  over  (Darwin  notwithstanding)  and  ca- 
rolling merrily  .  .  . 


96  TRANSMIGKATION. 

"  0  it  was  sad  to  be  caught  in  the  morninor 
All  without  warning,  when  the  dye 

Of  ApoUo  could  smite  my  shoulders  white  ! 
Helen  has  bathed  here  :  why  not  I  ? 

"0  it  was  sweet  that  they  who  caught  me 
Only  thought  me  a  thoughtless  thing  .  .  . 

Quite  forgave  the  limbs'  soft  wave  .  .  . 
Shut  their  eyes  as  I  took  wing." 

Of  course  "EaTrja-e  aud  I  thought  it  wise  to 
verify  the  verse.  We  walked  decorously 
away,  and  botanically  examined  the  ruddy 
Nerine  of  Siinois.  Presently  Alouette  join- 
ed us,  laughing,  and  as  ruddy  as  the  oleand- 
er itself. 

"  We  may  do  anything  before  breakfast 
and  before  Troy,"  said  "'EarTjae.  "  Now, 
Alouette  and  Antony,  let  us  charter  centaurs 
and  visit  Rome." 

"  Centaurs  !"  I  said. 

"  Rome  !"  said  Alouette. 

"  I  happen  to  know  BLKat,6TaT0<;  Kevravpwv'^ 
he  said  ;  "  he  taught  Asklepios  and  Achilles 
all  they  knew,  and  would  have  taught  them 


TRANSMIGRATION.  97 

more  if  they  could  have  absorbed  it.  T  met 
him  yesterday.  He  is  very  fond  of  Helen. 
Goethe  has  told  us  all  this.  Knowinsj  me 
through  friends  in  other  planets,  he  asked 
if  he  could  give  me  any  trips  into  the  coun- 
try. I  told  him  I  was  tired  of  Troy,  and 
wanted  to  try  some  other  city.  So  it  was 
arranged  we  should  breakfast  in  Rome." 

"  Roaie  !"     I  cried. 

"And,  by  Apollo,  here  he  is,"  proceeded 
'EaTTjae. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
magnificent  curvetting  of  three  centaur 
steeds ;  never  saw  Derby  or  Ascot  or  Good- 
wood aught  so  noble  as  ancient  Cheiron  and 
the  two  young  mares  he  had  brought  with 
him.  Cheiron,  roan  in  general  colour,  gray  in 
his  glorious  human  head  with  enormous  age 
(for  has  he  not  been  leader  of  the  Centaurs 
at  least  three  thousand  years  ?),  yet  strong 
as  ever  and  stalwart.     Alouette  sat  on  his 

VOL.  II.  H 


98  TRANSMIGRATION. 

mighty  loins  like  a  mere  butterfly.  Off  he 
sprang  across  the  asphodel  meadow. 

"  Many  a  lady  has  threaded  her  pretty 
fingers  through  my  old  tangled  mane,"  he 
said. 

The  two  mare  Centaurs  were  bright  bay 
and  chestnut.  "EaT7]a€  chose  the  chestnut, 
a  lovely  creature  enough,  but  with  fiery  eyes. 
The  bay  suited  me  excellent  well ;  her  eyes 
were  mild  and  soft,  and  when  I  caught  her 
strong  sides  between  my  thighs,  she  knew 
her  master.  No  bridles  and  saddles  of  course, 
when  you  ride  Centaurs  .  .  .  specially  if  they 
understand  Greek — or  Trojan.  Touch  the 
cheek  ;  say  a  word  in  the  ear ;  move  the  leg 
on  the  loin.  My  bay  Centaur,  who  told  me 
her  name  was  Proaxis,  ran  away  from 
"Ea-TTjae  on  the  chestnut.  But  we  failed  to 
overtake  Cheiron,  running  away  with 
Alouette.  Talk  of  Flying  Childers  and 
Eclipse  !     Try  the  aged  son  of  Chronos  and 


TRANSMIGRATION.  99 

Philyra  .  .  .  with  a  light  weight  lady  to  give 
hitn  renewal  of  vigour.  I  began  to  marvel 
whether  I  should  ever  see  Alouette  again. 
Is  there  a  Gretna  on  Mars  ? 

I  talked  to  Proaxis,  and  found  her  a  love- 
ly little  gossip.  One  of  the  great  points  in 
favour  of  the  female  Centaur  is  that  she  can- 
not hold  a  pen.  A  hoof  is  no  substitute  for 
fingers.  Hence  the  nice  nonsense  which  the 
girl  sends  to  sisters  and  sweethearts  under  a 
penny  stamp  is  compressed  into  pleasant 
conversation  by  the  mares  that  are  daughters 
of  Chronos — otherwise  Time.  What  can  be 
pleasanter  than  to  ride  on  one  of  them  and 
hear  her  talk  ? 

"How  old  are  you?"  I  asked  Proaxis, 
patting  her  pretty  bay  neck. 

"  0,  I'm  a  filly  !"  she  said,  with  a  fling 
that  would  have  thrown  many  a  rider. 
"  I'm  about  two  thousand,  I  think.   Cheiron 

H  2 


100  TRANSMIGRATION. 

would  know  within  a  century.    I'm  only  half 
broke." 

"  That's  very  clear,"  I  said,  "  but  if  you 
throw  me  I'll  eat  you.  Come,  little  mare, 
don't  be  frisky  ;  here's  a  jolly  sunk  fence  .  .  . 
let's  take  it  like  a  bird." 

Another  pat  on  the  neck.  That's  the 
way  to  manage  anything  female.  We  swam 
over  the  heavy  hawthorn,  and  came  into 
the  meadow  below  with  perfect  ease. 

"  Pretty  thing !"  I  said. 

Even  Centaur  mares  are  manageable 
creatures.  I  was  amused  with  Proaxis.  I 
had  only  a  vague  idea  where  "Ea-Ttjo-e  wanted 
to  go.  Presently  I  saw  a  tavern,  so  I 
thought  I  would  pull  up  and  wait  for  my 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend.  Proaxis 
was  rather  loth,  wanting  a  lark. 

Supposing,  dear  reader,  you  had  ridden  a 
Centaur  mare  from  Troy  to  the  suburbs  of 
Rome — and  supposing  it  was  a  bright  bay 


TRANSMIGRATION.  101 

mare  that  carried  you  well,  and  chatted 
wittily  all  the  way — what  would  you  give  it 
in  the  way  of  refreshment  ?  What  occurred 
to  nie  was,  Falernian  and  macaroons. 
Proaxis  did  not  object. 

"  I've  had  a  lovely  ride  through  the  city," 
says  Alouette  presently,  coming  up  on  Chei- 
ron.  "  It  is  so  lovely.  But  Cheiron  says  he 
won't  go  back.     And,  0,  where's  "Ea-Trjae. 

"  Horse  and  rider  are  both  slow,"  quoth 
the  father  of  the  Centaurs.  Do  you  sleep 
in  Rome  to-niu;ht  ?" 

This  to  me. 

"  Yes ;  decidedly." 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  saying  as  much  to 
Valerius  Catullus,  and  he  will  be  happy  to 
receive  you.  But  you  know  what  sort  of 
fellow  he  is ;  take  care  of  your  little  friend 
Alouette." 

At  this  point  "Ea-r-qa-e  arrived,  and  more 
macaroons  and    Falernian  were  in  requisi- 


102  TRANSMIGRATION. 

tion.  You  should  have  seen  dear  imrae- 
morial  Cheiron  drink  that  wine  ...  or  any 
other. 

We  had  quite  a  sentimental  parting  with 
our  friends,  the  Centaurs,  who  trotted  back 
towards  their  stables  in  Troy.  But  we 
wished  to  get  into  Rome  for  an  oyster 
supper  with  Catullus,  whom  "Ecm^ae  (who,  I 
believe,  wanted  to  see  Lesbia)  praised  as  a 
master  of  hendecasyllabics  ;  and  of  course 
Alouette  had  to  put  her  pretty  brown  hair  in 
order,  after  a  ride  on  Cheiron,  before  supping 
with  the  Veronese ;  so  we  told  the  land- 
lord to  send  at  once  for  what,  in  London  is 
called  a  brougham.  It  was  in  Rome  known 
as  a  cicero.  It  was  well-horsed  ;  but  the 
fellow  charged  us  too  much  for  taking  us 
to  the  Palatine  Hill. 

''  Hurrah  !"  said  Catullus,  meeting  me  with 
those  bright,  scintillating  eyes  of  his,  as  I 
came  over  Cave  canem  to  the  cooler  part  of 


TRANSMIGRATION.  103 

the  corridor.  I  knew  him  at  once.  "  Les- 
bia  is  here,"  he  said,  "  Cgesar  is  coming. 
Very  likely  Mark  Antony." 

"  I  shall  have  to  change  your  pseudonym, 
old  fellow,"  says  'Earr^ae.  "  I  have  been  call- 
ing our  friend  Mark  Antony,  as  he  possesses 
some  heathen  name  which  one  cannot  pro- 
nounce unless  one  has  a  cousrh." 

In  came  Cassar  and  Antony,  friends 
whose  friendship  one  at  once  understood. 
Power  and  grace  arm-in-arm.  Caesar  like 
a  Cornish  wrestler  .  .  .  breadth  equal  to 
length.  Antony  tall,  radiant,  slender. 
Caesar's  voice  would  stir  an  army  ;  i\.ntony's 
whisper  would  madden  a  woman.  Indeed, 
remarks  which  they  made  at  Valerius's 
table  that  night,  sufficiently  indicated  the 
difference  between  the  two  friends. 

"  No  man  shall  ever  beat  me,"  said  Julius. 

"  Nor  any  woman  me,"  quoth  Marcus. 

"  The   oddity   of  this    planet,"   suddenly 


104  TEANSMIGRATION. 

H3iid"E(TT7]a€,  "is,  that  it  has  no  moon.  I 
have  considered  this  subject  with  much  care 
since  I  have  resided  here,  and,  my  conclu- 
sion is  that  planets  should  be  constructed 
without  moons.  The  devil's  in  the  moon 
for  mischief!  How  in  the  world  they  get 
on  in  Saturn  and  Uranus,  where  there  were 
eight  moons  each  when  the  last  bal- 
loon mail  arrived,  is  to  me  a  mys- 
tery. Knowing  what  I  do  of  the  terrene 
moon's  influence  on  lunatics,  lovers,  poets, 
the  tides,  and  the  almanac-makers,  I  am 
almost  tempted  to  visit  an  eight-mooned 
planet,  to  ascertain  the  result.  It  must  be 
Bedlam  broken  loose.     Eight  moons !" 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you,"  said  Mark 
Antony,  "  that,  according  to  Pythagoras, 
or  some  such  swell,  all  these  planets  are 
moons  to  the  sun  ?  How  deuced  mad  the 
sun-folk  must  be  with  such  a  lot  of  moons 
and  moonlets!" 


TRANSMIGRATION.  105 

"  I  should  like  to  see  some  of  their 
poetry,"  said  the  Veronese. 

"  0  rem  ridiculam,  Cato,  et  iocosam  f  says 
CaBsar.  "  Do  you  think  they  are  much 
madder  than  that?" 

Everybody  laughed.  "Ua-Trja-e  took  up 
the  parable  in  his  usual  fashion,  and  set  to 
work  to  connect  logic  with  astrography. 

"  I  have  not  worked  out  the  whole  ques- 
tion," he  said  ;  "  but  Earth  is  the  home  of 
the  dilemma,  and  Mars  of  the  epigram." 

"  Explain,"  said  Ceesar.  "  Certainly  I 
was  on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma  when  I 
crossed  the  Rubicon." 

"  As  was  Alexander  when  he  cut  the 
Gordian  knot,"  said  "Earqae.  "  It  is  the 
destiny  on  earth  of  all  men,  great  or  small. 
Take  the  old  story  of  the  king  who  built  a 
bridge,  and  erected  a  gallows  at  the  end  of 
it,  to  hang  every  traveller  who  did  not  tell 
truly    why    he    crossed.       There    came    a 


106  TRANSMIGRATION. 

pilgrim  who  declared  that  his  especial  pur- 
pose was  to  be  hanged  on  that  gallows. 
What  could  the  toll-man  do  ?  If  he  hanged 
him,  he  had  told  the  truth,  and  ought  not 
to  have  been  hanged ;  if  he  did  not  hang 
him,  he  ought  to  have  been  hanged  for 
lying." 

-"  T  guess  what  he  did,"  said  Mark  An- 
tony ;  "  hanged  him,  buried  his  body,  and 
made  no  report  to  the  King.  But  go  on 
with  your  theory." 

''  'Tis  simple  enough.  Take  health  :  if 
on  earth  you  would  be  healthy,  you  must 
resign  everything  that  renders  health  worth 
having.  You  must  never  wet  your  feet  in 
shooting  or  fishing  for  fear  of  rheumatism, 
nor  drink  wine  for  fear  of  gout,  nor  eat  a 
good  dinner  for  fear  of  indigestion.  Here 
you  find  no  such  annoyances  ;  the  air  is 
light-giving,  the  water  life-giving,  the 
flowers  are  sustenant  and  medicinal.     We 


TRANSMIGRATION.  107 

cannot  forget  the  habits  of  earth — we  like 
oysters  and  wine  ;  but  many  natives  of  this 
pleasant  planet  live  wholly  on  the  fragrance 
of  flowers  and  the  stimulant  water  of  the 
streams.  Then  the  remedies  of  earth  are 
barbarous.  The  man  who  has  not  a  grain 
of  hope  takes  a  grain  of  opium  ;  revivified 
for  an  hour  or  two,  he  is  worse  direetly 
after,  and  seems  like  a  corpse  that  has  been 
galvanized.  0  !  I  love  Mars,  and  mean  to 
stay  here.  Earth  was  not  so  good  to  me 
that  I  should  care  to  revisit  the  glimpses  of 
the  moon." 

"  And  how  is  that  to  be  done  ?"  I  asked. 

"  The  moment  one  of  us  earth  men  wishes 
to  return  to  earth,  he  is  there,"  said  ''Earrjae. 

"  Ah  !"  thought  I,  remembering  my  lost 
Lucy  and  my  wasted  life,  "  no  such  wish  is 
mine.     Mars  for  me  !" 

"  No  better  oysters  than  these,"  said  our 
host,  "  had  ora  Hellespontia  ceteris  ostriosior 


108  TKAXSMIGRATION. 

oris.  And  every  oyster  holds  a  pearl, 
wherefore  I  compare  the  Mars  oyster  to  a 
perfect  lyric,  which  is  pleasant  for  its  beauty 
of  style,  and  which  also  always  contains  a 
single  poetic  idea." 

Lesbia  all  this  while  had  been  eating  the 
small  plump  beardless  oysters  from  their 
concave  shells,  and  daintily  putting  aside 
pearl  after  pearl  from  each,  just  as  earthly 
damsels  put  aside  the  cherries  from  a  tart. 
Nothing  had  she  said,  except  now  and  then 
in  a  whisper  to  Valerius  or  Marcus,  be- 
tween whom  she  sat.  Every  whisper 
brought  a  light  laugh. 

"You  might  turn  that  thought  into  just 
such  a  lyric  as  you  describe,"  said  "Earrjae. 

The  Veronese  responded : 

"  Ay,  full  oft  have  I,  looking  as  my  lady 
Put  her  pearls  away  with  a  dainty  finger, 
Pure  pearls,  fair  to  see  where  the  bosom  rosy 
Trembles  lovingly  when  the  night  is  silent, 
Deemed  how  sweet  it  were  could  a  poet  only 
Make  songs  welcome  as  oysters  are  to  maidens, 


TEANSMIGRATION.  109 

Each  song  hiding  a  pearl  of  love  within  it, 
Each  pearl  fit  to  be  worn  where  Love  is  dwelling. 
Sure  things  might  be  so  in  this  lucky  planet. 
Happy  orb  it  is,  since  an  oyster  supper 
Always  gives  to  the  lady  eating  plenty, 
Girdle,  necklet,  bracelets  for  the  morning." 

Lesbia  laughed,  and  went  on  with  her 
oysters  in  a  business-like  way.  Mark  Antony 
filled  her  glass  with  merus  Thyonianus^  and 
said, 

"  I  must  have  a  copy  of  that,  Valerius." 

"Take  it  on  memory's  tablet,"  he  said. 
"  Who  will  go  on  board  my  new  yacht  to- 
morrrow  ?  I  am  for  an  exploring  trip.  I 
want  to  see  some  of  the  strange  lake-birds  I 
hear  of." 

"  I  am  for  the  senate,"  said  Caius  Julius. 

"And  I,"  said  Antony. 

But  "EaT7](7€  would  go,  and  Alouette  was 
nothing  loth,  and  T  resolved  to  join  them. 
It  was  sunrise  when  our  symposium  ended. 
Slave-girls   took    Alouette    to    her   couch ; 


110  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"EaT7](T€  and  I  took  a  walk  into  the  open  air, 
but  in  the  vestibule,  pausing,  he  drank  from 
a  small  fountain  of  water,  by  which  crystal 
cups  were  placed.  Then  he  took  a  rose  from 
a  basket  hard  by,  and  inhaled  its  fragrance. 

"  Do  as  I  do,"  he  said.  "  The  flowers 
and  waters  of  Mars  cure  all  the  evils  that 
proceed  from  the  viands  and  wines  of 
earth." 

We  wandered  to  an  open  square,  where 
splashed  water  from  the  mouths  of  many 
life-sized  marble  lions  into  an  immense 
basin.  The  sun  was  low,  and  the  shadow 
of  a  great  temple  was  thrown  right  across 
the  tesserae  of  the  wide  square. 

"  As  yet  no  stir  of  life,"  "EcTrrjae  said. 
"  What  I  told  you  just  now  made  you  look 
thoughtful.  At  a  wish,  you  can  return  to 
Earth." 

"  I  have  no  such  wish." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  ill 

"  It  may  come,  and  suddenly.  This  is 
the  world  in  which  Bishop  Berkeley's 
dream  comes  true,  and  mind  creates  matter. 
You  have  seen  Troy  and  Rome — they  are 
echoes  of  earth.  Have  you  not,  on  our  own 
planet,  seen  cities  in  the  clouds,  faces  in  the 
fire,  wonders  in  the  water  ?  They  passed 
too  soon.  They  are  no  more  real  than 
these." 

"  Am  I  then  dreamins;  ?" 

"  No,  I  think  not.  It  is  rather  vision 
than  dream.  I  g-uess  what  it  is,  though  I 
cannot  tell  you  in  words.  If  this  city  were 
to  pass  away  at  once,  I  should  nowise  won- 
der. I  have  been  talking  to  a  man  I  knew 
in  earth,  and  he  has  vanished  suddenly,  and 
I  felt  sure  he  was  recalled  thither." 

As  I  was  pondering  the  strangeness  of 
this,  the  earlier  life  of  the  city  awoke.  Tall 
slave-girls  with  yellow  hair  came  down  to 


112  TRANSMIGRATION. 

the  fountains,  with  jars  on  their  heads  to 
fetch  water.  These  had  blue  serious  eyes ; 
but  next  came  black-haired  black-eyed 
girls,  with  flowers  and  fruit,  which  they 
offered  from  white  wicker  baskets.  There 
were  cream  cheeses  too,  and  other  country 
cakes. 

"  Let  us  breakfast,"  said  "EarTjae. 
"  Though  a  long  resident  here,  I  have  never 
conquered  my  earthly  appetite.  Look  at 
those  great  purple  figs." 

"We  were  sitting  on  the  marble  edge  of 
the  basin.  Two  shapely  dark  young  damsels 
knelt  before  us,  offering  their  baskets. 

"  It  seems  absurd,"  said  "'Ea-rtjae,  "  when 
you  have  just  finished  supper  ;  but  I  never 
could  resist  these  rustic  delights ;  and  the 
air  and  water  of  Mars  will  digest  any- 
thing. Let  me  tell  you  that  both  figs  and 
grapes  go  capitally  with  cream  cheese.  I  was 
a  Devonshire  man,  and   knew  something  of 


TRANSMIGRATION.  113 

the  virtues  of  blending  fruit  with  cream." 
The  temptation  was  too  great.    I  followed 
"EaTTjo-es  example. 


VOL.  II. 


114 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     poet's    yacht. 

"  Phaselus  Ule  !  .  .  . " 

rniBER  received  us  in  the  afternoon,  and 
-*-  the  poet's  yacht,  a  gaily-decorated 
well-built  craft,  that  he  managed  with  the 
aid  of  a  couple  of  boys,  danced  merrily 
down  the  stream.  Geography  in  Mars  is 
not  the  geography  of  Earth  ;  old  Father 
Tiber  took  us  into  a  strange  clear  tideless 
lake,  with  shores  so  high,  and  trees  so  high 
above  the  shores,  that  the  wind  could  hard- 
ly reach  our  sails.  When  that  happened, 
the  boys  had  to  row,  and  rowed  rather 
lazily.     It  was    a   small    craft ;    you  might 


TRANSMIGRATION.  115 

just  walk  up  and  down  the  deck,  with  a 
keen  eye  to  the  sides.  '  Ecrrrjae,  a  peripatetic 
philosopher,  who  loved  to  walk  as  he  lec- 
tured, was  sometimes  slightly  puzzled  to 
maintain  his  equilibrium. 

Thus  we  went,  Valerius  and  Lesbia, 
Alouette  and  "Eo-xT/o-e  and  I,  through  waters 
strangely  beautiful.  I  have  forgotten  little 
Snow,  whom  "Earrjae  insisted  on  calling  Chi- 
one,  and  who  had  travelled  with  us  all  the 
way — nursed  in  her  mistress's  lap,  as  she 
rode  on  the  back  of  Cheiron.  Snow  was 
great  fun  on  this  our  voyage,  making  darts 
over  the  side  after  water-birds,  and  being 
fished  out  again  by  one  of  the  yacht-boys, 
who  would  plunge  in  to  her  aid  when  swan 
or  merganser  became  dangerous  to  the  dar- 
ing little  thincf. 

"  That  naughty  little  dog  will  be  drown- 
ed, I  know,"  Alouette  would  exclaim  ;  but 
Chione  was  not  drowned,  and  is  probably 

i2 


116  TRANSMIGRATION. 

barking  merrily  on  Mars  to  this  present  day. 
The  string  of  lakes,  connected  by  a  river, 
through  wliich  we  voyaged,  was  the  most 
curiously  beautiful  bit  of  scenery  I  had  yet 
seen.  It  silenced  "Earrjaes  effluent  eloquence; 
he  could  only  gaze.  The  first  lake  we 
entered  was  narrow,  but  long ;  it  reminded 
me  of  the  upper  reach  of  Windermere  ;  but, 
on  each  side  there  rose  densely  wooded 
cliffs,  almost  perpendicular,  four  hundred 
feet  high  ;  and  on  the  summits  of  those  cliffs, 
ixrew  trees  as  hie^h  as  the  cliffs  themselves, 
with  branches  so  wide  of  spread  that  they 
often  almost  met  in  the  middle  of  the  lake. 
Hence  the  gloom  would  have  been  intense, 
would  have  been  horrid,  unendurable,  but 
for  two  things.  One  was  the  ruddy  light 
which  dwells  in  every  atom  of  the  atmo- 
sphere of  Mars,  rendering  a  Mars  midnight 
lovelier  than  many  a  noon  that  I  have  seen 
in  Earth  ;  the  other,  the  clarity  of  the  trans- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  117 

lucent  water,  that  seemed  to  be  built  up  of 
millions  of  diamonds  crushed  to  the  finest 
dust.  Though  we  sailed  between  those 
awful  clifF-walls,  above  which  soared  tree- 
giants  that  dwarfed  the  Californians,  the 
ruddy  ether  streaming  down  met  the  dia- 
mond water  flashing  up,  and  the  scene  was 
delicious.  Through  the  great  boughs  came 
vast  birds,  strangely  tame,  that  would  alight 
on  the  yacht;  small  birds,  also  of  extreme 
beauty,  flying  rubies  and  emeralds,  were 
just  as  tame;  one  lovely  little  creature, 
about  the  size  of  a  lady's  thimble,  flew 
straight  into  Lesbia's  bosom,  and  would  not 
be  sent  away. 

"  That  is  a  love-bird,"  said  Valerius. 

Then,  in  the"  clear  water  below,  as  we 
looked  over  the  edge  of  the  yacht,  we  saw 
the  beautiful  fish  swimming.  Also  we 
beheld  the  cities  which  are  built  in  Mars  by 
men  who  love  dwellincc  under  water — cities 


118  TRANSMIGRATION. 

built  of  superb  materials,  such  as  are  found 
far  down  in  the  planet. 

Save  the  cities  borrowed  from  Earth,  on 
the  land  of  Mars  there  are  no  cities — only 
villages.  The  King  of  Mars  himself  lives  in 
a  village.  But,  as  there  are  Marsmen  with 
a  city-building  desire,  they  are  allowed  to 
found  cities  at  the  bottoms  of  lakes  and  live 
in  the  water — it  being  provided  that  no 
tower  or  spire  is  to  come  within  five  fathom 
of  the  lake's  usual  surface. 

It  is  found  that,  even  in  so  fortunate  a 
planet  as  Mars,  there  are  persons  who  pre- 
fer living  under  water  to  living  in  the  air,  I 
have  heard  that  similar  strange  preferences 
are  discoverable  in  other  planets.  Some  one 
told  me  once  that  he  considered  Capel 
Court  the  happiest  nook  in  England.  These 
sublacustrine  cities  were  lovely  to  look  upon 
from  above.  Alouette  was  never  tired  of 
admiring.     We  got  what  may  be  called  a 


TRANSMIGRATION.  119 

yacht's-eye  view  of  them,  and  could  see  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  walking  the  watery 
streets,  in  costumes  not  unlike  those  used  by 
French  bathers.  I  do  not  think  this  was  for 
modesty  ;  it  was  partly  for  adornment,  and 
partly  because  living  under  water  (even  in 
Mars)  gets  chilly  in  time.  People  who  de- 
sert fresh  air  for  the  sake  of  living  in  cities 
will  bear  a  great  deal — especially  if  'tis  the 
fashion. 

Presently  we  passed  from  the  first  lake 
into  a  narrow  river.  The  cliffs  stopped 
abruptly  here,  and  for  a  mile  or  more  we 
were  in  water  much  like  the  Thames  at 
Henley.  Ah,  but  how  many  a  Henley 
rower  would  be  glad  if  he  could  do  as  we 
did  .  .  .  dip  the  hollow  of  the  hand,  and 
drink  pure  water  stimulant  as  wine.  Better 
gift  than  Undine's,  who  had  but  to  dip  her 
hand  over  the  boat's  side  into  the  Danube,  to 
draw  forth  a  chaplet  of  pearls. 


120  TRANSMIGRATION. 

I    said   something   of  the   same   sort  to 

"It  can  be  done  even  in  Earth,"  he  said. 
"  I  knew,  and  shall  know  again,  one  man  to 
whom  water  was  as  the  water  of  Mars." 

The  river  brought  us  into  a  lake  lying 
lengthwise,  at  right  angles  to  the  one  we  had 
left.  On  either  hand  we  could  see  through 
miles  of  woodland,  and  at  each  end  there 
seemed  to  be  great  piles  of  building.  But 
the  river  crossed  the  lake  (half  a  mile  wide), 
and  broke  through  on  the  other  side ;  and 
when  Valerius  said,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 
Lesbia  replied,  "  Follow  the  river." 

We  followed  the  river.  It  was  a  tortuous 
stream,  this  time,  with  sloping  woods  on  the 
left  and  an  immense  sweep  of  green  undivid- 
ed meadow,  full  of  the  crown  imperial  on 
the  right.  On  that  meadow  bank  great 
red  oxen  came  to  the  verge,   and  opened 


TRANSMIGKATION.  121 

their  Hera-like  eyes,  and  lowed  musically 
.  .  .  and  turned  tail  in  dismay  when  Snow 
rushed  to  the  side  and  barked  with  feminine 
vehemence. 

The  stream  grew  more  rapid.  We  round- 
ed a  promontory,  where  a  huge  mass  of  red 
rock,  rising  abruptly  from  the  meadow, 
blocked  our  view.  We  passed  through  a 
narrow  gorge  into  a  lake  that  was  almost  a 
perfect  elipse. 

What  a  scene !  Villages  all  around  it, 
for  miles  on  every  side.  Sunset  was  on  the 
sky  and  on  the  lake  below.  One  of  those 
sunsets,  wherein  everything  on  the  planet  be- 
low seems  turned  into  a  glory  above ;  when 
you  see  cathedrals  in  the  clouds,  and  great 
armies,  and  innumerable  palaces  by  winding 
rivers.     It  was  such  a  sunset. 

"  With  a  heart  at  ease,"  said  "EaTTjae,  "  I 
have  drawn  much  delight  from  many  sunsets 


122  TRANSMIGRATION. 

in  many  planets ;  but  aught  like  this  has 
never  amazed  my  vision.  Will  any  one  tell 
me  which  is  cloud  and  which  fact?  That 
spire  which  shoots  into  the  very  zenith, 
bearing  on  its  summit  what  seems  the  figure 
of  an  angel,  looks  solid." 

"It  is  solid,"  said  Alouette  excitedly. 
"That  is  our  great  church.  The  figure 
on  the  summit  is  Michael  the  Archangel. 
That  village  where  it  stands  is  the  village  of 
the  King." 

The  village  was  right  opposite,  and  we 
were  already  sailing  toward  it.  The  mighty 
spire  threw  a  broad  path  of  shadow  across 
the  lake,  and  the  cathedral  itself  was  about 
four  times  the  size  of  the  great  Pyramid. 
There  was  nothing  else  noticeable  about  the 
village  except  a  large  tent,  with  a  banner 
in  front  of  it  and  a  flag  at  its  apex.  I  asked 
Alouette  what  it  was. 

"  That's  where  the  King  lives,"  she  said. 


TRANSMIGRATION,  123 

"  He  always  lives  in  a  tent.  When  he 
wants  to  go  to  another  place,  his  tent  goes 
with  him." 

"  But  what  do  you  call  your  nation?"  ask- 
ed "E(7T7}(Te.  "  And  who  is  the  King  of  the 
next  nation  ?" 

I  believe  he  did  this  to  puzzle  the  child, 
having  already  found  out  that  the  whole 
planet  is  subject  to  one  king.  She  was 
puzzled.  His  words  had  no  meaning  to  her. 
I,  at  the  moment,  thought  merely  that  she 
had  the  Chinese  notion  that  their  Emperor 
rules  the  world.  The  idea  that  Mars, 
though  only  half  the  Earth's  diameter,  could 
be  quietly  ruled  by  one  king,  rather  amazed 
an  Englishman  who  had  seen  his  nation 
thrash  Napoleon. 

While  we  were  talking,  Valerius  had 
steered  the  yacht  out  of  tlie  direct  line,  and 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  pretty  little  bay, 
apparently   about   a   mile   from  the  King's 


124  TKANSMIGRATION. 

village.  We  all  went  ashore  save  Lesbia ; 
then  Valerius,  apologetically,  said  to  "Earvo-e 
and  me : 

"  You  know  what  it  is.  One  must  obey 
the  wildest  word  of  a  woman  you  wildly 
love,  Lesbia  says  she  must  go  home  at 
once,  or  die.  As  I  don't  want  her  to  die, 
I'll  take  her  back,  and  then  come  and  fetch 
you. 

"  Don't  think  of  it,"  said  "Earvcre.  "  You 
are  a  fortunate  man  to  be  able  to  obey  a 
lady's  caprice.  I  wish  I  could.  It  is  so 
hard  to  find  either  the  lady  or  the  will  to 
obey.  Don't  think  of  us.  Travel  is  easy 
in  Mars.  We  will  call  and  see  you  when 
we  are  next  your  way." 

Catullus  went  down  the  steep  green 
shore,  and  sprang  into  the  yacht,  and  off  it 
flew,  with  Lesbia  astern,  a  pretty  creature  of 
many  colours.      "Earrjo-e  sat  on  the  turf  and 


TRANSMIGRATION.  125 

laughed,  while  Alouette  and  I  were  watch- 
ing the  swift  yacht  pass  the  sunset  mirrored 
on  the  waters. 

"  All  women  are  birds,"  he  said.  "  She 
is  a  kingfisher.  Do  you  know  the  meaning 
of  this  ?  She  can't  bear  another  woman. 
If  our  little  Alouette  had  not  been  with  us, 
she'd  have  been  as  brilliant  as  possible  at 
supper." 

"  What  a  pity !"  said  Alouette. 

"  Pity  !  No,  indeed.  The  only  person  I 
pity  is  our  friend  the  poet.  However,  he'll 
find  her  out  one  of  these  days — and  then 
tliere'll  be  some  sharp  work." 

The  yacht  by  this  time  was  out  of  sight. 
The  sunset  was  fading. 

"  It  was  cool  of  him  to  leave  us  so  abrupt- 
J^  ly,"  fee  said.  "  How  did  he  know  we  should 
find  quarters  ?" 

"  Custom  of  Mars,  my  dear  Mark.     You 


126  TRANSMIGRATION. 

cant  be  benighted  in  Mars.  You  can't  walk 
a  mile  without  coming  to  a  house,  or  enter 
a  house  door  without  receiving  hospitality. 
This  being  so,  nobody  need  trouble  himself 
about  his  friends.  If  he  deserts  them,  they 
will  find  other  friends.  Come,  instead  of 
arguing  this  matter  to  the  utmost,  let  us  go 
and  see  what  the  King's  village  is  like.  I 
am  curious.  I  like  the  idea  of  a  King's 
living  under  a  tent  and  in  a  village,  and 
making  the  fellows  who  must  build  cities  do 
it  under  water." 

Off  we  walked,  along  the  green  edge  of 
the  cliff,  Chione  barking  wildly  around  us. 
Presently  a  winding  lane :  then  we  came 
upon  the  village  green — a  beautiful  open 
common,  with  well  grown  trees,  and  a  rivu- 
let running  through  it.  Boys  and  girls 
were  shouting  and  playing  in  the  even- 
glome,  and  lads  and  lasses  sweet-hearting  ; 


TRANSxMIGRATlON.  127 

elder  folk  moralizing.  It  was  a  jolly 
scene,  but  we  passed  it,  in  order  to  find  an 
inn. 


128 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE     KING    OF     MARS. 

"  A  king  lived  long  ago 
In  the  morning  of  the  world, 
When  earth  was  nigher  heaven  than  now." 

rpHERE  was  no  need.  As  we  crossed  a 
-^  foot-bridsje  over  a  bright  rivulet,  we 
were  met  by  a  messenger — a  youth  of  about 
eighteen,  apparently,  dressed  in  a  green 
tunic,  and  holding  a  white  wand  in  his 
hand. 

"  You  are  strangers,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
welcome.  We  saw  your  yacht  cross  the 
lake.  Permit  me,  on  the  part  of  the  king, 
to  offer  you  refreshment  and  rest." 


TKANSMIGRATION.  129 

"Earrjae,  spokesman  of  our  trio,  accepted 
with  grateful  eloquence  ;  and  Florio,  as  this 
young  gentleman  was  named  (he  being  one 
of  the  king's  pages),  led  us  to  a  white  tent 
near  to  the  kingr's,  which  we  afterwards  found 
had  been  pitched  purposely  for  us  when 
we  were  seen  to  approach  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  lake.  The  Royal  Pavilion  tow- 
ered enormously  above  us,  with  its  great 
standard  floating  to  the  wind  above  a  mighty 
mass  of  colour ;  our  modest  tent  looked  a 
mere  handbell  by  its  side.  But  when  we 
entered,  we  found  ample  space.  It  was,  as 
I  guess,  about  fifty  feet  in  height  to  the 
apex,  and  twice  as  many  in  the  diameter  of 
the  circle  it  enclosed.  The  outside,  I  have 
said,  was  white ;  the  lining  was  a  soft  blue  ; 
the  hanmnsis  were  scarlet.  In  the  centre 
the  red  flame  of  a  p3'rogen  lamp  burnt  de- 
lightfully under  a  grass  green  shade.  The 
famous  chemist  (more  than  once  mentioned 

VOL.  II.  K 


130  TRANSMIGRATION. 

already)  explained  to  me  a  most  simple  pro- 
cess of  extracting  pyrogen  from  either  air  or 
water,  so  as  to  give  light.  Indeed  he  had 
invented  a  method  of  obtaining  instantane- 
ous light  at  night  from  the  water  in  youv 
carafe. 

The  interior  of  our  tent  had  spaces  cur- 
tained off  at  several  points,  and  we  found 
our  conveniences  as  ample  as  if  we  had  been 
in  a  house — much  ampler,  I  must  say,  than 
in  many  houses  I  had  entered  on  my  native 
planet. 

Returning  to  the  central  apartment  of  the 
tent,  we  saw  a  perfect  banquet  prepared 
for  us :  gold  and  crystal  charmed  the  eye  ; 
flowers  of  unutterable  beauty  stood  in  vases 
made  of  hollow  gems,  while  around  them 
fluttered  tame  butterflies  of  marvellous 
hues. 

"  We  tame  all  creatures,"  said  Florio,  in 
answer  to  my  look  of  surprise.     "  It  is  a  fa- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  131 

vourite  profession  among  us.  You  must  visit 
our  Paradise." 

"  Ah,"  said  "'EarTjae,  "  that  Persian  word  is 
used  in  its  true  sense  here.  It  means  a  park 
for  all  kinds  of  animals." 

We  were  waited  on  by  a  series  of  young 
pages,  all  dressed  in  Florio's  style ;  and  dur- 
ing the  meal  a  charming  concert  of  music 
was  audible  at  such  a  distance  as  not  too 
fully  to  occupy  the  ear.  It  seemed  to  me, 
ignorant  entirely  of  scientific  music,  and  only 
liking  an  air  without  being  able  to  account 
for  the  liking,  that  there  was  something 
quite  new  and  strange  in  the  melodies  that 
came  floating  through  the  rosy  evening  air. 

Florio,  who  acted  as  butler,  and  behaved 
to  us  as  if  we  were  a  princess  and  two 
princes,  brought  us,  as  coronal  of  the  ban- 
quet, two  special  delicacies  sent  by  the 
King.     There  was  a  bloom  for  each  of  us  of 

k2 


132  TRANSMIGKATION. 

the  Lost  Rose  of  Troy ;  its  imperishable 
fragrance,  softly  stimulant,  is  enough  to 
make  one  credit  Florio's  tale,  that  it  causes 
men  to  be  strong  and  women  beautiful. 
Its  colour  defies  description ;  the  outer 
petals  seem  pale  with  passion,  while  the 
core  is  blood-red  with  love — and  there  is  a 
luminous  life  in  every  leaf  caught  from  the 
fiery  atmosphere  of  Mars. 

"  How  beautiful !"  said  Alouette,  bathing 
her  delicate  nostrils  in  the  impalpable  odour. 
"This  is  the  flower  of  flowers." 

"  Ut  rosa  fios  Jiorum,  sic  alauda  avis 
avium,''  said  "Eo-rT/o-e.  "  But  what  scintillates 
in  that  crystal  flask,  throwing  up  sparks  of 
fire  through  the  white  fluid  ?" 

"That,"  said  Florio,  "is  water  of  Mars, 
bottled  at  the  King's  birth.  Our  water 
improves  by  being  bottled,  in  a  wonderful 
way ;  the  King  never  gives  this  to  any  but 
most  favoured  visitors." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  133 

"Why  are  we  so  favoured?"  asked 
"Ea-TTjae,  who  had  filled  his  glass. 

''  You  come  from  Earth,  which  is  the 
King's  favourite  planet.  But  what  have 
you  done?     See!" 

The  strong  water,  as  if  it  had  been  fluoric 
acid,  had  melted  the  glass  away. 

"  We  keep  this  either  in  diamond  or 
platinum,"  said  Florio. 

Boys  brought  diamond  goblets,  and  we 
drank  our  precious  lymph,  Zeus  !  How 
it  cleared  the  palate  and  throbbed  at  the 
heart !  How  it  gave  light  to  the  eye  and 
fire  to  the  nerve  !  We  looked  each  at  the 
other  in  silence ;  "JEa-rrjae  seemed  young 
again  ;  Alouette's  changeable  eyes  were  like 
two  strong  sapphires  with  a  core  of  flame  in 
each. 

'•  You  look  positively  handsome,  Mark," 
said  "Earrja-e  to  me.  "  How  long  has  this 
merum  nectar  been  in  bottle,  Florio  ?" 


134  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  We  don't  know.  The  King  has  for- 
gotten how  old  he  is." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  "Eo-rrjcre  to  me. 
"  You  see  there  are  no  clocks  and  watches 
in  Mars,  and  months  and  weeks  and  days 
and  hours  have  long  been  given  up  ;  indeed, 
they  could  not  have  months,  you  know, 
without  a  moon.  The  absence  of  a  moon, 
by  the  way,  prevents  lunatics,  tides,  and 
several  other  absurdities.  However,  they 
try  to  keep  their  years,  which  are  uncom- 
monly long  ones ;  and  there's  an  observa- 
tory where  a  set  of  ancient  gentlemen  keep 
watch  on  the  stars — a  kind  of  Mars  Green- 
wich. Unluckily,  these  old  fogies  lose  count 
now  and  then,  and  drop  a  year  or  two  ; 
and,  as  there  is  no  one  to  look  after  them, 
time  has  become  a  will-o'-the-wisp  in  this 
planet.     Nobody   can   ever  guess  what  year 

it  IS. 

"  Since  when  ?"  I  asked. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  135 

"  Ah,  another  difficulty.  Nothing  un- 
pleasant ever  happens  here,  so  there's  no 
definite  point  to  date  from.  By  the  way, 
Florio,  has  the  King  any  special  reason  for 
liking  us  Earthraen  ?" 

"  When  he  was  a  boy,"  said  Florio,  "  a 
visitor  from  Earth  catne,  called  'OMHPOX. 
He  made  poems,  which  the  King  learnt, 
and  can  recite  now." 

"  Of  course  the  Court  listens  blandly. 
That  gives  the  date,"  he  said  to  me.  "  If 
Homer  came  here  when  the  King  was  a  boy, 
he  must  be  al)out  thirty  centuries  old.  No 
need  that  the  Kin"  should  ever  die." 

While  we  had  been  talking  of  the  king, 
Alouette  had  slipt  off  to  her  nest ;  so  we 
finished  our  water,  and  decided  to  do  like- 
wise. Rather  to  my  surprise,  our  beds  were 
hammocks  of  matting,  with  some  fragrant 
substance  underneath.  They  swung  with  a 
slow  sleepy  movement,  hanging  about  six  feet 


136  TRANSMIGRATION. 

above  the  ground.  It  was  a  new  sensation 
to  me,  and  I  liked  it  well.  Sleep  came  soon 
.  .  .  only  to  soon  ;  I  wanted  to  dream  over 
this  strange  world  and  all  its  amazing  in- 
dwellers.  I  wanted  to  think  about  Alouette, 
with  whom  I  grew  half  a  love,  in  a  half 
Platonic  way.  But  sleep  came  irresistibly  ; 
and  I  dreamed  of  "^o-TT/o-e'?  words  about  the 
mirage  of  this  Mars-world  ;  and  in  my  vision 
I  saw  the  tall  towers  of  Troy  and  of  Rome 
gradually  slide  from  the  sight  and  fade  into 
mist,  like  some  lovely  creation  of  the  clouds, 
like  some  fair  fancy  of  a  heated  brain. 

I  was  awoke  by  the  sound  of  a  bugle.  If 
I  must  be  roused  from  sleep,  0  let  such 
music  do  it !  It  came  over  water,  softened, 
sweetened,  glorified  ;  for  the  bugler  was  in  a 
boat  on  the  lake.  The  clear  sound  stole 
into  my  slumbers,  making  me  dream,  ere  I 
woke,  of  things  inspiriting  ...  of  the  falcon 
in  free  air,  the  greyhound  on  the  lea,  the 


TRANSMIGRATION.  137 

maiden  dancing  on  the  green.  I  stretched 
in  my  hammock  and  listened.  As  I  did  this, 
the  hammock  fell  gradually  to  the  ground, 
and  I  was  in  a  position  to  attend  to  matuti- 
nal necessities.  When  these  had  been  duly 
dealt  with,  I  walked  out  through  the  tent 
door,  where  I  found  "Earrjcre  lounging.  He 
was  earlier  than  I.  He  had  been  wandering 
through  the  village  of  the  King  since  sunrise. 
"  This  is  a  queer  place,  Mark,"  he  said. 
"  We  must  stay  here  and  observe  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  natives.  Over  one 
doorway  I  saw  the  inscription  which  I  have 
copied  in  my  note-book  .  .  . 

N.  0.  Tfgs, 
Poet. 

Now  I  have  been  in  Wales  in  my  time, 
but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  how  the  poet, 
Tfgs,  pronounces  his  name.  It  must  be  on 
some  Hebrew  principle,  and  he  has  forgot- 
ten his  vowel-points.    Besides,  the  notion  of 


138  TRANSMIGRATION. 

a  gentleman's  announcing  himself  as  a  pro- 
fessional poet  is  rather  queer.  There  were 
several  others  I  have  noted  ..." 

At  this  moment  he  was  interrupted  by 
Florio,  who  told  us  the  King  asked  us  to 
breakfast  with  liim.  The  Royal  Tent  faced 
the  lake,  a  lovely  lawn  dividing  it  from  the 
water.  On  this  lawn,  a  few  yards  from  the 
tent,  a  table  was  laid.  As  we  went  towards 
it,  we  were  joined  by  Alouette,  who  had 
overslept  herself  and  ignored  the  bugle,  but 
who  looked  none  the  less  lovely.  We  three 
walked  across  the  lawn  to  this  al  fresco 
breakfast,  and  stood  by  the  table  at  places 
assigned  to  us.  Suddenly  a  bugle-call,  and 
a  double  line  of  youths  and  girls  formed  an 
avenue  from  the  tent  door  to  the  table.  Then 
another  higher  richer  note,  and  the  old  King 
came  forth,  walking  slowly  between  this 
duplex  line  of  chiklren.  He  was  very  tall, 
had  much  white  hair,   and   eyes  of  ruddy 


TRANSMIGRATION.  139 

violet  under  white  brows  and  lashes.  Those 
pink  violets  found  wild  in  the  quarry  by  Five 
Tree  Hill  give  the  colour  of  his  eyes  ;  but 
there  was  a  strange  strong  splendour  in 
thera,  of  the  gem  rather  than  the  flower. 
He  walked  erect,  though  usino;  a  strono; 
staff — the  royal  sceptre  of  the  Iliad — 
possibly  nothing  more  than  a  spud,  in  days 
when  even  the  gods  were  country  gentle- 
men. Yet  assuredly  a  cudgel,  when  Odysseus 
thrashed  Thersites.  He  greeted  us  with 
royal  courtesy,  being  specially  polite  to 
Alouette,  whom  he  roooguiiiid  as  his  own 
subject.  * 

We  breakfasted  in  the  open  air.  The 
King  was  in  high  spirits,  for,  as  we  had 
heard,  Earth  was  his  favourite  planet. 

"  I  learned  to  like  you  from    Homer,"  he 
said ;    "  he  came    here    in  my  youth,    and 
established     a     theogony     which     became  /Aj^u^ 
popular.     Others  of  the  same  nation  visited 


140  TRANSMIGRATION. 

US ;  Plato,  Sophocles,  Aristophanes.  I 
thought  Plato  too  wise,  and  Sophocles  too 
perfect,  and  Aristophanes  too  farcical.  In- 
deed, I  was  not  satisfied  till  a  short  time 
after  one  Shakespeare  arrived  ;  and  at  once 
I  saw  that  he  was  a  man  mixed  up  of  vir- 
tues and  faults,  with  such  subtle  division  and 
apportionment  of  each,  that  he  was  the  very 
type  and  embodiment  of  humanity.  Every 
utterance  he  syllabled  sufficed  to  show  that 
Shakespeare  was  Earth.  They  are  equal — 
those  two.  I  wish  my  brief  reign  might 
include  some  one  of  equal  power  to  indicate 
Mars." 

'*  The  time  will  come,"  quoth  "Eartja-e,  in 
his  oracular  way.  He  never  could  resist  a 
chance  prophecy. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  the  King.  "  If  our 
planet  has  a  Shakespeare,  he  will  have  many 
advantages.  He  will  not  be  able  to  cry 
Havoc  1  and  let  loose  the  dogs  of  war;  but 


TRANSMIGRATION.  141 

he  will  be  able  to  show  the  glory  and  glad- 
ness of  perpetual  peace — a  peace  that  has 
never  been  broken,  and  never  will.  He  will 
be  unable  to  sing, 

'  Blow,  blow,  thou  wintry  wind  ! 
Thou  are  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ungratitude.' 

For  we  have  no  wintry  winds  here ;  and  in- 
gratitude is  logically  impossible,  since  there 
is  nothing  to  be  grateful  for.  Now,  having 
read  and  worshipped  your  marvellous  Shake- 
speare, I  should  like  to  get  a  poet  of  equal 
power  here  in  Mars  to  deal  with  our  quieter 
life.  We  have  no  Tragedies,  no  Comedies, 
no  Histories." 

"The  poetry  of  Mars  is  an  idyl,"  said 
"EaTTjae.  "  Appoint  me  your  poet  Laureate, 
and  I  will  prove  it." 

The  King  summoned  an  official  person, 
and  appointed  him  at  once.  But  at  this 
moment     there     entered     a     curious    per- 


142  TRANSMIGRATION. 

sonage,  about  seven  feet  high,  with  the 
thinnest  leojs  and  the  highest  forehead  ever 
known.  This  turned  out  to  be  the  Prime 
Minister,  ray  Lord  Ktadqxoi,  who  thought 
hiraself  the  first  man  in  Mars,  and  was  cer- 
tainly not  even  the  second.  Strange  it  is 
that  the  inferior  intellects  rule,  even  in  a 
planet  like  Mars,  where  the  higher  intellects 
have  absolute  power,  if  only  they  will  ex- 
ercise it.  But  in  Mars  the  great  statesman 
does  very  little  harm.  Individual  life  is  the 
rule  of  the  planet.  As  there  is  no  indiges- 
tion, nobody  quarrels;  as  there  is  no  starva- 
tion, nobody  steals.  Eliminate  from  a  planet 
quarrel  and  theft,  and  what  has  a  great 
statesman  to  do  ? 

"  I  have  just  appointed  a  Poet  Laureate — 
Count  Katdqxoi,"  said  the  king.  "  You  must 
tell  him  his  duties.  I  am  getting  tired  of 
birthday  odes — I  have  heard  so  many ;  but  a 
fresh  one  in  quite  a  different  style  might  suit 


TRANSMIGRATION.  143 

me.  Perhaps  our  friend  will  be  able  to  do 
somethiao;  of  a  hii2;lier  character." 

The  Prime  Minister  and  "Ecrr'qa-e  walked 
off  together  presently  ;  and  I  confess  that  I 
was  sorry  for  my  friend.  Very  shortly  the 
King,  having,  I  suppose,  regal  duties  to  per- 
form (I  cannot  guess),  dismissed  me  with 
that  courtesy  which  pertains  only  to  royal 
personages — at  least,  thus  I  am  credibly  in- 
formed. 

Alouette  and  I  walked  into  the  village, 
and  were  amused  by  its  irregularities. 
Everything  was  full  of  fun.  Alouette,  ob- 
serve, was  no  mortal  maiden,  but  the  most 
bird-like  creature  ever  placed  in  any  planet 
of  the  Solar  System.  So  she  gave  me  charm- 
ing guidance  in  this  village  of  the  Kinor  of 
Mars.  She,  a  native  of  the  planet,  a  young 
thing  born  on  its  surface,  with  pyrogen 
flushing   her    beautiful    face,    was    able    to 


144  TRANSMIGRATION. 

supply    me    with    just   the    information    I 
wanted. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  eminent  chemist 
who  already  has  been  named  in  these  pages. 
The  eminent  chemist,  the  Liebig  of  Mars, 
told  me  several  things  which  already  have 
been  mentioned.  He  certainly  outdid  your 
terrene  Liebigs  and  the  like.  He  showed 
me  a  very  small  pill-box,  labelled, 

"  (Bin  (J^v- " 

It  contained  an  ox,  or  the  essence  of  an  ox, 
boiled  down  by  chemical  methods  to  a  mere 
spoonful  of  meat.  Swallow  it,  and  you  will 
want  nothing  more  to  eat  for  a  year  at  least. 
This  chemist  was  amusing  ;  he  had  several 
other  scientific  dodges  ;  his  applications  of 
pyrogen  were  perfectly  charming.  But  more 
amusing  was  the  arcliitcct  to  whom  Alouette 
introduced  me.  His  name  was  Hine.  He 
added  (un  unusual  thing)    mathematics  and 


TRAXSMIGRATION.  145 

cooker}'  to  his  architecture.     Alouette  and 
I  dined  with  him. 

His  was  a  house  I  liked.  It  was  all  on 
the  ground-floor.  There  were  no  cellars — 
there  was  no  upstairs. 

"  If  you  want  to  live  long,"  said  Hine, 
"conquer  the  attraction  of  gravitation.  The 
greatest  mistake  we  make  is  walking  up  hills 
and  up  stairs.  I  have  just  been  building  a  place 
for  Mr.  Branscombe  .  .  .  Wolf  Branscombe 
tliey  call  him  about  here  .  .  .  and  I  am 
sure  he  would  be  pleased  if  you  would  go 
over  and  look  at  it.  He  has  a  great  num- 
ber of  visitors  ;  but  I  have  carried  out  ni}^ 
idea  of  building  everything  on  one  floor.  I 
have  made  a  group  of  houses  :  some  for  mar- 
ried people,  some  for  bachelors,  and  all  ar- 
rang^ed  around  the  house  in  which  old  Brans- 
combe  lives." 

"  Capital  idea  !"  I  said.    "  I  think  I  knew 
Branscombe  in  some  other  world.     Wasn't 

VOL.  II.  L 


146  TRANSMIGRATION. 

his  brotlier  generally  known  as  Devil  Brans- 
combe  ?  Hadn't  he  a  rather  pretty  niece 
called  Claudia  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  everybody,"  replied 
Hine.  "  Yes,  that's  the  man  ;  and  you  may 
possibly  meet  Claudia  at  Branscombe 
Manor.  •  I  won't  be  sure  you  don't  encoun- 
ter Raphael  ?" 

Whereupon  I  proposed  to  Alouette  that 
we  should  go  and  see  Wolf  Branscombe, 
telling  her  that  I  had  some  dim  recollection 
of  him  on  Earth  ;  and  Alouette  had  not  the 
slightest  objection  in  the  world.  So,  with 
Hine's  introduction,  we  went  over  to  Brans- 
combe Manor. 

When  we  reached  the  place,  our  cha- 
rioteer had  to  descend  and  blow  a  bugle, 
hung  beside  a  drawbridge  which  crossed  a 
wide  moat.  The  whole  place  is  enclosed  by 
a  moat,  and  completely  isolated.  Having 
got  within  this   water  boundary,  we  saw  a 


TRANSMIGRATION.  147 

charming  group  of  houses,  arranged  amid 
pleasant  lawns.  All  were  one-storeyed,  but 
every  story  was  high  and  cheerful.  The 
centre  of  the  group.  Wolf  Branscombe's 
own,  was  a  building  thirty  feet  high,  w^ith  a 
central  galleried  dome  above  a  cloister, 
running  to  a  couple  of  hundred  feet.  Scat- 
tered around  it,  at  uneven  distances,  were 
houses  and  cottages  of  many  kinds  .  .  . 
some  that  would  suit  a  married  couple  with 
children,  some  that  would  suit  a  married 
couple  without,  some  that  would  suit  that 
most  troublesome  "of  2;uests  the  Bohemian 
bachelor.  There  was  also  a  banquet-hall, 
a  spacious  ball-room,  and  a  stately  library. 
It  was  a  pleasant  scene.  Alouette  and  I  im- 
mensely enjoyed  it.  This,  we  agreed,  was 
the  perfection  of  country  life.  To  build  a 
huge  edifice  whicli  it  is  a  day's  work  to 
climb  over,  and  where  you  never  revisit 
your  bed-chamber  because  it  is  too  far  to  go, 

l2 


148  TRANSMIGRATION. 

is  a  mere  mixture  of  idiocy  and  ostentation. 
Build  yourself  a  pretty  central  place,  that 
will  house  you  and  your  wife  and  children 
and  immediate  attendants.  Run  up  isolated 
places  for  your  mediate  servants  and  for 
your  guests.  Instead  of  your  house  being  a 
husre  block  of  buildinc',  let  it  rather  resem- 
ble  a  village.  That  is  the  country-house 
architecture  of  Mars.  It  was  originated  by 
Michael  Angelo,  when  he  first  visited  that 
planet.  It  was  carried  to  completion  by 
our  friend  Hine.  When  Alouette  and  t  had 
crossed  the  drawbridge,  we  wandered  care- 
lessly about  the  grounds,  awaiting  a  chance 
of  introduction  to  their  owner.  We  had 
not  to  wait  long.  The  black-bearded  wild- 
eyed  strong-handed  old  pirate  turned  up 
shortly,  and  fell  in  love  witli  Alouette  at 
first  sight ;  asked  us  to  liave  some  lunch, 
and  stay  for  a  year.  This  is  tlie  way  things 
are  done  in  Mars.    Staying  for  a  year  seem- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  149 

ed  doubtful  ;  but  we  agreed  to  the  lunch. 
I  will  not  describe  it,  for  fear  of  annoying 
the  eunuch  of  letters.  There  was  pyrogen 
in  the  water. 

"  You  ruust  stay  a  day  or  two  here,"  said 
the  old  Wolf,  "  unless  you  are  much  engag- 
ed. I  expect  some  people  you  will  like  to 
see.  Come  across  the  lawn,  and  I  will  show 
you  your  rooms." 

We  followed  him  across  a  lawn  of  emer- 
ald velvet,  on  which  trees  of  scarlet  and 
sapphire  bloom  were  frequent,  and  came  to 
a  lovely  little  cottage  of  about  four  rooms, 
where  just  one  servant-maiden  was  ready  to 
attend  on  us. 

"  Will  you  stay  here  ?"  said  Wolf  Brans- 
combe. 

I  looked  at  Alouette,  who  looked  merrily 

at  me,  and  answered, 

"Yes." 

"To-morrow,"  says  Wolf,  "we  shall  have 


150  TRANSMIGRATION. 

company  . .  .  people  you'll  like,  both  of  you. 
I'm  an  old  fogy,  a  dull  fellow.  I'm  used- 
up.  But  you'll  like  Raphael  and  Claudia. 
Good-bye." 

Off  strode  the  Wolf  across  the  lawn.  I 
turned  to  Alouette. 

"  Sweetheart,"  I  said,  "  you  and  I  are  left 
alone.    Are  you  afraid  to  be  alone  with  me  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think  you  insult  me  and 
degrade  yourself  by  asking  such  an  absurd 
question  ?"  she  replied.  "  If  I  were  afraid 
to  be  alone  with  you  I  could  not  deign  to 
speak  to  you." 

"  What  a  stern  rebuke  !"  I  said. 

"  Too  stern,  perhaps.  Too  stern  certain- 
ly, for  I  know  you  spoke  in  kindness ;  but 
men  ought  to  learn  that  women  know  a 
gentleman  from  a  scoundrel." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  a  scoundrel  altogether," 
I  said. 

"  No,"   answered   Alouette,    putting   her 


TRANSMIGRATION.  151 

lovely  lively  lips  to  mine.  "  No — you  are 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  should  be  in  love 
with  you,  but  an  instinct  tells  rae  you  belong 
to  somebody  in  another  planet.  Yet,  for 
all  that,  lam  willing  to  love  you  very  much 
indeed." 

Alouette  began  to  cry.  I  thought  before 
she  was  all  lauiThter.  Yet  the  women  who 
laugh  most  gaily  have  often  the  freest  fount 
of  tears.  When  the  spherules  dropt  from 
Alouette's  dear  eyes,  I  felt  almost  a  criminal. 
Why  could  I  not  dwell  in  Mars  for  ever, 
with  Alouette  for  my  bride  ?  /  could  not. 
The  thought  of  Earth  was  upon  me,  the 
return  to  my  own  native  planet,  the  life  I 
had  lived  long  ago.  Mars  was  lovely,  and 
Alouette  was  lovely ;  but  Mars  was  not 
Earth,  and  Alouette  was  not  exactly  a  woman. 
She  hadn't  weaknesses  enough  .  .  .  and  Mars 
hadn't  London  enough. 

However,  Alouette  and  I  slept  in  one  of 


152  TRANSMIGRATION. 

Wolf  Branscombe's  cottages :  and  I  fear  the 
Wolf  has  to  this  clay  the  impression  that  we 
were  man  and  wife.  Between  Alouette  and 
me,  however,  there  was  simply  what  is  styled 
Platonic  love.  Three  kinds  of  love  exist. 
There  is  passion ;  the  royal  strong  irresisti- 
ble unquenchable  passion  which  conquers 
all  obstacles,  being  the  divine  desire  and 
resolve  of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  that  can  satisfy  him. 
That  passion  I  have  known ;  not  to  have 
known  it  is  not  to  have  lived.  There  is 
appetite,  the  erotic  fancy  ;  the  liking  (1  can- 
not strictly  call  it  love)  which  grows  out  of 
a  woman's  being  pretty  to  look  upon.  This 
is  merely  contemptible.  Thirdly,  there  is 
what  has  been  called  the  Platonic  affection. 
It  deserves  clearer  definition,  and  I  am  not 
sure  it  does  not  deserve  cultivation.  It  is 
the  magnetism  of  the  mind.  There  is  no 
wretched  wantonness  about  it. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  153 

This  last  form  of  sexual  intercourse  rests 
on  a  definite  scientific  basis.  There  is  a  sex 
in  souls.  This  admitted,  men  and  women 
can  meet  each  other  on  intellimble  terms. 
Why  should  mere  physical  ideas  trouble  and 
untranquillize  the  brain  of  creatures  capable 
of  such  infinite  capacities  as  ours  ?  I  take 
hve  as  the  test.  What  is  love  ?  Must  it 
consist  of  kisses  and  other  things  of  the  same 
sort?  May  not  love  reside  in  one  glance  of 
the  eye,  in  one  utterance  of  the  lip  ?  I 
suppose  I  might  love  Alouette,  without  be- 
ing sued  for  breach  of  promise  of  mar- 
riage. 

In  Mars  there  are  Courts  of  Love,  as 
there  used  to  be  in  this  planet  of  ours  in  the 
Middle  Ases.  The  Judges  are  ladies. 
Many  questions  are  tried  by  them  ;  one  of 
especial  note  is  plagiary.  Any  poet  who 
borrows  is  publicly  flogged.     I  should  like 


154  TRANSMIGRATION. 

to  see  the  rule  applied  to  my  poor  dear  old 
native  planet. 

Alouette  and  I  found  Wolf  Branscombe's 
hospitality  very  jolly  indeed.  He  left  us 
quite  alone.  We  dined  with  him,  that 
was  all.  We  made  the  Platonic  love  I  have 
mentioned. 

"  How  was  it  made  ?" 

"  Ah !" 

Now  here  is  a  song  that  was  sung  one 
night  when  Alouette  and  I  were  alone  over 
our  coffee : 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  touch  your  hand, 
I  do  not  wish  to  kiss  your  lips, 
I  only  wish  to  know  your  soul, 

My  darling  child  .  .  . 
"  All  your  sweet  thoughts  to  understand, 
Fair  fancies  that  my  own  eclipse, 
Beautiful  dreams  that  heaveuAvard  roll. 
And  drive  men  wild. 

"  I  want  to  look  in  those  dark  eyes, 

And  know  what  secret  lingers  there, 
I  want  to  know  what  magic  lies 
In  that  brown  hair. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  155 

I  want  ...  I  want  what  cannot  be, 

Though  Solar  Systems  swerve  and  swing, 
That  you  should  mix  your  soul  with  me, 
You  sweet  young  thing." 

It  is  unfortunate  that  the  second  stanza 
was  constructed  on  different  metric  system 
from  the  first ;  but  Alouette  forgave  me, 
as  I  hope  the  reader  will  do  likewise.  And 
I  venture  to  think  it  would  be  well  for 
the  planet  Earth,  if  there  were  upon  it 
more  of  the  class  of  love  which  I  have 
indicated.  Women  were  not  designed  to 
be  mere  physical  comrades  of  men  ;  they 
were  also  meant  to  be  their  intellectual  and 
poetical  associates.  Look  at  Shakespeare's 
wonderful  gallery  of  perfect  portraits  : 
Rosalind  in  the  green-wood,  Portia  in  a 
Venetian  court  of  justice,  Desdemona  in  her 
dire  disaster,  Ophelia  driven  wild  by  Ham- 
let's sad  sorrow,  Cordelia  .  .  .  ah,  Cordelia ! 
.  .  .  for  her  there  is  a  litany  of  love. 
Look  farther  back,   at  dear  Shakespeare's 


156  TRANSMIGRATION. 

sole  compeer,  Homer.  Hector's  Andro- 
mache !  Can  anyone  who  has  read  the  Iliad 
think  of  her  without  tears  in  his  eyes  ?  H" 
so,  I  am  sorry  for  him. 


157 


CHAPTER  IX. 


MELANTER. 


Verum  haec  ipse  eqiiidem  spatiis  exclusus  iniquis 
Praetereo  atque  aliis  post  me  memoranda  relinquo. 

P.  V.  M. 

All  this  however,  barred  by  space  unjust, 

I  leave  for  other  lips  to  sing,  when  I  am  dead. 

R.  D.  B. 

WHEN  "EaTT](T6  rejoined  me,  he  brought 
an  invitation  from  an  acquaintance 
he  had  made,  who  united  the  two  dehght- 
ful  occupations  of  poet  and  gardener. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  him,"  he  said.  "  He 
grows  the  Cleopatra  medlar,  and  a  medlar 
named  after  the  serpent  of  old  Nile  must 
be  delicious." 


158  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  How  should  you  like  a  Christabel 
nectarine?"  asked  Alouette. 

"Earrja-e  laughed. 

"  True  words,"  he  said,  "  are  often  spok- 
en in  jest.  "  We  will  visit  Melanter,  and 
he  shall  lecture  you  on  the  georgics  of  Mars. 
Their  development  would  amaze  Publius 
V.  Maro,  as  I  believe  the  Americans  call 
him." 

So  we  visited  Melanter,  and  were  delight- 
ed with  our  visit ;  and  not  delighted  only, 
but  made  wiser  thereby.  His  grounds 
were  on  tlie  border  of  a  pleasant  lake,  with 
a  laughing  rivulet  running  through  thera. 
He  entertained  us  poetically,  with  huge 
piles  of  exquisite  fruit  and  sparkling  wine, 
and  Mars  water  and  classic  thought.  He  took 
us  through  acres  of  glass,  through  wide  wan- 
dering paths  of  garden. 

"  We  are  fortunate  here  in  Mars,"  he 
said.   "  I  first  tried  gardening  by  the  Thames 


TRANSMIGRATION.  159 

— here  it  is  preferable.  Come  no  east  winds, 
no  hail-storms,  and  no  blights.  Besides, 
our  fruits  and  flowers  are  transfigurations. 
Look  at  that  rose." 

It  was  a  soft  white  flower,  with  a  ruddy 
blush  in  the  very  heart  of  it,  and  its  fra- 
grance was  mysteriously  delicious. 

"  That,"  said  Melanter,  "  is  the  Juliet  rose  ; 
when  our  dear  Shakespeare  created  the  fair 
Capulet,  those  roses  began  to  bloom  in  Mars. 
You  see  love  blushino;  in  a  maiden  heart. 
By  the  way,  do  you  like  mulberries  ?" 

I  instantly  confessed  a  great  liking  for 
that  fruit. 

"Look  at  these,"  said  Melanter. 

Wonderful  juicy  berries  were  they,  full  of 
flavour,  vast  in  size,  looking  a  lovely  red 
amid  the  dim  green  leaves. 

"That,"  quoth  Melanter,  "  is  tlie  Rosalind 
mulberry.  Its  arrival  in  Mars  was  coinci- 
dent with  '  As  You  Like  It.'  " 


160  TRANSMIGRATION. 

While  we  were  thus  conversing  in  this 
enchanted  garden,  there  suddenly  broke 
forth  a  strain  of  song  : 

"  I  have  been  far  tlirongh  realms  of  air  ; 
I  have  known  agony,  anguish,  regret ; 
I  have  returned  to  a  vision  fair, 
]My  sweet  pet. 
'  Come  to  me,  child  with  the  golden  hair  ? 
0,  not  yet?' 

'No,  not  yet.'     "Well,  what  fears  she  ? 

Kiss  of  lip  that  never  has  lied  ? 
She  would  be  wiser  to  come  to  me, 

Sweetheart  and  bride. 
Ah,  her  '  not  yet '  has  set  me  free — 
Then  love  died." 

''  That's  a  pet  parrot  of  mine,"  said  Me- 
lanter.  "  I  give  hira  plenty  of  modern 
poetry  to  read,  and  he  imitates  it  capitally. 
I  fancy  he  has  lately  been  studying  Heinrich 
Heine.  He  is  not  very  brilliant  to-day  ;  for 
I  don't  think  they  put  any  brandy  on  his 
matutinjjl  lump  of  sugar." 

He  was  certainly  a  splendid  bird.  His  pre- 


TRANSMIGRATION .  161 

valent  colour  was  olive  green,  but  here  and 
there  were  frills  and  fringes  of  the  richest 
scarlet — such  scarlet  as  one  sees  in  the  pas- 
sionate heart  of  a  July  rose,  or  in  the  su- 
preme moment  of  a  July  sunset. 

"  Sing  again,"  said  Melanter  ;  and  the  bird 
obeyed, 

"  '  Sing  again,  my  master  says  :' 
The  bird  obeys  .  .  . 

Sings  of  the  beautiful  bright  rose-bloom, 

Sings  of  the  heavy  leafage-gloom, 

Sings  of  whispers  in  lime-walks  heard. 

Must  not  echo  a  single  word — 
Being  a  bird. 

"  Ah,  if  she  wore,  instead  of  wings, 

Other  things ! 
Then  beneath  limes  she  would  shyly  trip. 
Then  the  beak  would  turn  to  a  lip, 
Then  she'd  plumage  of  silk  unfurl, 
Then  she'd  cause  male  brains  to  whirl. 

Being  a  girl." 

"  Curiously  clever  specimen  of  the  Psitta- 
cus  ti4be,"  said  "Earr^a-e  to  Melanter.  "  No- 
body is  surprised  at  anything  in   this  planet, 

VOL.  II.  M 


162  TRANSMIGRATION. 

but  on  Earth  that  parrot  would  make  a  man's 
fortune." 

"  My  fortune,"  replied  Melanter,  "  is  made. 
1  can  grow  grapes  and  write  verse.  What 
more  do  I  want  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  man 
who  can  take  his  wine  in  pills  and  relish 
versing  has  nothing  the  matter  with  his  phy- 
sical or  psychical  health.  When  I  was  in 
that  other  planet  I  regret  to  say  that  I  ex- 
changed verse  for  prose  and  wine  for  opium. 
I  am  wiser  now.    I  like  the  water  of  Mars." 

"  It  is  the  most  marvellous  fluid  in  the 
Solar  System,"  said  I. 

Amid  the  odours  of  Juliet  roses  and  Chris- 
tabel  lilies,  with  Rosalind  mulberries  and 
Beatrice  nectarines  and  Cleopatra  medlars 
and  sweet  Anne  Page  strawberries  to  furnish 
our  out-of-door  dessert,  we  talked  of  other 
peculiarities  of  this  planet  Mars. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  163 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  Hermits  ?"  asked 
Melanter. 

We  had  not. 

"0,  then,  I  must  tsike  you  to  see  them. 
Let  us  go  over  to-morrow.  You  will  see 
some  of  your  oldest  acquaintances  .  .  .  but 
I  won't  tell  you  beforehand." 

Next  morning,  after  a  somewhat  late  night 
in  the  divine  alleys  and  lawns  of  Melanter's 
garden — a  garden  as  exquisite  as  that  of  King 
Alcinoiis — we  started  to  the  Hermitage.  It 
lay  higher  up  the  beautiful  rosy  mere  whose 
waters  laved  Melanter's  garden.  We  went 
in  a  sailing  boat  of  single  sail,  our  friend 
steering.  As  we  traversed  the  water  the 
lake  grew  wider,  the  trees  more  sublime  in 
their  aspect;  especially  we  noted  giant 
growths  of  the  jEscuIus,  their  boughs  de- 
scending to  the  virgin  turf,  their  lamp-like 
pyramidal  blooms  of  many  colours  unknown 
to  our  planet.     As  our  lazy  sail  glided  on- 

M  2 


164  TRANSMIGRATION. 

ward,  "Ea-r-qae  all  the  while  talking  as  he  was 
wont  to  talk  by  other  lakes  almost  as  beau- 
tiful upon  another  orb,  the  mere  grew  nar- 
rower gradually,  and  the  trees  seemed  to 
srow  grander  in  size,  and  we  were  almost 
in  darkness  beneath  them,  but  for  the 
radiant  sparkle  of  the  water,  every  atom  of 
which  resembled  a  crushed  gem.  Then  we 
entered  a  granite  gorge,  not  much  wider  than 
a  Thames  lock.  At  the  end  of  this  there 
was  a  pier ;  to  this  Melauter  moored  his  boat, 
and  we  landed.  On  a  wide  lawn,  dotted  at 
intervals  with  those  vast  specimens  of  the 
iEsculus  whose  summits  reached  a  high 
region  of  air,  there  stood  a  circular  building 
crowned  with  a  lofty  dome.  We  approach- 
ed it  in  silence  ;  wide  open  stood  the  doors, 
and  the  interior,  all  of  white  marble,  re- 
vealed to  us  a  lovely  circle  of  statues.  There 
were  seats  also   of  marble  two-thirds  round 


TRANSMIGRATION.  165 

the  edifice ;    and  a   raised    platform   faced 
them. 

"  This  is  the  Theatre,"  said  Melanter. 

"  When    used,    and    for    what  ?"    asked 

''  It  is  designed  for  the  recital  of  the  high- 
est poetry,  and  nothing  but  the  highest.  The 
Hermits  are  the  judges.  If  they  allow  un- 
animously— for  there  umst  not  be  one  dis- 
sentient voice — that  any  epic  or  drama  or 
lyric  is  of  the  highest  class,  the  king  comes 
to  hear  its  author  recite  it." 

"  When  was  the  last  recital  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  can  find  no  record  of  one  for  a  thou- 
sand years,"  said  Melanter. 

"  I  doubt  if  there  has  been  one  since  the 
Theatre  was  built,"  said  "^o-rT^o-e. 


166 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     HEEMITS. 

Quevedo,  as  he  tells  his  sober  tale, 

Asked,  when  in  hell,  to  see  the  royal  jail ; 

Approved  their  method  in  all  other  things — 

"  But  where,  good  sir,  do  you  confine  your  kings  ?" 

"  There,"  said  his  guide,  "  the  group  is  full  in  view." 

"  Indeed !"  replied  the  Don,  "  there  are  but  few." 

His  black  interpreter  the  charge  disdained  : 

"  Few,  fellow ! — there  are  all  that  ever  reigned !" 

COWPER. 

AROUND  the  theatre,  at  equal  distances 
across   the  lawn,  we   saw  a  series  of 
charming  dwellings  embroidered  in  trees. 

"  Pleasant  retreats,"  said  "EaTi]ae.  "  Are 
those  the  hermitages?  If  so,  I  could  find 
it  in    my   heart   to    turn    anchorite.     How 


TRANSMIGRATION.  167 

many  of  them  are  there,  and  who  occupy 
them  ?" 

"  They  are  but  seven  in  number,  and 
they  are  designed  for  all  the  great  poets 
Earth  has  ever,  or  shall  ever,  produce. 

"A  small  number!"  I  exclaimed,  mar- 
velling. 

"  I  doubt  if  those  hermitages  will  ever 
be  equitably  filled,"  said  "Earrja-e.  "  Let  us 
survey  their  portals.  Are  there  any  poets 
at  home,  I  wonder?  It  would  be  stranGje. 
They  are  generally  out  on  wild  expeditions." 

We  walked  round  the  beautiful  lawn. 
On  the  garden-gate  of  the  first  hermitage 
we  saw  in  golden  letters  the  natue  Homer. 
There  seemed  no  movement  in  the  house, 
but  a  tall  maiden,  that  looked  a  princess, 
was  tending  the  birds  and  flowers. 

"  Homer  is  away  with  Circe  or  Calypso," 
said  "'Ear-qae,  "  and  has  left  Nausicaa  to  take 
care  of  his  hermitage." 


168  TRANSMIGRATION. 

In  Shakespeare's  retreat  we  saw  Rosalind 
teaching  a  nightingale  to  sing  Concolinel. 
What  other  names  we  saw  on  other  gate- 
ways may  be  left  to  imagination ;  only, 
strange  to  say,  there  was  not  a  hermit  at 
home  ;  they  were  all  off  on  aerial  voyages, 
as  "Ea-TTjae  had  predicted. 

But  on  the  seventh  portal  there  was,  to 
our  amazement,  no  name. 

"Ah!"  said  ''Eo-rrjae,  "who  is  the  lost 
Pleiad  of  this  galaxy  ?  Let  us  enter  and 
explore."  He  pushed  the  gate  as  if  he 
knew  the  trick  of  it.  Beautiful  exceedingly 
were  the  flowers  which  bloomed  in  this 
secluded  garden.  The  moment  we  entered 
we  were  in  complete  seclusion,  and  amid  a 
fragrance  wholly  indescribable.  Fountains 
flashed  in  the  air,  birds  sang  even  stranger 
songs  than  Melanter's  parrot.  The  hall 
door  stood  wide  open.  In  a  pleasant  book- 
room,  containing  behind  glittering  glass  the 


TRANSMIGEATION.  169 

choicest  of  Earth's  classics,  there  was  on  the 
table  a  choice  collation  of  fruit,  that  tempted 
the  taste. 

We  all  sat  down  with  alacrity,  not  un- 
willing to  rest  in  this  quiet  hermitage. 
Alouette  was  soon  eating  a  nectarine  as  fair 
and  fragrant  as  herself.  I  took  a  mighty 
draught  of  Mars  water. 

"Do  you  like  this?"  asked  "Eo-rT/o-e  of 
Melanter. 

"  I  do  indeed." 

"Then  often  come  to  see  me.  I  love  to 
talk  with  mariners  like  you. '  I  am  going  to 
stay." 

"  To  stay !  "  we  both  exclaimed  ;  but 
Alouette  seemed  in  no  degree  surprised, 
knowing,  doubtless,  the  customs  of  Mars. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will  be  the  seventh 
hermit.  I  am  the  lost  Pleiad.  The  King 
of  Mars  designed  this  for  me,  I  know  by 
inevitable  instinct.     He  does  things  royally, 


170  TRAXSMIGRATION. 

you  see.     You  must  all  consider  yourselves 
my  guests." 

We  remained  in  the  hermitage  some  days, 
during  wliich  "EarTja-e  became  marvelh)usly 
poetic.  We  explored  the  other  hermitages, 
but  did  not  meet  anyof  their  chief"  inhabitants, 
who  seemed  all  away  on  business,  or  pleasure, 
or  both.  But  the  place  was  populous  with 
their  dependents  and  retainers  ;  and  we  met 
Nestor  and  Polonius,  talking  in  the  wise 
strain  of  ancient  experience ;  and  caught 
Tro'ilus  and  Don  Juan  exchanging  amorous 
anecdotes.  At  eventide  there  would  be 
songs  and  dances  on  the  green,  pleasant 
lyrics  of  love  and  spring,  stately  minuets, 
in  which  Byron  and  Mercutio  almost  crossed 
rapiers  who  should  lead  out  Helen  of  Troy. 
It  was  a  o;ay  hermitace  in  the  absence  of  all 
the  hermits  but  one ;  and  ho,  too,  was  not 
devoid  of  gaiety,  for  ho  had  an  idea  in  that 
marvellous  head  of  his  which   ho  one  after- 


TRAXSMIGRATIOX.  1 7  1 

noon  unfolded  to  me  under  the  shadow  of  a 
great  plane-tree,  while  Alouette  and  Me- 
lanter  were  playing  chess  in  a  cool  nook  of 
honeysuckle  just  across  the  lawn. 

"  Should  a  hermit  live  alone,  do  you 
think  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  does  not  seem  the  custom  in  this 
hermitage,"  I  answered. 

"  It  is  neither  customary  nor  pleasant," 
he  said.  "  Well,  you  will  be  returning  to 
our  old  friend's  planet  soon.  You  will  live 
a  second  life  far  happier  than  your  first. 
You  will  remember  me  in  my  hermitaae 
with  Alouette." 

"  With  Alouette !"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  know  your 
Platonic  love  for  her.  But  she  is  mine.  I 
created  her.     She  is  my  Genevieve. 

'  I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin  pride  ; 
And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve, 

My  bright  and  beauteous  bride.'  " 


172  TRANSMIGEATION. 

There  was  no  appeal  against  this.  It  was 
unanswerable.  As  I  gazed  on  this  wild 
Alouette,  she  grew  more  and  more  in  my 
vision  to  resemble  the  lady  who 

"  .  .  .  .  leaned  against  the  armed  man, 
The  statue  of  the  armed  knight ; 
"Who  stood  and  listened  to  his  lay 

Amid  the  lingering  light." 

She  had  just  beaten  Melanter  at  the 
Muzio  gambet,  and  stood  up  triumphant 
against  a  handsome  sapling  oak.  As  the 
pyrogen-laden  air  streamed  through  her 
tresses,  it  was  more  than  a  substitute  for 
"Earrjcre  vision  of  moonlight  long  ago.  She, 
with  instinctive  knowledge  of  what  was 
happening,  tripped  across  the  lawn,  and 
threw  herself  into  his  outstretching  arras. 
Melanter  looked  on  with  a  humorous  smile. 

"  I  acquiesce,"  I  said. 

"  You  are  wise,"  said  "Ea-r'nae,  in  his  tone 
of  the  oracle.     "  Yet  acquiesce  not  always. 


TRANSMIGRATIOX.  1  i  6 

In  this  orb  we  recognise  things  opposite  : 
learn  to  resist,  yet  acquiesce  ;  learn  to  know 
society,  yet  isolate  yourself.     Farewell." 

They  walked  toward  the  hermitage, 
Alouette  flinging  me  a  Parthian  glance — 
half  her  own  fun,  and  half  the  pathos  of 
Genevieve.     I  have  not  seen  them  since. 

"Will  you  drop  down  the  lake  with  me  ?" 
asked  Melauter. 

"  I  think  not,"  I  said  ;  "  if  you  will  for- 
give me." 

"  I  not  only  forgive,  I  approve,"  he  re- 
plied. '"'' Never  go  back,  never  thmk  twice, 
are  the  two  main  maxims  of  Mars.  I  have 
been  breaking  them  ever  since  I  came, 
which  is  why  I  am  here  so  long." 

"  I  think  from  my  short  experience  I  can 
add  a  third,"  was  ray  answer.  "  Be  alone. 
Good-bye," 

He  went  down  to  the  pier,  where 
lay  his  boat ;    I   started  through   the  her- 


174  TRANSMIGRATION. 

mitage   in   exactly    the    opposite   direction. 

As  I  passed  on,  almost  savagely,  looking 
neither  right  nor  left,  just  as  if  I  had  been 
an  adventurer  in  Africa,  determined  to  find 
Prester  John  or  die,  I  pondered  much 
within  myself  the  phantasmagoria  through 
which  I  was  passing  ?  Was  it  a  dream  ? — 
was  not  my  past  life,  rather,  a  dream  ? 
Had  I  ever  killed  my  best  friend — lost  my 
only  love — lived  the  life  of  a  recluse  ?  Was 
it  all  a  vague  vision  of  the  past — from 
Ellesmere  to  Five  Tree  Hill — from  Lucy, 
amid  her  roses  and  nightingales  by  the 
Thames,  to  Lucy  dead  on  her  knees  by  my 
death-bed  ?  Was  Earth  itself  a  dream  ? 
Could  I  return  thither,  or  was  there  no 
such  star  wandering  through  the  grey-blue 
ether  ? 

I  came  to  no  conclusion.  I  walked  on, 
stolidly,  defiantly.  I  thought  of  the  triad 
worked  out  by  Melanter  and  myself : 


TRAXSMIGRATIOX.  1 75 

"  Never  go  back  ; 
Never  think  twice  ; 
Be  alone." 

These  things  will  I  do  in  Mars,  methought, 
for  they  seem  to  suit  this  planet ;  but,  if 
there  be  an  Earth,  and  I  return  thither, 
utterly  I  abjure  them.  The  Prodigal  Son 
went  back;  the  Creator  of  mankind  thought 
twice  ;  the  sons  of  Adam  have  never  found 
it  good  to  be  alone.  No  :  I  will  walk 
through  this  land  of  dreams,  and  read  it 
backward. 

While  thus  thinking,  I  had  noted  nothing 
of  the  road  I  took.  All  at  once  there  came 
a  prattle  of  voices,  and  on  the  velvet  grass 
of  what  seemed  a  common  I  saw  groups  of 
children  playing  all  manner  of  games,  and 
laughing  gaily  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  as  if 
an  immense  child's  school  had  broken  loose 
for  a  holiday.  There  were  boys  at  leap- 
frog and  rounders;  there  were  girls  dancinw 


176  TRANSMIGRATION. 

and  playing  les  graces^  and  running  after 
hoops ;  there  was  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock in  profusion,  and  the  white-feathered 
toys  made  bird-like  flight  in  the  aii-.  Little 
boys  were  on  their  knees,  intent  upon  mar- 
bles ;  little  girls  were  as  intently  nursing 
dolls.  Not  a  creature  under  the  grave 
trees  that  looked  tenderly  on  their  sport 
seemed  above  eight  years  old.  There  were 
mere  babies  among  them — but  no  visible 
nurses. 

The  scene  was  so  pleasant  that  I  had  not 
thought  of  myself  or  my  late  meditations. 
Presently  a  brown-haired  girl  perceived  me, 
and  ran  to  where  I  stood,  exclaiming, 

'•  Little  boy,  come  and  play  !" 


177 


CHAPTER  XI. 


CHILD-LAND. 


Out  upon  it !  I  have  loved 
Three  whole  days  together. 

Suckling, 

She  has  eyes  as  blue  as  damsons, 
She  has  pounds  of  auburn  curls, 

She  regrets  the  game  of  leap-frog 
Is  prohibited  to  girls. 

Brough. 

"  T  ITTLE  boy,  come  and  play  !" 

-*-^  I  looked  at  myself.  Why,  I  was  a 
little  boy,  and  a  very  little  one — not  above 
three,  I  should  think.  I  was  changed  with- 
out knowing  it.  I  was  in  a  low  frock,  with 
bare   legs.      I  was   not  only  amazed,   but 

VOL.  II.  N 


178  TRANSMIGRATION. 

disgusted.  I  looked  sulkily  at  this  perse- 
cutor, who  now  appeared  to  me  a  giantess, 
and  put  my  finger  in  ray  mouth,  and  began 
to  cry.  She,  the  wretch  !  an  old  woman  of 
eight,  only  laughed  and  said, 

"  Come  along,  or  I  shall  smack  you  !"  at 
the  same  time  applying  her  little  rosy  hand 
to  my  bare  shoulders. 

Well,  as  she  dragged  me  along  so  fast 
that  I  had  no  time  to  think,  and  as  resist- 
ance was  impossible,  in  a  few  seconds  I 
found  myself  rolling  on  the  grass,  amid  a 
heap  of  babies  of  my  own  apparent  age. 
Somehow,  we  soon  made  friends.  My  memory 
of  the  past  faded  before  the  intense  instinct  of 
the  moment.  We  played  in  our  own  helpless 
way,  and  made  each  other  understand  with- 
out articulation.  As  I  found  myself  in  this 
primitive  condition,  yet  with  thoughts  of  the 
the  past  on  my  mind,  in  vague  and  transient 
form,    I    wondered  whether  the    ordinary 


TRANSMIGRATION.  179 

baby  of  Earth,  looking  so  confoundedly 
meditative  and  wise,  is  thinking  of  a  world 
he  has  lately  left. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  were  brought 
in  to  a  supper  of  the  baby  sort  by  a  host  of 
nurses,  and  kindly  washed,  and  deposited  in 
cribs  in  one  great  dormitor}^  Tired  with 
rolling  on  the  grass,  I  fell  asleep  at  once.  I 
awoke  next  day  a  year  older  .  .  .  this  be- 
ing the  law  in  the  Child  Land  of  Mars.  It 
is  a  law  which  applies  only  to  strange  visi- 
tors ;  and  the  brown-haired  hoyden  who  had 
hauled  me  into  the  midst  of  the  place  was 
an  actual  daughter  of  Mars,  and  grew  older 
only  by  days.  Hence  in  three  days  I  was 
old  enough  quite  to  fall  in  love  with  Miss 
Hoyden,  who  by  this  time  was  only  two 
years  my  senior.  She  was  the  wildest  little 
romp  in  the  world,  but  she  didn't  mind 
making  love  in  the  most  pathetic  manner.  I 
kissed  her  many  times  a  day,  and  we  swore 

N  2 


180  TRANSMIGRATION. 

eternal  fidelity  to  each  other.  On  the 
second  day  of  our  engagement,  when  I  had 
reached  the  nature  age  of  seven,  we  were 
married  by  a  group  of  our  playfellows,  under 
an  old  willow  archway,  that  made  a  beauti- 
ful church.  We  had  two  parsons ;  and  a 
father  to  give  her  away ;  and  a  groomsman 
for  me  ;  and  a  troop  of  twelve  little  brides- 
maids all  in  white,  which  indeed  was  the 
prevalent  colour  in  Child  Land.  Then 
came  a  wedding  breakfast  on  the  grass,  con- 
sisting chiefly  of  lollipops  and  blackberries, 
with  gingerbeer  for  drinking  healths.  It  was 
a  long  business  altogether  ;  and  just  before 
the  final  speech  was  made  we  departed  for 
our  honeynoon,  in  quite  an  ignominious  man- 
ner. For  the  gong  sounded,  and  out  troop- 
ed the  nurses,  and  uiy  bride  and  I  were 
washed  and  put  into  crib  beds  very  far  apart. 
However,  you  see  I  had  two  days  happiness 
with  her ;  and  she  made  a  desperate  vow  to 


TRANSMIGRATION.  181 

grow  up  for  my  sake  only,  which  I  hope  she 
broke  at  least  a  dozen  years  ago.  We  were, 
I  think,  as  affectionate  a  couple  as  I  remem- 
ber during  the  period  of  our  married  life 
— though  I  was  a  child  of  Earth  and  she  of 
Mars — though  I  grew  a  year  a  day,  and  she 
didn't — though  we  were  compelled,  like  peo- 
ple of  fashion,  to  keep  separate  apartments. 
Alas,  I  fear  she  has  forgotten  me. 

I  went  to  bed  as  usual,  on  the  evening  of 
what  I  must  call  my  eighth  year,  after  my 
usual  affectionate  parting  with  my  bride, 
who  was  eating  a  huge  sugar-plum  I  had 
given  her,  and  who  certainly  seemed  to  like 
me  better  the  bigger  I  grew.  I  was  a 
troublesome  child  that  night  after  our  part- 
ing, and  kicked  considerably  under  the  in- 
fliction of  the  bath,  since  my  dignity  as  a 
married  man  commenced  to  dawn  upon  me. 
The  nurse  avenged  herself  by  poking  soap 
into  my  mouth  and  eyes,   and  giving  cor- 


182  TRANSMIGRATION. 

rective  taps  to  various  parts  of  my  small 
person.  Altogether  I  found  myself  in  my 
little  white  bed  in  a  vile  temper,  with  a 
taste  of  soap  in  my  mouth,  and  a  smarting 
sensation,  that  I  felt  would  render  it  un- 
comfortable to  sit  down  next  da^y,  and  an 
heroic  determination,  when  I  grew  up,  to 
organize  a  revolution — have  all  nursemaids 
whipped  to  death,  and  abolish  washing  for 
ever.  Conscious  somehow  that  I  was  grow- 
ing a  year  a  day,  I  felt  I  should  be  a  man  in 
a  fortnight ;  that  a  few  weeks  would  convey 
me  to  remote  and  worn-out  regi(Mis  of 
antiquity,  did  not  occur  to  the  buoyant 
infant. 

There  I  lay,  like  the  young  Hercules  in 
his  cradle  strangling  serpents.  I  could  not 
sleep.  My  thoughts  were  too  vivid,  my 
smarts  too  severe.  I  meditated  on  the 
coming  revolution.  Although  no  light 
burnt   in    the   vast    dormitory,    there    was 


TRANSMIGRATION.  183 

diffused  throuQ;h  wide  windows  the  inex- 
tinguishable  light  of  the  Mars  air.  I  looked 
at  the  long  line  of  beds  with  pitying  con- 
tempt on  their  sleepy  inmates — it  did  not 
occur  to  me  that  they  had  no  sensitive 
reasons  for  staying  awake. 

Suddenly  I  felt  heroic  resolve.  The 
little  girls  slept  on  the  other  side  of  the 
great  dormitory — why  should  I  not  cross  it, 
and  seek  my  bride,  so  ruthlessly  severed 
from  me  ?  You  see,  growing  a  year  a  day, 
I  was  older  every  hour.  The  detested 
nurses  slept  elsewhere.     I  would  try  it. 

I  got  out  of  bed,  and  walked  to  the  other 
side — about  fifty  feet,  I  should  judge.  With 
all  my  heroism,  I  was  in  a  frightful  funk. 
If  one  of  those  horrid  nurees  should  happen 
to  awake,  what  might  I  not  expect  ?  Once 
or  twice  I  thought  of  turning  back,  but  I  did 
not. 

Arrived    there,    I    was    puzzled.     How 


184  TRANSMIGRATION. 

should  I  find  the  bed  of  her  whom  I 
wanted  ?  If  I  pinched  the  toes  of  the 
likeliest-looking  little  girls,  there  would  be 
a  commotion.  What  was  I  to  do?  I 
walked  along  the  line,  and  at  last  was 
rewarded  by  seeing  somebody  sitting  up  in 
bed,  and  staring  at  me.  There  was  much 
fuzzy  hair,  that  no  night-cap  could  restrain. 

It  was  she ! 

"  O,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  sleep,  for  the 
soap  in  my  eyes,  and " 

But  before  she  could  finish  a  sentence 
which  seemed  to  promise  terrible  revela- 
tions, I  found  myself  caught  up  bodily  and 
replaced  in  my  bed,  with  stern  admonition 
to  go  to  sleep,  and  one  or  two  additional 
reasons  for  staying  awake. 

Childhood's  woes  soon  heal ;  childhood's 
slumber  is  not  long  delayed.     I  slept. 

When  I  awoke  I  was  a  child  no  more — 
in    my   natural   form    I   lay   beneath    the 


TRAXSMIGRATION.  185 

shadow  of  a  great  lime-tree,  in  tlie  midst  of 
a  meadow  that  looked  like  a  prairie. 

I  was  not  surprised.  That  feeling  had 
long  perished  in  my  mind.  I  was  sorry  for 
my  little  child-wife,  whom  I  knew  I  should 
never  see  again,  for  I  had  firmly  resolved 
not  to  turn  back — and  who,  by  turning  back, 
can  revisit  Child-Land? 

Then,  lying  on  the  turf,  short  and  sweet 
as  if  it  grew  on  the  side  of  some  inaccessible 
fell,  I  wondered  why  I  had  been  a  child  for 
six  days.  Had  I  anything  to  learn  thereby, 
negative  or  positive?  It  was  something, 
certes,  to  have  felt  a  child  again ;  to  have 
been  petted,  patted,  soothed,  scolded  ;  to 
have  played  with  children,  enjoyed  their 
dainties,  lived  on  bread  and  milk,  been  put 
to  bed  by  daylight.  1  was  not  dissatisfied 
with  my  little  adventure. 

As  I  thus  meditated,  I  heard  music — the 
sound,  apparently,  of  a  single  flute,  played 


186  TEANSMIGRATION. 

most  deliciously  to  a  simple  air  of  gaiety. 
I  sprang  to  my  feet.  I  could  not  see 
whence  came  the  sound,  but  followed  it  as 
if  it  magnetized  me.  Crossing  from  the 
great  meadow  through  an  archway,  I  en- 
tered a  long  avenue  of  trees,  cut  into 
rounded  forms  b}''  the  most  careful  of 
pruning.  They  sprang  from  the  greenest 
grass ;  the  wide  path  was  the  very  poetry 
of  gravel. 

"  Never  turn  back,"  thought  I,  and  strode 
on  to  the  chateau  which  ended  this  superb 
vista. 


187 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  CHATEAU  VENUS. 

Se  trouvent  trois  lettres  en  vin 
Qui  sont  vigueur,  ioie,  nouniture, 
Et  denotent  bien  sa  nature  .  .  . 

Ainsi  que  le  dit  mon  voisin. 

Olivier  Basselin. 

Ho"w  could  it  be  a  dream  ?     Yet  there 
She  stood,  the  moveless  image  fair — 
The  little-noticed  oft-seen  thing, 
"With  hand  fast  closed  upon  his  ring. 

Morris. 

~r  OOK  at  Meissonier's  illustration  to  Le 
■^-^  Malentendu^  at  p.  233  of  Les  Conies 
Bemois,  by  the  Count  de  Chavasse,  and  you 
may  at  once  imagine  the  sort  of  place  at 
which  I  had  arrived.     Up  the  long  avenue 


188  TRANSMIGRATION. 

I  loitered,  while  the  sweet  suggestive  mag- 
netic music  grew  nearer,  yet  hardly  louder. 
It  was  music  indescribable  ;  it  was  like  unto 
that  whereby  the  Piper  of  Haraelin,  men- 
tioned in  lecrend  of  the  Middle  Asres,  could 
make  both  rats  and  children  follow  him. 
There  is  in  music  something  which  the  high- 
est masters  of  music  have  as  yet  found  un- 
fathomable. They  may  make  their  "  songs 
without  words,"  but  they  cannot  bind  a 
definite  meanins:;  to  those  sons:s.  The 
melody  which  to  Romeo  seems  all  love 
shall  to  Mercutio  seem  all  laughter  and  to 
Tybalt  all  rapier.  Poetry,  which  in  its  su- 
preme form  contains  music,  is  to  some  degree 
thus  receivable  ;  but  of  music  it  may  fairly 
be  said  that  probably  the  idea  in  its  com- 
poser's brain  is  never  identical  with  any  one 
of  the  myriad  ideas  which  it  kindles  in  other 
brains,  and  of  which  no  two  coincide.  The 
metaphysic  of  music   has    never    yet  been 


TRAXSMIGRxVTIOX.  189 

thoroughly  investigated,  and  I  have  no  time 
to  do  it  as  I  walk  up  the  green  alley  beneath 
arched  boughs  which  leads  to  the  Chateau 
Venus. 

Thus  was  this  stately  yet  riant  building 
called.  I  entered  upon  a  wide  terrace, 
radiant  with  flowers,  and  graced  with  fair 
forms  of  marble.  The  music  came  from  the 
terrace  just  above,  reached  by  three  or  four 
marble  steps.  Ascending,  I  saw  a  fountain 
leaping  in  the  sunshine,  and  washing  chisel- 
led groups  of  Naiads,  with  Hylas  hidden 
among  them  ;  and  on  the  balustrade  of  its 
basin  leaned  the  musician,  a  fair  long- 
ringleted  youth,  in  costume  of  no  special 
age  ...  all  brocade  and  silk,  feather  and 
lace,  with  the  pinkest  hose  from  knee  to 
foot,  and  the  brightest  of  diamonds  for  shoe- 
buckles.  As  he  played  on  a  quaint  pipe  or 
flageolet,  all  his  notes  dropt  like  words  into 
my  ear.    The  liquid  syllables  seemed  to  say  : 


190  TRANSMIGRATION. 

"  Sweet,  ah,  sweet 

To  throw  the  hours  away. 
Tinkle,  music  !  twinkle,  feet ! 
Let  each  pulse  of  wild  joy  beat ! 

It  is  our  own,  this  day. 

"  No,  ah,  no  ! 

Grasp  we  the  minutes  tight ! 
Rhyme,  be  silent !    Time,  be  slow ! 
Blush  to  rose,  fair  breast  of  snow  ! 

It  is  our  own,  this  night." 

And  what  the  liquid  syllables  of  the  music 
said  seemed  likewise  to  sing  the  liquid 
spherules  of  the  fountain,  which  threw 
streams  of  radiant  water  on  the  white  shoul- 
ders and  bosoms  of  the  naughty  nymphs 
who  were  hiding  Hylas.  Across  the  terrace, 
half-way  to  the  Chateau's  beautiful  vine- 
festooned  portal,  I  now  noted  that  the  su- 
preme sculptor  had  placed  a  statue  of  Hera- 
kles  himself,  searching  for  the  lost  boy,  with 
club  and  lion's  hide,  so  gigantic  that  it  al- 
most dwarfed  the  fountain. 

Gay  groups,  in  fantastic  dress,  were   scat- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  191 

tered  over  terraces  and  gardens.  Dances, 
and  games,  and  flirtations  were  in  high  pro- 
gress. When  the  Troubadour  of  the  foun- 
tain beheld  me  he  stopped  his  piping,  and 
stepped  forward,  with  either  reverence  or  its 
mockery,  and  said,  "  Monseigneur  le  Prince 
de  la  Terre,  deign  to  enter  the  Chateau  of 
Monsieur  le  Due  de  I'Amour." 

At  this  instant  came  forward  the  Duke 
himself,  a  superb  and  sprightly  but  somewhat 
soft  presence,  with  ladies  and  pages  and  a 
marvellous  grouping  of  soldiers  around.  As 
I  looked  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  this 
fair  frolic  fantastic  scene,  what  fascinated 
me  most  was,  not  the  Duke's  brilliant  beauty 
of  youth,  nor  any  of  the  marvellous  loveli- 
]iess  of  the  demoiselles  around  him,  nor  the 
general  contour  and  effect  of  the  Chateau, 
and  its  delicious  garden,  but  the  angry  face 
of  the  colossal  Herakles,  and  the  grip  his 
huge  right  hand  held  of  a  club  as  vast  as 


192  TEAXSMIGRATION. 

Owen  Glendower's  oak.  But,  being  recog- 
nized as  Prince  de  la  Terre — a  lofty  title, — 
and  being  surrounded  by  creatures  that 
sparkled  and  welcomed  and  smiled,  I  did 
my  best  to  be  courteous.  I  succeeded.  The 
time  had  arrived  for  a  banquet — it 
always  was  time  for  a  banquet — at  the 
Chateau  Venus.  This  was  a  superb  festivity. 
It  was  served  in  the  Hall  Anadyomene,  so 
called  because  great  pictures  of  the  Love- 
goddess  rising  from  the  sea  ran  round  all 
four  sides  of  it,  and  culminated  in  the  domed 
ceiling.  Pity  Thornhill  could  not  have  seen 
them,  ere  he  painted  so  many  Dutch  Veuuses 
and  Cupids  with  water  on  the  brain. 

"Prince,"  said  the  Due  de  I'Amour,  "it is 
the  custom  for  all  strangers  who  honour  us  by 
their  presence  to  narrate  the  history  of 
their  adventures.  It  need  not  be  now — 
stay  till  you  have  been  here  a  week  or  a 
century — but  we  beseech  you,  the   most  il- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  193 

lustrious  visitor  we  have  lately  received,  to 
gladden  us  with  your  romance,  which  must 
be  full  of  delight.  Then  when  you  leave,  I 
will  ask  you  to  choose  and  take  with  you 
the  rarest  rapier  in  our  armoury,  the  swift- 
est steed  in  our  stable,  the  loveliest  lady  in 
our  suite." 

As  thus  the  Duke  spake,  there  was  a  joy- 
ous burst  of  applause,  and  the  Troubadour, 
guitar  in  hand,  broke  forth  thus  : 

"  Sword  !  let  thy  temper  be 

Sucli  as  shall  make  foes  wince ! 
He  can  well  use  thee, 
Being  a  Prince. 

"  Steed,  let  thy  courage  be 

That  of  thy  sires  long  since  ! 
He  can  well  stride  thee, 
Being  a  Prince. 

"  Lady  !  thy  smile  I  see  : 

Ay,  and  thy  doom  I  guess. 
He  can  well  love  thee. 
Be  a  Princess." 

"  My  minstrel  grows  humorous,"  said  the 

Duke.     "But   disregarding   that  chartered 

VOL.  II.  O 


194  TRANSMIGRATION. 

libertine's  nonsense-rhymes,  will  you  tell  us 
your  story  ?" 

"  I  have  two  stories." 

"  One  true  and  one  false  ?"  asked  a  laugh- 
ing lady  who  sat  by  my  side,  and  had  been 
doing  her  worst  to  make  me  eat  all  the  fruit 
within  reach. 

"  Both  true,"  I  said. 

'' Both  r  ssiid  the  Duke. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the  man 
without  the  shadow  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  cried  a  dozen  voices  in  ray  neigh- 
bourhood ;  "  tell  it,  please." 

"It  is  brief  enough,"  I  said.  "A  man 
who  wanted  money,  sold  his  soul  to  the 
Devil  in  exchange  for  his  shadow." 

"The  Devil !"  said  the  Duke  de  1' Amour. 
"  Who  is  this  Devil  that  buys  souls  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  cried  my  sprightly  neighbour, 
the  Marquise  de  la  Fohe,  "  and  what  are 
souls?" 


TR  ANSMIGKATION.  195 

I  felt  strongly  disposed  to  swear.  Here 
had  I  merely  designed  to  illustrate  my 
duplex  position  by  reference  to  this  old 
German  legend,  and  I  encountered  this  be- 
nighted ignorance.  That  the  Marquise  knew 
nothing  about  the  soul  was  conceivable  ; 
but  that  the  Duke  had  no  acquaintance  with 
the  Devil  I  This  was  too  much.  I  could 
not  lecture  this  gay  and  gallant  company  on 
comparative  mythology.  0  how  I  wished 
Max  Miiller  there ! — or  should  have  wished, 
only  I  did  not  hear  of  him  till  afterwards. 
I  fear  my  length  of  pause  was  almost  im- 
polite. 

"  Monsieur,"  I  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  know 
nothing  of  the  Devil ;  he  is  not  worth  ex- 
plaining to  you,  I  can  quite  understand  his 
being  unknown  in  Mars,  as  the  wind  never 
blows  from  the  east  in  this  planet." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  about  souls," 
said  the  loquacious  little  Marquise.     "Have 

o2 


196  TRANSMIGRATION. 

they  anything  to  do  with  the  east  wind 
too  ?" 

"  I  think  they  may  have,"  I  made  reply. 
"They  are  uncomfortable  things  to  have 
about  you.  They  ask  awkward  questions — 
whether  you  have  laughed  too  much,  drunk 
too  much,  made  love  too  much,  kissed  the 
wrong  man " 

I  was  interrupted. 

"  Prince,"  said  a  lady  on  the  other  side, 
the  Comtesse  Dudu,  "  you  can  do  nothing  too 
much  if  you  like  it,  and  to  kiss  the  wrong 
man  is  impossible.  Therefore,  I  think  that  to 
have  a  soul  must  be  extremely  inconvenient." 

Everyone  fully  assented  to  this,  and  I, 
not  wishing  to  make  myself  ridiculous, 
drank  a  goblet  of  wine  in  the  Countess's 
honour. 

"  But  the  story,  Prince,"  said  the  Duke, 
presently  ;  "  or  the  two  stories.     Come." 

"I  was  going  to  describe  myself  as  a  man 


TRANSxMIGKATIOX.  197 

with  two  shadows.  Now,  shall  I  tell  you 
one  or  both,  or  shall  I  invent  a  romance 
that  is  neither  one  nor  the  other?" 

The  lights  were  blazing  in  the  Hall  Ana- 
dyomene  by  this  time,  though  we  had  taken 
our  seats  Ions;  before  sunset.  The  festival 
was  growing  almost  too  rapid  in  movement. 
Luckily  for  the  earthy  brain  of  the  Prince 
de  la  Terre,  there  was  plenty  of  Mars  water 
at  hand,  and  I  drank  quarts  of  that  restor- 
ative fluid.     0  for  a  flask  of  it  now ! 

"  A  romance !"  cried  the  Troubadour, 
who  sat  near.  "  The  Prince  mav  s'ive  us 
as  many  true  stories  as  he  likes  afterwards." 

"  The  ladies  had  better  vote,"  said  the 
Duke,  with  a  laugh. 

Unanimously  did  those  gay  creatures 
prefer  fiction  to  truth.  I  scarce  know  what 
made  me  rejoice  thereat,  or  why  my 
thoughts  were  fixed  on  that  stern  statue  of 
Herakles,  which  stood  in  front  of  the  portal 


198  TRANSMIGRATION. 

of  the  Chateau  Venus.  But  I  began  to 
invent,  to  recount : 

"  Long  ago,  in  my  boyhood,  I  was  deem- 
ed beautiful — ladies,  please  not  to  laugh  ! 
Age  and  much  travel  cause  great  differences  ; 
and,  if  I  am  a  Prince,  I  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  being  a  very  ugly  one." 

At  this  point  I  received  the  rapturous 
applause  of  the  assemblage. 

"  When  I  was  a  mere  child,  there  was  a 
long  voyage  to  be  undertaken  for  some 
purpose  I  never  quite  understood ;  but  all 
the  princes  of  our  country  were  going,  and 
I  desired  to  go,  for  the  pleasure  of  change. 
As  no  danger  was  apprehended,  my  father 
allowed  this,  putting  me  under  the  charge 
of  a  cousin,  who  was  considered  the  strong- 
est man  and  bravest  soldier  of  that  time : 
we  midit  not  tliink  so  much  of  him  now. 

O 

"  We  sailed  many  leagues  over  the  violet 
sea.     We  saw  strange  sights.     The  beautiful 


TRANSMIGKATION.  199 

children  of  the  deep  came  to  the  sur- 
face to  gaze  upon  us.  After  numer- 
ous days,  coming  to  an  island  covered  with 
trees,  we  anchored  in  a  sweetly  silent  bay, 
and  boats  went  ashore  for  fresh  water.  My 
cousin  let  me  come  in  his  boat.  He  did  the 
work  of  a  dozen  other  men.  He  pulled 
through  the  tide  like  lightning,  was  first 
ashore,  and  while  he  filled  his  casks  I  wan- 
dered. 

"  Up  a  narrow  wood-path,  covered  with 
anemone  and  cyclamen,  I  went  loitering.  A 
soft  breath  was  on  my  cheek.  My  name 
was  whispered  sweetly  in  front  of  me.  On 
I  went :  the  path  wound  :  I  thought  nothing 
of  return.  At  length  I  reached  a  deep 
clear  pool,  and,  being  warm,  thought  I 
would  bathe.  When  ready  to  dive,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  could  see  the  forms  of  nymphs 
beneath  the  water.  Still  I  sprang.  I 
never  rose  to  the  surface.     Nymphs  there 


200  TRANSMIGRATION. 

were,  hundreds  of  them ;  and  they  held  me 
below ;  and  though  for  long  days  I  could 
hear  my  cousin's  mighty  voice  shouting  my 
name  through  the  woods  of  the  island,  I 
was  unable  to  extricate  myself,  and  he  went 
away  in  terrible  grief." 

Here  I  paused. 

"  What  next  ?"  said  the  gay  Marquise. 
"  You  are  not  under  water  among  nymphs 
now.  You  are  above  water  in  the  Chateau 
Venus.  How  did  you  get  away  ?  To  how 
many  mymphs  did  you  make  love  ?  Are 
nymphs  at  all  like  women,  or  are  they 
chillier,  living  in  ponds  instead  of 
boudoirs,  and  eating  frogs  instead  of  Stras- 
bourg pies  ?  Ah,  and  besides,  what  became 
of  your  cousin  ?  He  is  a  grand  figure,  that 
water-carrying  giant,  who  grew  hoarse  in 
crying  your  name  along  the  shores  of  the 
island." 

"  Madame,"   laughed    the   Duke,    "  how 


TRANSMIGRATION.  201 

many  questions  you  ask  in  a  breath  !  Which 
shall  Monsieur  answer  first?" 

"The  cousin  first,"  she  said  in  silver 
syllables, 

"  The  cousin  first  f  cried  a  strange  harsh 
echo  at  the  outer  end  of  the  Hall  Anadyo- 
niene.  Rising,  I  saw  a  gaunt  man  in  a  red 
headdress,  without  a  coat,  carrying  a  pike, 
and  apparently  leading  others  of  the  same 
kind. 


202 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

ROUGE  GAGNE. 

"  Ex  pede  Herculem." 

rjlHAT  Herakles  .  .  .  that  sheer  strength  of 
-■-  the  world  .  ,  .  falsifies  the  saying  here 
quoted.  Politicans  are  too  apt  to  judge  the 
demiurgic  demi-god  by  his  foot  only. 
Twelve  labours  wrought  he,  and  he  wrought 
them  well.  The  myth  of  the  past  is  the 
prophecy  of  the  future.  When  the  glorious 
son  of  Zeus  and  Alkmene,  the  god  that  was 
also  man,  went  through  those  twelve  labours 
of  his,  it  was  not  without  significance.  When 
he    slew     the    lion    of    Nemea,    he    slew 


TR/vNSMIGRATION.  203 

tyranny.  When  he  killed  the  nine-headed 
Hydra  of  Lerna,  he  put  an  end  to  the  Cabinet 
Ministers.  Say  not  there  were  no  such 
animals  in  days  of  Herakles  :  closets  and 
cabinets  were  early  institutions,  and  the 
idea  of  government  in  a  corner  came  at 
once  when  kings  grew  too  weak  to  govern 
for  themselves  in  the  broad  light  of  day. 
Corner  cupboard  politics  were  not  invented 
by  the  modern  Whigs.  When  Herakles  put 
an  end  to  the  stag  at  Arcady,  and  the  boar 
of  Erymanthus,  it  is  clear  that  he  was  as- 
sumed to  be  dealing  with  minor  rascals  : 
while  nothing  could  be  more  intelligible 
than  his  cleansing  the  stables  of  Augeas 
'(monarch  of  red  tape),  and  his  destruc- 
tion of  the  birds  of  Stymphalus,  the 
government  clerks  of  the  period.  Posei- 
don's bull  can  clearly  prefigurate  nothing 
save  John  Bull's  lleet,  which  the  Herakles 
of     England     will     rescue     from     idiotic 


204  TRANSMIGRATION. 

management.  Whether  Diomed's  mares 
may  mean  cynical  literature,  or  Hippolyte's 
girdle  the  decadence  of  chastity,  or  the  oxen 
of  the  Red  Island  the  advance  in  the  price 
of  beef,  I  know  not.  The  old  myths  should 
be  read  leisurely,  curiously,  carefully.  As 
to  the  Hesperides,  we  all  know  what  that 
must  mean  :  our  Herakles,  master  of  might, 
will  show  the  children  of  beauty  who  have 
remained  for  so  long  a  time  in  their  cherisht 
gardens  of  delight,  that  he,  half  god  half 
man,  is  greater  than  they.  Shall  it  be? 
Shall  the  brain  of  the  common  folk  awake 
amid  the  first  race  of  the  world.  Will  the 
daughters  of  Hesperis  receive  the  uncon- 
querable son  of  Alkmene?  And  if  so,  will  he 
drag  from  the  mysterious  gate  the  three- 
headed  dog  of  hell  ? 

The  gay  and  gallant  chevaliers  of  the 
Chateau  Venus  fought  nobly  that  night. 
They    were    overpowered    by    multitude. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  205 

The  innumerable  republican  came  to  the 
front,  and  his  bludgeon  was  too  much  for 
the  rapier  of"  the  gentleman.  The  story  is 
old — the  collision  is  inevitable.  The 
Chateau  Venus  disappeared  before  the  giant 
force  attacking  it. 

And  I?  Well,  I  did  not  meddle  with 
the  quarrel.  I  might  perchance  have  done 
so  had  there  been  a  lady  in  the  case ;  but  I 
had  not  been  lonor  enough   in  the  Chateau 

O  O 

Venus  to  fall  desperately  in  love.  So, 
when  there  was  a  general  scrimmage,  and 
rapier  and  bludgeon  came  face  to  face,  I 
proceeded  on  my  adventures.  Mars  was 
not  my  planet :  why  should  I  trouble  my- 
self about  its  politics  *? 

Wherefore,  escaping  quietly  from  the 
Chateau,  onward  I  went.  It  was  a  deli- 
cious night,  and  its  coolness  gave  me 
pleasure  indescribable.  The  breath  of  a 
summer    midnight   is    second    only    to    the 


206  TRANSMIGRATION. 

breath  of  the  woman  you  love.  It  seems  as 
if  all  sweetness  of  stars  and  flowers,  all 
fragrance  of  mysterious  waters  mirroring 
the  moon,  were  condensed  into  that  mid- 
night breath.  It  is  the  odour  of  the  god- 
dess of  Earth.  It  is  the  kiss  of  Demeter, 
our  immortal  mother,  whose  lips  are  as 
loving  and  whose  breasts  as  full  of  milk  as 
when  Adam  and  Eve  were  babies. 

Leaving  rouge  and  noir  to  fight  it  out  at 
the  Chateau  Venus,  I  went  on  my  journey. 
Early  as  it  was  in  the  morning,  I  found  a 
companion.  He  was  an  elderly  gentleman, 
with  a  broad  forehead  and  dust-coloured 
spectacles.  He  was  leaning  over  a  five- 
barred  gate  when  I  first  encountered  him, 
apparently  awaiting  the  sunrise.  His  first 
remark  was  brief: 

"Eggs!" 

I  pulled  up  and  surveyed  him.  He  did 
not  look  a  maniac.     I  had  reverent  reminis- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  207 

cences  of  ray  grandmother.     I  gave  the  old 
gentleman  an  encouraging  smile. 

"Ha!"  he  cried — "have  I  found  a  dis- 
ciple ?     Is  there  a  man  capable  of  under- 
standing that  egg  is  epigram  ?     Look  at  a 
series  of  eggs,  from  a  wren  to  an  ostrich's. 
Can  life  be  packed  into  shapes  more  beauti- 
ful ?     They  are  existence  in  essence.     Look 
at    this,    sir,"    he    took    an    egg   from    his 
pocket — "that's     a     nightingale.        That's 
music.     Here's  another.     That's  a  jackdaw. 
That's   fun.       By-the-way,"    he    exclaimed, 
going  off  at  a  tangent,  "  do  you  like  spiders  ? 
I'm  awfully  fond  of  spiders  ! — they  are  such 
mathematical    animals !      Here's    one — ah  ! 
come  along,  old  boy  ! — he's  generally  got  a 
cobweb  in  my  hat !" 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  there  was  a  very 
comfortable  spider  upon  it. 

"  I  believe  I  have  taught   that  fellow  to 
improve     his    webs,"    said     ray     eccentric 


208  TRANSMIGRATION. 

acquaintance.  "  I  am  told  that  on  the 
planet  Earth  there  is  an  island  called  Eng- 
land, which  contains  a  school  styled  Cam- 
bridge, which  every  year  produces  a  great 
mathematician,  described  as  a  Senior 
Wrangler.  I  think  if  I  could  get  to  that 
planet,  my  spider  would  be  a  Senior 
Wrangler  !" 

"  Very  likely,"  I  remarked,  remembering 
how  fond  the  Marquis  de  la  Place  was  of 
spiders.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Darwin  ought  to 
take  this  matter  into  serious  consideration. 
The  greatest  neoteric  mathematician  had  a 
mania  for  devouring  the  most  mathematical 
of  insects. 

"Now  where  are  you  going?"  asked  my 
new  comrade.  "  Have  you  any  particular 
project?" 

"None  in  the  world,"  I  answered.  "I 
am  a  traveller,  without  design  or  destiny.    I 


TRANSMIGRATION.  209 

am  quite  willing  to  encounter  whatsoever 
happens." 

"Very  good,"  he  said.  "  I  am  carefully 
examining  the  strange  animals  that  inhabit 
this  planet,  intending  by-and-by  to  write  a 
very  full  and  complete  treatise  on  the  zoology 
of  the  Solar  System.  It  is  rather  curious  that, 
so  far  as  I  have  investigated  the  question, 
the  fauna  and  flora  of  the  various  planets 
differ  very  widely.  I  have  not  yet  come  to 
Earth  in  the  course  of  my  tour ;  when  I  do 
there  will  be  many  novelties,  as  I  am  in- 
formed. But  I  never  take  hearsay  evidence. 
I  have  resolved  to  describe  no  animal  that  I 
have  not  actually  seen.  It  takes  sometime, 
but  I  like  good  honest  work." 

"  You  must  have  been  for  a  long  time  en- 
gaged in  this  pursuit,"  I  said. 

"  About  three  thousand  years,"  he  replied. 
"  It  does  not  seem  long.  Look  here.  I  see 
a  bird  or  a  butterfly.     I  watch  it  all  day 

VOL.  II.  p 


210  TRANSMIGRATION. 

long.  I  discover  its  habits.  Often  I  succeed 
in  taming  it ;  there  are  many  wihi  creatures 
of  the  element  that  come  to  me  as  readily  as 
if  I  were  one  of  themselves.  This  is  because 
I  reason  as  little  as  possible,  and  rely  main- 
ly on  my  instincts." 

"  You  think  we  have  instincts  ?"  I  said, 
inquiringly. 

"Think?  I  know  it.  Reason  is  a  capital 
thing.  Reason  teaches  you,  after  a  few  in- 
terviews with  tlie  birchrod,  that  the  side  of 
a  regular  hexagon  inscribed  in  a  circle  is 
equal  to  the  radius  of  that  circle.  A  bee 
makes  the  hexagon  without  mathematical 
guidance  .  .  .  and  makes  honey  as  well. 
Instinct  beats  reason  there,  at  any  rate.  Ha, 
ha !  I  should  like  to  see  any  mathematical 
biped  who  could  make  honey." 

My  new  acquantance  and  I  moved  for- 
ward together.  We  were  in  a  lonely  part 
of  the  country.     It  seemed  almost  virgin 


TRANSMIGRATION.  211 

turf.  The  birds  and  insects  and  flowers  were 
new  to  me.  There  were  strange  resem- 
blances between  them.  Birds  which  looked 
like  roses  on  the  wing ;  flowers  that  looked 
like  birds  at  rest.  My  friend  the  natural- 
ist was  in  a  state  of  high  delig;ht. 

"  This  is  a  wonderful  planet,"  he  exclaim- 
ed. "  It  beats  all  the  rest  that  I  have  tried. 
I  have  serious  thoughts  of  remaining  here 
for  the  rest  of  my  existence.  Change  is 
charming;  but  one  gets  tired  in  time,  and  I 
think  there  is  enousjh  material  here  for 
the  investigation  of  a  life-time." 

Thus  spake  the  ancient  enthusiast.  He 
rather  bored  me.  It  has  been  ray  fault,  in 
all  planets,  to  be  somewhat  easily  bored.  I 
said, 

"  If  you  are  not  tired  of  birds  and  bees,  I 
am.  I  like  men  and  women.  Good  morn- 
mg. 

And  rudely  I  strode  away  at  a  great  pace, 

p2 


212  TRANSMIGRATION. 

determined  to  escape  from  this  man  of 
science.  Hang  science  !  Useful  in  its  results, 
it  is  confoundedly  unpleasant  in  its  elements. 
One  gets  very  weary  of  the  anatomy  of  life. 

Evenglouie  fell  upon  lake  and  hill.  It  was  a 
lovely  day.  I  was  alone  amid  a  silent  glen, 
where  there  seemed  absolute  and  perfect 
solitude.  Not  a  sound  reached  me  on  the 
soft  south  wind.  I  had  been  ascending  for 
some  time  a  slow  and  gradual  slope,  treading 
grass  that  was  cool  to  the  foot,  inhaling  fra- 
grance of  flowers  more  delicious  than 
jessamine,  stephanotis,  cyclamen,  hyacinth. 
Every  foostep  crushes  these  lovely  blooms, 
made  brilliant  by  the  pyrogen  of  Mars. 

At  the  head  of  that  glade  was  One  Tree. 
That  was  the  noblest  tree  I  ever  saw.  It 
belonged,  I  should  say,  to  the  oak  tribe, 
but  its  leaves  were  larger  than  even  those 
of  the  Canadian  scarlet  oak.  Its  height,  I 
should  think,    was    about  a  thousand  feet. 


TRAXSMIGRATIOX.  213 

Its  girth,  I  measured,  stretching  my  arms  : 
it  took  me  about  fifty  such  stretches,  each  of 
which  may  be  roughly  put  at  between  six 
and  seven  feet. 

This  glorious  tree  would  have  more  com- 
pletely fascinated  me  in  its  solitary  beauty 
but  for  the  splendour  of  its  situation.  It 
stood  at  the  very  top  of  the  liill.  A  steep 
gorge  ran  down  toward  a  dark  dim  lake 
below.  Great  cliffs  surrounded  this  mys- 
terious mere.  I  sat  in  the  shadow  of  this 
stupendous  tree,  and  gazed  down  upon  the 
dark  basin  of  granite.  There  was  uo  sound, 
no  movement,  till  suddenly  an  eagle,  whose 
nest  was  evidentl}'  high  in  the  branches  of 
the  great  tree,  swam  out  into  the  clear  air, 
hovered  a  moment  high  above  the  dark 
yet  lucid  lake,  and  then  dropt  sheer  into 
the  water,  picking  up  a  huge  fish,  which  he 
bore  off  to  his  eyry. 

The    way  down    to    the    lake,    over  the 


214  TRANSMIGRATION. 

greenest  imaginable  turf,  was  as  steep  as  the 
side  of  a  Westmorland  fell.  I  could  not  for 
a  Ions  time  decide  whether  it  was  worth 
while  to  descend  that  slope.  Something  in 
my  mental  instinct  seemed  to  say  "  Go !" 
and  at  last  I  obeyed  the  impulse,  and  went 
down.  It  was  hard  work,  for  the  steep 
hill  was  scarce  practicable,  save  for  a  moun- 
taineer ;  but  I  dug  my  heels  into  the  grass, 
and  got  safely  to  the  bottom.  When  I 
arrived  there,  I  found  a  level  lawn  around 
the  lake's  margin,  white  with  mushrooms. 
I  am  curiously  fond  of  mushrooms.  So  I 
sat  on  tlie  grass,  and  made  a  delicious 
supper.  Nothing  like  the  fresh  mushroom 
of  the  hills  and  downs  and  fells.  It  made 
me  think  of  Earth  again. 

So,  moreover,  did  another  incident.  I 
thought  I  would  have  a  swim  in  the  cool 
water   of     this    mysterious     solitary    lake. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  215 

When  I  got  out  a  few  hundred  yards,  I 
beheld  something  swimming  toward  me. 
To  get  a  sight  of  what  it  was,  I  trod  water. 
It  was  a  big  dog.  He  soon  overtook  me. 
though  I  am  a  swift  swimmer,  on  my  way 
ashore  ;  and  when  I  talked  to  him,  he  clearly 
made  up  his  mind  to  adopt  me  as  a  master. 
He  looked  at  me  with  friendly,  intelligent 
eyes.  Next  to  a  woman's  eyes,  there  are  no 
eyes  like  a  dog's. 

I  dried  myself  in  the  warm  Mars  air,  and 
dressed  amid  the  flowers  of  cyclamen  tliat 
fringed  the  lake.  My  new  friend  looked  at 
me  in  friendly  fashion.  He  had  manifestly 
made  up  his  mind  that  1  was  responsible 
for  his  future  welfare.  I  did  not  in  the 
least  degree  object.  The  men  and  women 
of  this  planet  soon  gave  up  their  friendship : 
it  occurred  to  me  the  dog's  micrht  be  more 
trustworthy.     So,  sitting  by  the   margin  of 


216  TRANSMTGKATION. 

the  mere,  I  had  a  quiet  colloquy  with  Big 
Dog. 

"  Where  shall  we  sleep  to-night  ?"  I  said 
to  myself  and  him. 


217 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PHANTASMAGORIA. 

ASTROLOGOS.  Ihave  seen  men  and  women,  hats  and  petticoats ; 

I  have  seen  boys  that  lived  upon  pure  intellect ; 

I  have  seen  girls  that  lived  on  simple  impudence ; 

Dogs  are,  I  think,  superior  to  humanity. 

Alouette,   They  don't  talk  nonsense  and  conceive  it  sense, 

papa. 

The  Comedy  of  Dreams. 

TTTHERE  to  sleep  ?  It  was  a  question 
*  '  that  never  need  woriy  one  in  Mars. 
The  veriest  pauper  cannot  starve  with  pyro- 
gen in  both  air  and  water,  with  fruit  and 
flowers  that  are  full  of  sustenance.  At  the 
same  time,  it  is  rather  pleasant  to  get  into 
quiet  quarters,  and  this  was  my  idea  on  the 
present  occasion.     My  canine  friend  seemed 


218  TRANSMIGRATION. 

quite  to  comprehend  what  I  wanted.  He 
went  along  the  side  of  the  lake  at  a  canter, 
with  tail  erect,  turning  round  at  intervals 
to  invite  me  forward,  and  assure  me  that  I 
should  not  reo;ret  followin^f  his  lead.  Al- 
ways  a  believer  in  dogs,  I  took  him  at  his 
word,  and  was  in  no  degree  surprised  when 
I  found  myself  at  the  door  of  a  thorough 
tavern  snuggery,  which  bore  the  name  of 
The  Hut,  and  was  niched  into  the  granite 
wall  around  this  marvellous  lake — this 
wilder  Wastwater  of  Mars. 

Big  Dog  and  I  walked  up  to  the  door. 
The  innkeeper  grinned  at  us  as  if  he  loved 
us,  and  suggested  lake  trout  for  supper. 
There  must,  I  suppose,  be  an  Ireland  in 
Mars,  for  this  man  was  as  decided  an  Irish- 
man as  if  he  had  kissed  the  Blarney  stone. 
And,  ochone  !  his  wife  and  his  daughter  ! 
Now  his  wife  couldn't  be  more  than  thirty : 
and  his  daughter  was  about  fifteen  :  a  strap- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  219 

ping  creature  for  the  age  ;  and,  good  faith, 
they  were  like  two  sisters. 

I  had  ray  lake  trout  for  supper,  and  after 
it  a  rump  steak,  with  oyster  sauce.  I  have, 
I  think,  already  mentioned  that  Mars  03^sters 
invariably  contain  pearls,  but  I  forget  whether 
I  remarked  that  oysters  are  always  in  sea- 
son in  tliat  planet.  Such  is  the  case,  and  it 
is  one  reason  why  I  like  it. 

The  Hut  was  very  snug.  ]\Iike,  the  land- 
lord, was  evidently  a  Galway  man,  with  a 
touch  of  Lever  and  Lover  about  him.  He 
produced,  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
some  whiskey  odorous  of  the  turf,  that 
never  could  have  paid  duty,  if  the  barbarism 
of  whiskey  duty  could  have  existed  in  the 
princess  of  planets.  He  sang  over  his  whis- 
key thus  : — 

"  'Twas  to  the  planet  Mars 

There  came  a  wandering  stranger, 
Pleasantest  of  stars, 

"Where  love  is  void  of  danger. 


220  TRANSMIGRATION. 

Here  lie  came  and  said, 

'  I'm  the  man  that's  wittiest, 
And  I  mean  to  wed 

The  girl  that  is  the  prettiest. 
Now,  my  sweet, 
Ere  jealous  fancy  rankles, 

Show  your  dancing  feet — 
Show  your  deer-like  ankles.' 

So  the  stranger  sang  : 

All  the  girls  came  running, 
For  the  rumours  rang 

Of  his  wondrous  cunning. 
Peggy  showed  her  breast ; 

Ella  showed  her  shoulder  ; 
Some  among  the  rest 
Grew  a  trifle  bolder. 
'  Ah  !  he  cries. 
Well  I  know  my  own  love  ; 

She  shows  her  eyes  ; 
Their  light's  enough  alone,  love.'  " 

Barney  Brallaghan  in  Mars !  What  next  ? 
Ah !  'tis  a  planet  wherein  one  doesn't  expect 
any  logical  or  continuous  next.  This  is  the 
charm  of  it.  Calculate  what  is  sure  to  hap- 
pen— it  won't.     I  like  Mars. 

And  I  also  liked  Kathleen,  Mike's  daugh- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  221 

ter,  a  merry  girl,  who  fell  in  love  with  Big 
Dog  on  the  instant.  I  wish  I  could  sketch 
Kathleen.  She  was  a  big  lump  of  a  girl, 
with  short  curly  hair,  and  merry  eyes,  and 
a  widelaughing  mouth,  and  a  fre  ckled  face, 
and  strong  red  arms,  that  were  meant  for 
work,  and  short  petticoats,  that  revealed 
stalwart  red  les^s  which  seemed  to  need  no 
concealment.  She  was  barefooted;  her  hair 
was  a  bunch  of  fuzziness;  her  eyes  were 
immoderately  funny.  She'd  a  right  musical 
voice  for  all  that,  an  inheritance,  probably, 
from  her  father ;  and  I  confess  I  was  de- 
lighted when  she  sang  me  a  song  to  the  tune 
of  Peg  of  Limavaddy. 

"  Tell  me,  if  you  can, 
Where's  the  scene  so  rich  in 

Fun,  since  Earth  began, 
As  an  Irish  kitchen  ? 

Here  the  baby  crows  ; 
Here  the  girls  get  frisky  ; 

Here  the  master  knows 
Where  to  find  his  whiskey. 


222  TRANSMIGRATION. 

Here  the  stranger  who 
Of  Ireland  may  be  scorner, 

Wet  and  tired  and  blue, 
Finds  a  cosy  corner. 

"  Burns  the  fire  of  peat ; 
Laugh  the  lasses  merry ; 

Ah  !  their  lips  more  sweet 
Than  perry  are,  or  sherry. 

Treat  them  well,  I  crave, 
Even  though  a  poet : 

If  you  misbehave, 
I'  faith,  they'll  let  you  know  it. 

An  Irish  maiden's  waist 
Was  not  made  for  folly : 

Nobody  more  chaste, 
Though  nobody  more  jolly. 

"  I  would  never  take 
A  kiss  from  any  stranger. 

I,  for  love's  own  sake, 
Would  go  through  direst  danger. 

Here  I  sit  and  sew, 
Putting  many  a  stitch  in, 

But  fair  dreams  will  glow, 
In  the  old  inn-kitchen. 

And  I  think,  think  I, 
One  tires  of  Larry  and  Thady  ; 

O  will  nobody  try 
To  make  Kathleen  a  lady  ?" 


TRANSMIGRATION.  223 

As  Kathleen  sang  this  curious  song  I 
looked  round  the  room.  The  old  inn-keeper 
dozed  in  his  elbow-chair,  with  a  glass  of 
whiskey  on  a  round  table  by  his  side.  His 
wife,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  was 
half  asleep.  Kathleen  was  kneeling  on  a 
fragment  of  heathrug,  with  her  hand  on 
Big  Dog's  curly  mane,  as  she  sang  her  song. 
The  scene  was  amazingly  characteristic. 
Kathleen  especially,  bare  armed  and  legged, 
with  the  shortest  of  petticoats,  was  a 
thorouglily  original  figure.  I  remember 
that  I  shut  my  eyes  to  think  over  the  situa- 
tion. 

When  I  opened  them,  that  situation  was 
changed.  The  room  was  no  longer  an  inn 
kitchen,  but  an  oak-wainscoted  parlour  of 
the  most  ancient  style.  Black  was  the  oak, 
lofty  the  wainscot,  wondrously  carven  the 
ceiling.  Mike  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  of 
aristocratic  guise  ;  Mike's  lady  was  a  pretty 


224  TRANSMIGRATION. 

patrician,  with  diamonds  on  her  white  neck ; 
Mike's  daughter,  Kathleen,  was  exactly  the 
Kathleen  I  had  seen  when  I  closed  ray  eyes, 
but  with  the  whitest  skin,  and  pearls  in  her 
hair,  and  grace  in  every  movement.  Her 
skirts  had  lengthened,  but  her  eyes  were  as 
bright  as  ever.  Only  Big  Dog  was  un- 
changed. I  don't  know  whether  he  under- 
stood that  something  had  happened,  but  he 
left  Kathleen,  and  came  and  laid  liis  hu^e 
tawny  head  upon  my  knee. 

Then  I  thought  to  myself,  is  this  fine 
fellow  a  dog,  or  is  he  Proteus  himself  in 
canine  guise?  The  old  Greek  legends 
came  back  to  me  with  marvellous  distinct- 
ness. I  saw  that  old  man  of  the  sea  be- 
neath the  shining  marble  cliffs  of  Earth's 
most  lovely  islands,  sought  (too  often 
vainly)  by  those  who  desired  the  aid  of  his 
prophetic  power.  Verily  I  was  now  in  a 
Protean   planet,  where  I   could  only  resign 


TRANSMIGRATION.  225 

myself  to  my  destiny,  and  regard  the  whole 
phantasmagoria  with  as  much  calmness  as  I 
could  command.  After  all  there  are  trans- 
formation scenes  recorded  in  all  the  mytho- 
logies of  Earth.  After  all,  there  is  no  trans- 
formation more  marvellous  than  that  of  a 
baby  into  a  man,  than  that  of  a  man  into  a 
bodiless  spirit.  Who  could  guess  the  flut- 
tering Psyche,  the  gauzy  fly  of  summer, 
from  caterpillar  or  chrysalis?  Who  would 
dream  of  swift  fliofht  and  sweet  music  hid- 
den  in  the  epfof  that  is  fated  to  chansje  to 

CO  o 

merle  or  mavis  ?  If  the  wonders  of  Earth 
are  innumerable,  why  need  I  be  amazed 
that  there  are  countless  marvels  in  other 
orbs  ? 

While  I  meditated,  my  host  and  hostess 
were  still  dozing ;  but  Kathleen,  rising 
from  the  lion-hide  which  lay  before  the 
fragrant  wood-fire,  went  silently  to  the 
table,  and  filled  me  a  Venice  glass  of  ruddy 

VOL.  II.  Q 


226  TRANSMIGRATION. 

wine  from  a  silver  jug.  She  gave  me  a 
gay  look,  placing  finger  on  lip,  to  indicate 
that  her  father  and  mother  might  as  well 
sleep  on.  I  took  the  hint,  and  the  wine. 
It  was  of  some  vintage  quite  unknown  to 
me,  with  a  fragrant  bouquet,  like  the  scent 
of  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  a  fresh  clear 
flavour,  that  reminded  me  of  the  mountain 
strawberry.  It  had  an  instantaneous  effect 
on  the  brain,  causing  the  faculties  to  grow 
apprehensive  and  forgetive. 

"Shall  I  show  you?"  she  said,  "the 
secrets  of  this  place  ?  It  is  the  Cave  of 
Transformation.  We  are  never  long  the 
same." 

Leaving  the  old  folk  to  their  doze  by  the 
fire,  Kathleen  touched  a  spring,  which 
opened  an  unseen  door  in  the  panel,  and  T 
and  the  dog  followed  her  through  a  long 
stone  passage  in  an  imperfect  light.  It  was 
a  winding  corridor,  and  seemed  to  be  end- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  227 

less;  but  Kathleen  tripped  gaily  in  front, 
singing  nonsense  verses  to  the  air  of  "The 
Groves  of  Blarney." 

Presently  we  reached  a  flight  of  steps, 
and  the  light  grew  less  indistinct,  and  we 
ascended  the  lofty  marble  stairway.  Brighter 
s^rew  the  lia^ht  from  above,  until  it  rose  to  a 
radiance  like  that  of  Earth's  electric  lamps 
as  we  reached  the  platform  on  the  top.  On 
this  landing  stood  a  tall  man,  with  a  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand,  and  a  lion  motionless 
beside  him.  He  was  prepared  evidently  to 
bar  my  way.  Looking  at  Kathleen,  I  saw 
that  she  also  had  in  her  hand  a  sword, 
which  she  gave  me  with  a  smile.  In  an 
instant  we  were  engaged  in  mortal  combat, 
while  Big  Dog  flew  fiercely  at  the  lion.  I 
had  no  chance  of  rescuing  the  poor  fellow 
from  his  unequal  antagonist,  for  my  oppo- 
nent gave  me  as  much  as  I  could  do.  He 
was   as   strong  as  Belzoni,    and    fenced  as 

q2 


228  TRANSMIGRATION. 

skilfully  as  Angelo.  But  a  passionate  fiiith 
in  successful  adventure  had  seized  me,  and 
at  last,  with  an  upward  lunge,  that  is  so 
dangerous  in  its  failure  that  few  dare  try  it, 
I  ran  him  ri^ht  throuorh  the  throat.  He  fell 
instantly.  To  my  surprise  Big  Dog  was 
also  a  victor — his  feline  foe  lay  panting  in 
death. 

"  Hurrah  !"  cried  Kathleen.  "  My  wine 
gave  strength  to  your  wrist  and  keenness  to 
your  eye.  Let  us  leave  those  carcases  be- 
hind, and  make  our  way  on." 

Vast  double  doors  of  malachite  swung 
open  as  we  advanced,  and  I  saw  a  lofty  hall 
that  seemed  crowded  with  life.  The  whole 
floor  was  covered  with  groups  of  strangely- 
dressed  people  of  various  countries,  and 
classes,  all  joyous  and  brilliant  ;  there  was 
music  somewhere  of  the  most  rapturous 
rhythm,  but  I  saw  no  orchestra.     The  hall, 


TRANSMIGRATION.  229 

SO  immeasurable  that  it  seemed  to  me  Saint 
Peter's  at  Rome  might  have  stood  within, 
leaving  ample  space  every  way,  was  lighted 
from  the  centre  of  the  roof  by  an  enormous 
diamond,  impregnated  with  pyrogen.  Great 
trees  covered  with  marvellous  blooms  stood 
in  all  the  niches  ;  beautiful  birds  sang  on 
their  branches,  or  drank  at  the  innumerable 
fountains  that  cooled  the  sultry  air. 

"  There  are  old  friends  of  yours  here," 
said  Kathleen,  as  we  walked  leisurely 
through  the  brilliant  eccentric  groups. 

Verily  I  found  it  so.  At  a  small  table  by 
a  fountain  there  were  a  group  of  six,  dif- 
ferent enough,  yet  in  eager  conversation. 
The  subject,  as  I  heard,  was  matrimony.  A 
prim  elderly  gentleman  in  spectacles  (known 
in  his  youth  as  Ccelebs)  was  declaring 
that  he  had  never  known  happiness  till  he 
found  the  wife  he  so  long  had  sought ;  she 


230  TRANSMIGRATION. 

sate  beside  him,  smiling  approval,  in  a 
dowdy  dress  much  too  short  for  her,  and 
her  face  reminded  me  of  Mistress  Hannah 
More.  Close  beside  them,  sipping  sherbet 
and  placidly  listening,  was  a  man  of  youth- 
ful beauty,  in  the  Eastern  dress — it  was 
Prince  Zeyn  Alasnam,  and  in  his  hand  he 
held  the  slight  fingers  of  the  pure  and  love- 
ly Princess  whom  he  valued  far  more  than 
his  eight  golden  statues.  In  quaint  con- 
trast with  these  were  the  other  two  ;  a 
charming  Greek  girl,  looking  into  the  olive 
face  of  a  daring  cynical  dark-eyed  young 
Spaniard,  who  drank  his  wine  freely,  and 
suddenly  broke  into  song: 

"  O  Madrid,  thou  pleasant  city, 

Where  sucli  merry  deeds  I  did  ! 
Damsels  gay,  duennas  witty, 

I  have  known  in  thee,  Madrid. 
Owner  of  the  ninth  gold  statue, 

If  you'd  keep  a  quiet  brain, 
Let  no  girl  throw  glances  at  you 
In  the  throbbing  heart  of  Spain. 


TKANSMIGRATION.  231 

"  Island  of  the  pirate-cutter, 

Wliere  foes  frown  and  dear  eyes  smile  ! 
There's  no  poet  who  could  utter 

Half  thy  beauty,  perilous  isle. 
Dingy  Ccelebs,  drab  and  drowsy, 

From  your  prosy  nonsense  cease, 
What  care  I  for  females  frowzy, 

Who  have  won  the  Flower  of  Greece  ?" 


"The  Don  seems  as  audacious  as  ever,"  I 
said  to  Kathleen. 

"  And  Haidee  as  pretty,"  she  replied. 

We  passed  on.  Four  persons  of  the  male 
sex  formed  the  next  group  that  attracted 
my  notice.  They  were  close  to  a  very 
spirited  statue  of  the  god  Pan,  placed  on  a 
superbly-carved  pedestal,  around  which  the 
delicate  hand  of  the  sculptor  had  placed 
numerous  figures  of  sat3'rs  and  fauns  and 
flying  nymphs.  On  a  table  were  great 
piles  of  salt  meats  and  fish,  with  plates  of 
chives,  leeks,  onions,  garlic,  eschalots, 
flanked   by  several   huge   bottles    of  wine 


232  TRANSMIGKATION. 

The  figure  seated  by  this  table  might  well 
draw  attention.  He  was  of  gigantic  stature 
and  noble  countenance,  and  wore  royal 
robes  ;  the  only  anomaly  in  his  costume  was 
a  hempen  rope,  by  way  of  girdle.  Opposite 
him  stood  a  handsome  man  in  the  dress  of 
a  student,  who  was  turning  out  his  pockets 
in  a  ludicrous  pantomime,  to  show  he  was 
penniless.  The  royal  giant  laughed  and 
drank,  then  looked  around  at  a  short  stout 
Spanish  peasant,  who  stood  a  little  way 
back,  and  who  said, 

"  Your  Excellency,  money  is  dross,  there- 
fore it  becomes  not  the  dignity  of  princes  to 
retain  it.  They  should  bestow  it  on  the 
viler  sort." 

Then  the  fourth  person  in  the  assembly,  a 
French  doctor,  who  looked  infinitely  learned, 
said,  like  an  oracle, 

"  Whether  we  have  money  or  have  not, 
this  is  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  233 

"  Rabelais,  Cervantes,  Voltaire/'  I  thought 
.  .  .  ^' Travoupjla.  The  governors  of  Sal niagon- 
din  and  Barataria  in  company.  Verily  the 
Prime  Ministers  of  Earth  should  be  here  to 
learn  lessons  of  politics." 

After  all,  I  doubt  much  whether  Glad- 
stone, Bismarck,  MacMahon,  and  the  rest, 
have  sufficient  intuition  to  learn  much  from 
Pantagruel,  Panurge,  Sancho  Panza,  and 
Pangloss.  The  right  Premier  of  England  is 
Pangloss  :  the  right  Premier  of  Germany  is 
Panurge :  but  what  is  to  be  done  with  the 
other  two  ?  Is  there  any  country  on  Earth 
worthy  to  be  ruled  by  Pantagruel  ?  How 
could  he  manage  Ireland  ?  Would  he  make 
a  swift  end  of  Jesuit  and  Fenian,  of  murderer 
and  libeller  ? 

Another  group  of  four,  on  divans,  lazily 
drinking  coffee.  One  a  girl  of  the  Dudu 
type,  her  eyes  half  open,  her  arms  thrown 
above    her    fair-tressed    head  .  .  .  Brynhild 


234  TRANSMIGKATION. 

the  sleeper,  whom  Sigurd  awoke.  Over 
this  Teuton  giantess  drooped  fronds  of  fern, 
and  it  seemed  each  moment  as  if  she  would 
drop  back  into  that  dreamless  slumber  of 
centuries,  whence  she  was  awakened  by  a 
kiss.  Old  habits  are  hard  to  conquer.  When 
one  has  slept  a  century  or  two,  a  single  kiss 
has  scarcely  sufficient  awakening  power. 
The  result  of  a  continuous  series  might  be 
different. 

A  couple  of  unquestionable  Dutchmen, 
Peter  Klaus  and  Rip  Van  Winkle,  lay  half 
awake  on  two  other  divans  ;  the  fourth  was 
occupied  by  a  man  with  a  glorious  Greek 
face,  poetic  and  philosophic.  He  also  seem- 
ed almost  in  a  trance ;  but,  when  I  passed, 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me.  Then  suddenly 
he  arose,  left  his  companions,  and  came  to 
where  I  stood,  accosting  me.  I  turned 
round  to  look  for  Kathleen ;  she  had 
vanished    in    the    innumerous    crowd,     and 


TRANSMIGRATION.  235 

was    untraceable.       Big   Dog    kept    close. 

"  I  fell  asleep  one  summer  afternoon," 
said  the  Greek,  "  in  a  cavern  of  the  happy 
Cretan  hills,  and  slept  fifty-seven  years.  I 
awoke  refreshed — I  awoke  wiser.  While 
thus  I  slept  Zeus  rained  upon  me  knowledge. 
When  I  came  back  among  a  people  that  re- 
membered me  not — how  should  they? — I 
could  teach  them  things  of  which  they  had 
never  dreamed.  As  sunshine  brings  to  a 
man  health,  passing  into  him  through  the 
pores  of  his  skin,  so  Apollo  the  Far  Worker 
had  drenched  my  sleeping  spirit  with  the 
light  of  thought.  Do  you  guess  what  I 
learnt  there  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  0  Cretan.  You 
learnt  that,  when  a  man  cannot  think,  God 
thinks  for  him." 

"  True,"  said  Epimenides.  "  Now  tell  me, 
are  you  awake  or  in  a  dream  ?  Look  across 
this  hall  of  wonder,  and  sav." 


236  TRANSMIGRATION. 

I  threw  rayself  on  a  couch  and  looked 
around.  Assuredly  it  was  a  hall  of  wonder. 
No  pen  could  describe  the  gay  groups  that 
fluttered  through  it.  Mephistopheles  was 
looking  for  Faust ;  ugly  Riquet  with  the 
Tuft  was  good-humouredly  searching  for  the 
Princess  on  whom  he  was  destined  to  confer 
wit  and  beauty;  step-mother  Grognon,  armed 
with  a  birch-broom  was  lamely  running 
after  pretty  Graciosa,  who  with  dishevelled 
hair  was  seeking  her  protector,  Percinet. 
Myriads  of  such  legends  were  enacted  before 
my  astonished  gaze. 

And  on  the  walls  tliere  were  great  pic- 
tures, gloriously  painted.  I  beheld  Avalon. 
I  heard  Arthur  say, 

"  I  wyUe  wende  a  lytelle  stownde 
In  to  the  vale  of  Aveloone, 
A  whyle  to  hele  me  of  my  wouude." 

0  the  wondrous  orchard  bloom  of  that 
strange  solitary  place  whither  the  ladies  of 


TRANSMIGRATION.  237 

old  romance  brought  with  many  tears  the 
wounded  swordless  king  !  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Millais  paint  apple  blossoms  since,  but  he 
could  not  touch  the  artist  of  Mars.  A  great 
Minster  rose  amid  the  dim  deep  orchards : 
and  they  laid  Arthur  in  the  tender  grass  be- 
neath a  most  ancient  tree  :  and  soft  hands 
tended  him,  and  sweet  song  rose  around 
him. 

As  I  gazed  that  picture  vanished.  In  its 
place  came  an  admirable  sketch  of  Captain 
Lemuel  Gulliver,  in  the  famous  City  of  Lilli- 
put,  with  crowds  of  pigmies  gazing  up  at  the 
monster.  The  artist  had  given  Gulliver  an 
air  of  contempt  for  these  small  people,  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  Prime  Minister. 
Turning  tlie  other  way,  I  saw  a  picture  that 
made  me  shudder.  I  saw  myself  lying  dead 
at  Beau  Sejour,  with  Lucy  kneeling  by  my 
side.  This  strange  picture  also  vanished,  and 
in  its  place  I  saw  two  cradles  with  a  baby  in 


238  TRANSMIGRATION. 

each,  and  the  mother  and  nursemaids 
watching  them.  The  mother's  face  seemed 
to  me  to  have  in  it  something  famiUar. 

Then  I  answered  the  question  of  Epime- 
nides  with  a  counter  question, 

"What  difference  is  there,  0  Cretan,  be- 
tween being  awake  and  being  in  a  dream  ? 
That  surely  you  must  have  learnt  during  the 
fifty-seven  years  you  unconsciously  inhaled 
or  imbibed  the  wisdom  of  the  universe.  I 
retort  on  you  your  inquiry.  Were  you  awake 
or  dreaming  all  that  time  in  that  Cretan 
cavern  ?  Were  you  awake  or  dreaming  when 
you  afterwards  set  up  a  respectable  house- 
hold in  Crete,  but  brought  your  pretty 
daughter  Iphis  up  as  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl  ? 
Come  :  you  are  a  philosopher  :  define  being 
awake  :  define  being  in  a  dream." 

Epimenides  looked  slightly  puzzled.  He 
said, 

"  There  is  a  friend  of  mine  who    could 


TRANSMIGRATION.  239 

help  us  through  this  bit  of  raetaphysic.  You 
have  heard  of  Merlin  ?" 

"  O  yes.  He  is  wisest  of  all  you  lovers 
of  sleep.  He  dreams  of  Vivian  under  the 
great  oaks  of  Broceliande. 

'  O,  happy  happy  Merlin  ! 
Afar  in  the  forest  deep, 
To  thee  alone  of  the  sons  of  men 
Gave  a  woman  the  gift  of  sleep  ?' " 

"  Let  us  leave  this,  and  go  to  him,"  said 
the  Cretan  sleeper.  He  and  I  and  the  mighty 
mastiff  at  once  left  the  hall  by  an  entrance 
near  us,  and  passed  into  what  seemed  a  new 
world. 

Miles  of  open  green,  virgin  turf,  with 
enormous  trees  at  wide  intervals.  It  was 
now  just  sunrise.  Although  I  had  not  slept 
I  felt  sleepless.  The  Greek  and  the  dog 
looked  far  wearier  than  I  felt :  but  as  to 
Epimenides,  he  had  contracted  an  early 
habit  of  sleeping. 


240  TRANSMIGEATION. 

The  sunrise,  a  wondrous  vision  of  colour 
and  form  unutterable,  wherein  any  poet 
would  imagine  a  myriad  pictures,  wherein 
any  wise  man  would  see  tlie  handiwork  of 
God,  slanted  lovingly  through  the  broad- 
leafed  oaks,  turning;  all  their  innumerable 
dewdrops  into  diamonds  and  sapphires  and 
rubies  and  emeralds.  Sonsjs  of  birds  filled 
the  air  with  melody.  Else  there  was  an 
awful  hush  upon  the  forest,  a  silence  that 
might  be  felt,  a  solitude  that  a  guilty  soul 
miofht  dread.  Often  have  I  thouoiht  that 
any  man  who  had  committed  a  great  crime 
should  be  in  mortal  fear  if  he  went  any- 
where alone. 

Put  the  hypothesis.  I  will  not  take 
murder  into  count :  but  say  you  have  built 
your  prosperity  on  fraud  .  .  .  say  you  have 
ruined  a  girl  for  your  mere  pleasure.  Can 
you  walk  alone  into  a  quiet  wood,  and  tread 
upon  the  carpet  of  last  year's  leaves,  and 


TRANSMIGRATION.  241 

have  no  fear  of  meeting,  in  that  beautiful 
yet  awful  solitude,  the  Almighty  Avenger? 
Perhaps  I  put  the  question  thoughtlessly  ; 
perhaps  the  men  who  commit  such  abomina- 
tions are  incapable  of  belief  in  God,  and 
therefore  incapable  of  fearing  him.  Pillory 
or  the  cat  was  meant  for  them. 

Merlin,  an  aaed  man.  seven  feet  hish, 
with  a  white  beard  that  fell  below  his  waist, 
leant  against  an  oak-tree,  with  a  crutch  of 
ivory  in  his  right  hand.  On  one  finger  of 
that  hand  burnt  a  light-giving  carbuncle.  He 
looked  at  us,  and  said, 

"  Welcome  to  the  forest." 

"  Our  friend,  just  fresh  from  Earth,"  said 
Epimenides,  "  wants  to  know  whether  he  is 
awake  or  in  a  dream." 

"  No,"  said  I,  promptly,  "  that  is  not  a  fair 
way  of  putting  it.  You  asked  me  which.  I 
ask  you,  in    return,   whether  there  is  any   , 

VOL.  II.  R 


242  TRANSMIGRATION. 

difference  between  waking  and  dreaming? 
If  so,  what  is  that  difference?" 

There  was  a  humorous  twinkle  in  the 
British  prophet's  eye  ;  he  saw  that  the  Cre- 
tan was  puzzled. 

"  It  does  not  matter  to  me,"  I  went  on, 
"  whether  I  am  awake  or  asleep.  In  either 
case  I  see  certain  persons  and  places,  and 
certain  adventures  happen  to  me.  In  either 
case  I  enjoy  existence,  and  always  mean  to 
enjoy  existence.  Still,  as  a  mere  ontological 
problem,  it  might  be  worth  while  to  ascer- 
tain whether  there  is  any  difference  between 
sleeping  and  waking;  and,  if  so,  whether  we 
are  asleep  or  awake,  we  three  ?" 

"  The  difference  between  sleeping  and 
waking,"  said  Merlin,  "  is  purely  imaginary. 
I  have  slept  for  more  than  a  thousand  years, 
yet  all  the  time  I  lived.  My  mortal  pre- 
sentment was  under  the  oaks  of  Broceliande. 
My  self  was  in  the  world,  fighting  for  truth, 


TRANSMIGRATION.  243 

and  sighing  for  love.  Have  you  ever  known 

the   right   victorious?     Merlin  was   there  ! 

Have  you  ever  known  a   wedding  of  true 

love  ?     Merlin  was  there, 

'  Yes,  while  the  legend  made  me 
Under  great  oak-trees  sleep, 
I  was  Avhere  bright  eyes  glisten, 
I  was  where  sad  eyes  weep. 

'  Oft  when  the  happy  lover 
Toyed  Avith  his  lady's  hair, 
Shadow  of  loves  more  ancient, 
Merlin  the  Seer  was  there. 

'  Oft  when  the  fierce  fight  thundered, 

Making  the  mjTiads  die, 
Just  for  some  crowned  fool's  fancy, 
Merlin  the  Seer  stood  by. 

'  Once,  when  a  people  trembled, 
Under  a  poet's  power. 
Merlin  waxed  glad,  and  wondered — 
Was  it  the  world's  last  hour  ? 

'  No  :  the  great  world  rolls  always 
On  through  the  ether  deep. 
Love!  laugh!  fight!  cheat!  swear!  quarrel! 
Merlin  the  Seer  will  sleep.' " 

I  had  thrown  myself  on  the  turf  under 

R  2 


244  TRANSMIGRATION. 

a  great  tree ;  while  Merlin  broke  out  into  a 
mixture  of  prose  and  verse,  I  had  closed  my 
eyes,  and  was  listening.  I  think  I  have  fairly 
reported  him.  But  when  his  recitative 
ceased  I  opened  my  eyes  .  .  .  and  behold 
he  was  not  there  !  Neither  was  Epimenides 
of  Crete.  I  was  alone  in  the  woodland,  save 
for  Big  Dog,  who  blinked  at  me  when  I 
awoke,  as  much  as  to  say, 

"  I'm  very  glad  those  two  old  bores  are 
gone.     Ain't  you  ?" 

I  sometimes  wish  dogs  could  speak.  I 
sometimes  wish  women  couldn't.  It  is, 
however,  rather  difficult  to  realize  a  world 
of  articulate  dogs  and  inarticulate  women. 
Should  we  gain  anything  from  the  former  ? 
Some  of  them,  in  gesture  and  gaze,  make 
one  believe  they  must  be  imprisoned  spirits. 
On  the  other  hand,  suppose  the  women 
silenced.  They  could  not  scold,  'tis  true, 
but  then    I    have    known   men    who   liked 


TRANSMIGRATION.  245 

being  scolded.  And  then  they  couldn't 
sing,  and  they  couldn't  say  witty  little 
things  .  .  .  such  as  nobody  save  a  woman 
can  say,  for  the  wit  of  a  man  differs  from 
the  wit  of  a  woman,  not  in  degree,  but  in 
kind ;  it  is  the  clear  keen  diamond  against 
the  pure  round  pearl ;  it  is  the  foam  of  the 
tide  against  the  sparkle  of  the  fountain. 

Big  Dog  got  up,  shook  himself,  and  look- 
ed at  me,  saying,  as  well  as  looks  can  speak, 

"Let's  go  on." 

On  we  went  through  the  free  forest. 


246 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    PATH    OF     PAIN. 

Hovov  iJLeraXka')(9evT0^  ol  ttovol  yXvKel';. 

Y  four-footed  friend  and  I,  escaped 
from  the  company  of  philosophers, 
trudged  merrily  along.  It  is  true  that  both 
Epimenides  and  Merlin  were  poets  as  well 
as  philosophers,  and  that  both  were  famous 
illustrations  of  a  truth  seldom  understood — 
that  unconscious  existence  may  be  as  fruit- 
ful as  conscious  existence.  Still  the  analy- 
tic faculty  predominated  in  each  of  them  ; 
and  T,  though  admitting  the  necessity  and 
the  value  of  that  faculty,  care  not  to  associ- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  247 

ate  with  those  who  possess  it.  Let  my 
friends  be  owners  of  the  synthetic  faculty ; 
let  them  create,  and  not  destroy.  How 
seldom  has  a  woman  any  power  of  analysis  ; 
but  all  women  of  the  first  force  have  synthe- 
sis— and  most  woaien  of  the  average.  A 
girl  does  not  analyse  her  lover,  she  creates 
him.  Often  enough  she  makes  a  huge 
mistake,  and  forms  a  hero  out  of  a  very 
ordinary  clod ;  but  sometimes  she  has  power 
enough  to  find  in  her  clod  something  really 
heroic,  as  the  sculptor  sees  the  statue  hidden 
in  his  block  of  marble.  A  v/orld  in  which 
women  were  analytical  instead  of  syntheti- 
cal is  difficult  to  imagine  ;  T  suppose  it  would 
result  in  absolute  Amazonism.  Men  would 
have  to  give  way ;  the  Amazon  analyst 
would  be  omnipotent. 

Reflective,  I  walk  onward  through  the  vast 
woodland,  whose  character  changed  as  I  ad- 
vanced.     Presently  the  great   umbrageous 


248  TRANSMIGRATION. 

oaks  gave  way  to  tortured  trees,  almost  leaf- 
less, which  seemed  to  have  been  scorched  by 
lightning — to  great  pines  broken  and  splin- 
tered as  if  an  avalanche  had  fallen  on  them 
— to  blasted  melancholy  yews,  beneath 
whose  mournful  shade  hideous  funguses 
caricatured  all  the  most  bestial  shapes  of 
nature.  The  change  from  the  loveliness  of 
the  open  forest  to  this  weird  scene  made  my 
spirit  sink  within  me  ;  and  I  felt  that  the  air 
also  had  changed,  that  it  was  dense  and  tur- 
bid and  loaded  with  evil  vapour,  that  the 
light  was  yellow  and  dim,  that  there  were 
unpleasant  influences  at  work  around  me. 
Wretched  reptiles  wriggled  through  the 
scanty  grass,  hissing  at  Big  Dog  as  he  trod 
fearlessly  among  them  But  for  that  noble 
dog  I  should  probably  have  turned  back, 
and  sought  the  forest  again,  and  tried  to  get 
a  breath  of  air  with  pyrogen  in  it.  He 
maintained    my    courage,   and   actually   ex- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  249 

hilarated  me  by  his  grand  contempt  for  the 
toils  of  the  way.  Tlie  way  had  indeed  be- 
come toilsome.  The  path  rose  slowly, 
growing  steeper  and  steeper ;  as  it  grew 
steeper  it  also  grew  less  pleasant  to  the  tread, 
beconjing  a  mixture  of  loose  sand  and  sharp 
shingle.  I  began  to  think  I  was  a  fool  to 
push  forward  ;  but  Big  Dog  took  the  lead 
quite  merrily  ;  and  I  resolved  to  pursue  my 
journey.  The  ascent  was  difficult ;  the  at- 
mosphere w^as  oppressive;  there  were  hideous 
croakings  of  questionable  animals  in  the 
dense  bush  through  which  I  had  to  force  my 
way.  Instead  of  the  regal  trees  to  wdiich  I 
had  been  accustomed,  standing  solitary  amid 
soft  green  turf,  with  summits  that  seemed  to 
seek  the  stars,  and  inhabited  by  birds  of 
lovely  song,  I  saw  a  dense  undergrowth  of 
prickly  shrubs,  bound  together  by  ropes  of 
immemorial  brier,  and  haunted  by  slimy 
reptiles  with  innumerable  legs,  and  hideous 


250  TRANSMIGRATION. 

black  insects  with  stings.  I  grew  atbirst, 
but  had  there  been  a  spring  shoakl  not  have 
dared  to  drink — fearing  that  it  would  be 
pregnant  with  miasma. 

Long  was  the  toilsome  climb  up  that 
steep  slope,  where  huge  stones  surprised  tlie 
foot  amid  shifting  sand  ;  but  last  the  summit 
was  reached  .  .  .  and  the  sight  I  saw  I 
never  shall  forget.  The  path  downward 
was  even  a  steeper  slope  ;  but  at  its  foot 
there  was  a  green  valley  with  a  stream  run- 
ning through  it,  and  just  beyond  there  rose 
a  lofty  mountain,  its  conical  peak  rosy  at  this 
moment  with  summer  light.  I  might  have 
seen  it  as  I  ascended  the  ridge,  but  the 
wearying  path  prevented  my  looking  for- 
ward or  upward.  It  is  in  travel  as  it  is  in 
life  ;  trudge,  trudge,  trudge  through  the  mud 
— or  drudge,  drudii;e,  drud<2;e  for  the  muck 
they  call  money — and  your  eye  will  never 
look  upward.     You  have  no  time  to  seek 


TRANSMIGRATION.  251 

the  serene  stars,  or  the  mountain-cones  that 
mingle  with  the  clouds. 

How  to  descend?  It  was  only  not  per- 
pendicular, this  slope  :  a  nasty  shifting  sandy 
stony  soil,  treacherous  to  the  foot,  I  sat 
on  the  ridcre  meditatincr  reluctant  to  break 
my  neck,  and  half  wishing  I  had  never  left 
the  many  pleasant  corners  of  this  planet,  in 
which  I  might  so  easily  have  remained.  I 
grew  melancholy  in  my  loneliness  ;  but  Big 
Dog  put  his  black  muzzle  into  my  hand, 
reminding  me,  in  his  affectionate  way,  that  I 
had  at  least  one  friend.  So  I  patted  the 
old  boy,  and  took  heart,  yet  saw  no  way  of 
reaching  the  lovely  valley  below  without 
fracturing  every  joint  of  my  body. 

Suddenly  Big  Dog  barked ...  a  joyous 
eager  encouraging  bark.  I  looked  up  :  his 
big  brown  eyes  were  fixed  on  something 
above  us,  that  looked  a  mere  speck  in  the  sky. 
But  approaching  with  incredible  swiftness  it 


252  TRANSMIGRATION. 

grew  vaster  in  size,  and  I  soon  saw  it  was 
an  immense  eagle,  huger  far  than  any  condor 
that  ever  screamed  around  the  inaccessible 
summits  of  x\ndes. 

It  came  straight  to  where  I  stood.  And 
instinct  told  me  that  this  was  my  mode  of 
escape.  As  it  hovered  just  below  me  I  flung 
myself  upon  it,  burying  my  hands  in  depth 
of  feather,  and  was  instantaneously  carried 
down  to  the  valley  below.  So  swift  was 
the  descent  that  I  was  breathless,  and  could 
not  have  thanked  my  deliverer  if  even  I  had 
known  the  language  of  the  eagles  of  Mars. 
Before  I  could  recover  myself  the  royal  bird, 
shooting  right  upward,  had  become  a  speck 
in  the  limitless  blue. 

When  I  was  all  right  again  I  looked  for 
Big  Dog.  The  dear  old  fellow  had  scrambled 
down  the  slippery  head-long  slope,  and  was 
racing  across  the  green  to  meet  me.  After 
a  bark  of  welcome  he  sprang  into  the  stream, 


TRANSMIGEATIOX.  253 

and  drank  and  cooled  himself.  I  also  drank : 
the  wondrous  water  of  Mars  restored  me  on 
the  instant. 

Eager  for  rest,  I  lay  upon  the  sweet  fresh 
turf  and  slept .  . .  how  long  I  know  not. 


254 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  PEAK  OF  POWER. 
OuSev  a  vavSarov  (f)aTLaaifjb    av. 

TTTHEN  I  awoke,  there  stood  beside  me 
^  *  Cheiroii  the  Centaur  ...  he  who 
taught  the  son  of  Peleus  and  the  daughter 
of  Leda.  Looking  at  me  with  friendly  eyes, 
he  said : 

'•I  have  been  your  companion  in  another 
form.  I  hope  you  were  satisfied  with  j^our 
dog.  Now  I  must  leave  you,  only  advising 
you  to  climb  that  mountain.  It  is  the  Peak 
of  Power.  Reach  its  summit,  and  you  will 
be  fortunate." 


TRANSMIGRATION.  255 

He  neighed  farewell,  and  cantered  away 
across  the  emerald  grass.  I  have  not  seen 
him  since. 

"  So,"  I  thought,  "  old  Cheiron  has  aided 
me  in  the  guise  of  a  dog.  I  have  reason  to 
be  proud.  Few  men  have  even  known  him, 
since  the  great  days  of  the  great  wars  of 
old.  I  will  follow  his  advice,  I  will  scale 
that  mountain.     What  next,  who  knows  ?" 

0  how  lovely  was  the  loneliness  of  that 
sweet  mountain- side  !  The  fii'st  belt  was 
vine,  growing  wild,  yet  producing  grapes 
such  as  I  never  saw  elsewhere.  I  after- 
wards discovered  that  the  Peak  of  Power  is 
a  volcano,  which  accounts  for  the  immense 
size  and  delicious  quality  of  these  grapes. 
They  were  a  rich  crimson,  and  about  the 
size  of  an  ordinary  egg-plum  ;  a  stalwart 
porter  would  stagger  beneath  a  bunch  of 
them.  I  walked  till  eventide  through  this 
fair  land  of   grapes ;    I  saw  no  one  ;    and, 


256  TRANSMIGRATION. 

when  night  came,  I  threw  myself  on  the 
turf,  and  slept  a  sleep  most  perfect  and  pro- 
found .  .  .  the  sleep  induced  by  thorough 
weariness  of  body  or  of  mind.  In  such 
sleep  there  are  no  dreams ;  the  immortal 
spirit  folds  its  wings  and  is  still ;  the  mortal 
body  does  sweetly,  softly,  silently,  its 
healthy  easy  work.  Such  sleep  hath  had 
praise  from  all  men,  from  Sophocles  to 
Sancho  Panza. 

Awaking  with  sunrise,  which,  in  the 
atmosphere  of  Mars,  is  a  sight  indescribable 
for  its  splendour,  unless  indeed  I  had 
plenty  of  pyrogen,  I  drank  of  the  brook, 
and  ate  a  few  giant  grapes,  and  pressed 
forward.  The  next  belt  of  land  was  studded 
with  vast  chestnut  trees,  such  as  iEtna 
never  saw.  Goats  frolicked  beneath  them  ; 
and,  at  about  noon,  I  reached  the  encamp- 
ment of  some  goat-herds,  and  was  glad  to 
accept  their  free  and  limitless  hospitality,     I 


TRANSMIGRATION.  257 

had  climbed  some  miles  ;  I  could  see  many 
of  the  strange  places  through  which  I  had 
passed  lying  beneath  me  as  if  on  a  map  ;  I 
felt  tired  of  this  volatile  versatile  planet, 
and  was  glad  to  be  beneath  a  great  chest- 
nut, and  eat  goat's  milk  cheese  and  bread  of 
chestnut  flour,  and  drink  a  weak,  yet  most 
exhilarant  wine,  made  newly  from  the 
grapes  already  described.  Such  entertain- 
ment had  I  among  the  goat-herds ;  and, 
when  I  lay  upon  the  grass  thereafter,  the 
girls  fanned  me  to  sleep. 

When  I  started  again  I  came  upon  clear 
moorland  .  .  .  short  sweet  grass  that  has 
seldom  felt  the  foot,  and  innumerable 
varieties  of  heather  and  broom  and  gorse. 
Trees  gradually  dropt  away.  Wild  crea- 
tures, unknown  to  me,  broke  out  of  the 
ferns  and  furze.  Birds  sang  wondrously. 
The  planet  below  was  a  miraculous  picture 
to  me,  who  had  caught  the  long-sightedness 

VOL.  II.  s 


2.58  TRiVNSMIGRATION. 

of  Mars.  I  pushed  on  ;  it  was  a  case  of 
excelsius,  if  I  may  correct  American  Latin  ; 
and,  as  I  neared  the  grand  pinnacle  that 
crowned  the  hiil,  I  saw  that  I  had  not  yet 
got  through  my  hard  work. 

The  final  peak  was  almost  an  erect  cone, 
about  three  hundred  feet  hig;h,  and  as 
smooth  as  glass.     What  was  to  be  done  ? 

I  have  never  known  how  1  attained  the 
a^oex  of  that  awful  aiguille.  There  are 
times  of  physical  effort  so  tremendous  that 
it  is  only  remembered  as  pure  effort ;  what 
happened,  and  how  it  happened,  perish 
from  the  memory.  It  was  so  with  me  on 
this  occasion.  I  reached  the  keen  summit 
of  the  mountain,  and  that  is  all  that  I  can 
say.  When  there,  I  was  so  worn  with  the 
terrible  toil,  that  I  lay  awhile  .  .  .  how 
long  I  know  not  .  .  .  and  slept  upon  the 
grass.  For  even  on  that  solitary  summit 
the  grass  grew  green  and  soft. 


TRANSMIGRATION.  259 

And  when  I  awoke,  and  looked  on  leagues 
of  Mars  lying  like  a  map  beneath  me  .  .  . 
far,  far  beneath  ...  I  found  close  at  hand 
a  pure  well  of  that  water  which  stimulates 
while  it  refreshes.  So  I  drank,  and  having 
drunken,  felt  as  if  there  were  no  more 
troubles  in  the  universe.  Place  a  man  on 
a  mountain  peak,  and  give  him  water  to 
drink,  with  plenty  of  pyrogen  in  it,  and  if 
he  grumbles  at  the  course  of  events  he 
deserves  kicking. 

Lying  on  the  soft  green  grass,  untrodden 
perchance  by  other  foot  since  the  planet 
Mars  was  created,  I  looked  downward  and 
meditated.  Here  I  was,  free  to  wander 
whithersoever  I  chose,  pleasantly  surrounded 
by  strange  fantasies,  free  from  any  kind  of 
care ;  yet  there  came  on  me  at  intervals  a 
sort  of  home-sickness,  a  longing  for  that 
native  sphere  where  man  is  born  to  trouble 
as  the  sparks  fly  upward.     Mars  is  a  lovely 


260  TRANSMIGRATION. 

planet,  but  it  has  its  disadvantages.  Credi- 
tors are  unknown ;  scolding  wives  are  un- 
known ;  nobody  writes  books ;  nobody  re- 
views books.  The  tax-gatherer  has  not  been 
invented,  nor  the  bill-discounter,  nor  the 
popular  preacher.  There  are  no  armies,  no 
navies,  no  Parliaments.  It  is  an  uncivilized 
planet. 

Somewhat  thus  did  I  muse  as  I  rested  on 
the  summit  of  the  Peak  of  Power,  and  look- 
ed down  upon  the  wondrous  world  below. 
I  was  alone.  I  looked  back  upon  what 
seemed  a  long  residence  in  Mars,  and  was  . 
already  weary  of  it.  Its  phantasmagoria  • 
was  unlike  the  strong  stern  reality  of  Earth 
life.  It  had  no  maddening  joys,  no  bitter 
griefs.     It  was  an  aesthetic  planet. 

Here  am  I,  methought,  on  the  summit  of 
the  highest  of  the  hills  of  Mars.  It  is  loftier 
than  Mount  Blanc,  loftier  than  Chimborazo. 
I  have  got  up  here,  somehow  or  other,  with- 


TRANSMIGRATION.  261 

out  much  difficulty.  If  I  had  done  such  a 
thing  on  Earth  they  would  have  given  me  a 
pinchbeck  medal,  or  put  a  lot  of  letters  at  the 
end  of  my  name.  They  can't  make  me  il- 
lustrious in  that  way  in  Mars,  because  no- 
body has  yet  invented  an  alphabet.  No 
fellow  can  be  F.R.S.  in  a  planet  where  F 
and  R  and  S  are  as  yet  unrevealed.  I  am 
safe.  And  indeed  I  am  all  the  safer  for 
being  nameless.  I  left  my  name  behind  me 
on  Earth,  and  have  received  no  new  one 
here. 

As  thus  I  reflected,  high  above  the  ordi- 
nary level  of  the  planet,  the  day  wore  to- 
wards evening.  It  was  the  loveliest  sight  I 
ever  remember  to  have  seen.  Far,  far  be- 
low the  lucid  lakes  of  Mars  slept  amid  silent 
valleys ;  villages  nestled  in  happy  nooks  ; 
the  world  was  fair,  and  free  from  turmoil. 
Yet  as  there  I  lay  and  looked  upon  the 
magical  scene,   something  seemed  wanting. 


262  TRANSMIGRATION. 

What  was  it  ?  I  have  since  guessed  ;  it  was 
the  trouble  of  Earth. 

Man  is  born  to  trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward.  If  he  is  set  wholly  free  from  care 
and  annoyance  he  loses  the  strength  of  his 
fibre,  the  fighting  power  that  belongs  to  him. 
A  tranquil  race  may  dwell  on  Mars  happily 
enough ;  it  is  no  place  for  the  beings  who 
commence  existence  byrebellion  and  murder. 
Believe  or  disbelieve  the  antique  legends  of 
Eden's  garden,  and  of  the  death  of  Abel  by 
his  brother's  hand ;  they  are,  at  any  rate, 
profoundly  true  in  essence,  as  showing  the 
character  of  the  human  race. 

Turning  from  the  scene  below  me,  soft 
and  serene,  I  looked  into  the  western  sky. 
There  was  a  spiritual  sunset.  The  clouds 
were  of  colours  unimaginable,  of  forms  that 
each  instant  changed.  Low  in  the  horizon 
there  seemed  a  wondrous  city  of  palaces, 
with  great  trees  between  them,  and  winding 


TRANSMIGRATION.  263 

streams — a  sublimated  Venice  of  the  sky. 
Above  this  lay  a  bank  of  purple  light,  which 
gradually  changed  to  crimson,  to  rose,  to 
saffron,  to  a  strange  sad  grey ;  and  how  blue 
was  the  sky  behind  this  mass  of  colour  ! 
And  lo  one  star  ! 

That  silent  serene  star,  glimmering  into 
stronger  light  as  the  chariot  of  Helios  left 
its  radiant  dust  behind  it  in  the  western  sky, 
was  ...  I  knew  it  .  .  .  Earth.  It  was  my 
home.  The  stransje  loncr-sicrhtedness  of  Mars, 
and  the  luminous  power  of  the  pyrogenized 
atmosphere,  clear  as  a  crystal  filled  with 
light,  enabled  me  to  perceive  a  less  star  be- 
side it  .  .  .  the  ever-faithful  attendant  Moon. 
As  I  saw,  in  the  dim  undiscoverable  dis- 
tance, these  two  planets,  I  felt  upon  me 
intolerable  home-sickness.  I  thoug-ht  of  the 
solid  Earth,  where  things  seemed  unchange- 
able. I  thought  of  the  lovely  Moon,  cres- 
cent or  de-crescent,  or  glorious  at  the  full, 


264  TEANSMIGRATION. 

in  whose  light  so  much  folly  has  been  sung 
and  said.  The  Earth,  with  all  its  unques- 
tionable disadvantages,  seemed  to  me  at  that 
moment  more  attractive  than  Mars. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  formed  a  wish 
in  Mars.  In  that  orb  there  seemed  nothing 
to  wish  for.  Often  has  it  occurred  to  me, 
reflecting  on  my  curious  adventures^  that,  if 
the  formation  of  a  wish  involved  its  fulfil- 
ment, a  good  many  odd  things  would  happen. 

In  this  case  the  wish  was  power.  As  I 
looked  on  Earth,  brightening  slowly  while 
the  sunset  faded,  I  wished  that  I  was  there 
once  more.  The  wish  was  sudden  and 
strong.  A  moment  .  .  .  and  I  was  utterly 
unconscious. 

END  OF  THE  SECOND  VOLUME. 


LONDON :    PRINTED  BT  MACDONALD  AND  TUG  WELL,  BLENHEIM  HODSE. 


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