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The Other Moderns
Sydney’s forgotten European design legacy
Edited by Rebecca Hawcroft
A NewSouth book

Published by
NewSouth Publishing
University of New South Wales Press Ltd
University of New South Wales
Sydney NSW 2052
AUSTRALIA
newsouthpublishing.com

Published in partnership with Hotel Hotel.

Hotel Hotel
25 Edinburgh Ave
Canberra ACT 2601
AUSTRALIA
hotel-hotel.com.au

Molonglo Group
Canberra ACT 2601
AUSTRALIA
molonglogroup.com.au

Published with the support of GML Heritage and the Orlay family.

© Rebecca Hawcroft and individual authors 2017

© Design and hero imagery Molonglo Group 2017

First published 2017

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book is copyright. While copyright of the work as a whole is vested in University of New South
Wales Press Ltd, copyright of individual chapters is retained by the chapter authors and copyright
of the design is retained by Molonglo Group. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private
study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be
reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be addressed to the publisher.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

Title: The Other Moderns: Sydney’s forgotten European design legacy /
Rebecca Hawcroft, editor.

ISBN 9781742235561 (paperback)

ISBN 9781742248400 (ePDF)

Notes: Includes index.

Subjects: Architecture – Australia – History – 20th century.
Architecture, European – 20th century.
European Australian architects – Influence.
Architecture, Modern – 20th century.
Other Creators/Contributors:
Hawcroft, Rebecca, editor.

Design U-P
Cover design U-P
Cover image: 1950s typing chair designed by George Kóródy. Image by Hotel Hotel and U-P
Printer 1010

All reasonable efforts were taken to obtain permission to use copyright material reproduced in this
book, but in some cases copyright could not be traced. The author welcomes information in this regard.

This book is printed on paper using fibre supplied from plantation or sustainably managed forests.
 Contents

Foreword by Nectar Efkarpidis 8

Introduction: Remembering Sydney’s European design legacy 10
by Rebecca Hawcroft

1 Lessons from things: European design training 25

by Michael Bogle
2 The lucky escapees: European architects in postwar Sydney 47
by Rebecca Hawcroft
3 Ferdinand Silberstein-Silvan: Loss and legacy 69
by Rebecca Hawcroft
4 Custom-made for European tastes: The Gerstl Furniture story 89
by Catriona Quinn
5 Design for happiness: George Kóródy and Artes Studios 121
by Jeromie Maver
6 The Bonyhady desks by Tim Bonyhady 145
7 From the margins to the mainstream by Rebecca Hawcroft 165
8 A hidden legacy: Margaret Michaelis’s photography 191
by Helen Ennis
9 Zsuzsa Kozma and the drinks trolley by Rebecca Hawcroft 213
10 The migrants who built modern Sydney by Tone Wheeler 241

Q and A: Ken Neale and his furniture 265

Notes 270
Image credits 279
Index 281
Editor’s acknowledgments 285
Contributors 286
Telephone or typing chair, 1953. Designed by George Kóródy for Artes Studios. Kóródy’s simple and refined design was
produced in solid coachwood with upholstered leather or fabric seat. Photographed at Hotel Hotel in Canberra, 2017.
 Foreword

Nectar Efkarpidis

What binds these stories together was the back-against-the-wall, reluctant

yet hopeful search for something better, any place but where they were. They
did what human beings looking for freedom, throughout history, have often
done.They left.
— The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson

The country we end up being born in dictates many of our opportunities

and freedoms. There is a plaque on the border of Italy and France, in the
Alps on the Col de Cerise, that reads ‘Through this pass, in September
1943, hundreds of Jewish people from all over Europe came and sought,
often in vain, to escape from anti-Semitic persecution. You who pass freely,
remember that this happened, and remember that not everyone enjoys
the same rights as you do.’ And yet we forget. Today refugees from Africa
and the Middle East are routinely stopped at that same border. They come
hoping for a better life but they are sent back.
All countries, to begin with however, are somewhat of an accident.
Our sovereign borders are drawn on top of what was the ancient super-
continent, Gondwana, and before that Pangaea, and possibly many other
supercontinents before that. Bits of land pushed around by eruptions and
collisions and then much later by people with power drawing lines on a
map. In that sense, borders seem to have very little to do with the humans
that live inside them. But humanity, through customs and genes, finds its
way across those borders – to merge and change and swell.
As a first generation Australian these thoughts resonate with me. My
father, Anastasios, arrived in Australia in 1963 from the small beach town
of Katerini in Greece. He first went to Forbes in New South Wales and then
moved to Australia’s capital, Canberra. This is where he met my mother,
Mary, who had emigrated a few years after him from Rhodes, Greece. If
he hadn’t made this trip my life would be a very different one.
At our hotel in Canberra, Hotel Hotel, the story of many is a story
8 we relate to. We worked through many ideas with many friends to make
this place. Today, it continues as a site to explore new and old ideas.
The process is messy and iterative and authorship is difficult to trace.
What is clear is that it would not be as rich without these influences
and multiple interventions.
This book tells the myriad stories of a specific group of immigrants –
highly skilled but almost unknown modernist designers, photographers,
architects and manufacturers who came to Australia to flee Hitler’s Europe
during and after WWII. It traces their lives, their work and their legacy. Their
arrival had a profound impact on what was at that time a very Anglo-centric
nation. They helped shape Australian culture from the 1930s to the 1960s
and onwards – during the postwar building boom, when the suburbs
exploded and cities evolved in a high-rise motion.
We spend a lot of our time publishing our own stories about the people
and ideas that have shaped and continue to shape Hotel Hotel. Beyond
aesthetics and an appreciation for design, our spaces and furnishings
speak of people, traditions and divergent ways of thinking. Stories of
migration to Australia are also ones we tell. The Salon and Dining rooms,
where food and drink are served on the ground floor, are our loving
salute to the often over-the-top living rooms of Greeks and Italians who
arrived here post WWII. In these rooms we have collected a number of
mid-century furniture pieces. Central to the space is the work of European
cabinetmakers of the likes of Paul Kafka and Michael Gerstl. We acquired
these pieces through our close friendship with Ken Neale who spent the
last 25 years on an object and furniture hoarding spree that took him all
over Australia and New Zealand.
As custom-made pieces without a label or maker’s mark, their origins
were not easy to trace. Through much research however their stories have
unfolded. They tell of the postwar homes they once occupied, but also of
the craftspeople who made them. We are drawn to these pieces for their
familiarity as well as their craftsmanship. We like how they morphed, slightly
awkward, to take on ‘Australian’ attributes – as an animal might evolve over
time when taken from its natural habitat and placed into a foreign environ-
ment. These pieces seem odd when compared to those from Europe. Their
oddity makes them beautiful – you can see the hand of the maker; they aren’t
machine-made carbon copies. They are imperfect and uniquely human.
Through The Other Moderns, we have learnt more about this furniture,
its patrons and producers. We are proud to support this valuable resource
in a field where so little information has previously been available. These
stories of European designers working in Sydney we believe will be an
Australian design reference – the first contribution to what we hope will
be a growing body of knowledge.
Reading the The Other Moderns I cannot help but think of the enormous
contribution migrants make to our society. While the book comments on a
specific subset of our migrant population, the same is true of arrivals from
all countries and of all vocations. A timely message as we push to welcome
a new generation of migrants and refugees to Australia. 9
For when we share, we have more.
 Introduction: Remembering
Sydney’s European design legacy

Rebecca Hawcroft

Modern Western culture is in large part the work of exiles, émigrés

and refugees.
— Edward Said, Reflections on Exile, 1984

The other moderns

The young Viennese-born architect Harry Seidler arrived in Sydney in 1948.
He had come to design a house for his parents, Rose and Max, on a bush
block in the northern Sydney suburb of Wahroonga. The Rose Seidler House
emerged shortly after, a remarkable example of pure modernism encapsu-
lating the Seidlers’ European background and Harry’s Bauhaus-influenced
education. Starkly modern, its geometric forms, white walls and flat roof
were very different from the bungalows that characterised Sydney’s postwar
suburbs. The house received considerable attention and was the focus of
much discussion; it is often noted that Rose Seidler House was like nothing
else then known in Sydney.
Rose Seidler House was in fact one of a number of similarly European-
influenced modernist designs built across Sydney’s north shore and east-
ern suburbs in the late 1940s and early 1950s. When Seidler arrived in
Sydney, he joined an emerging community of European migrants committed
to designing and building modernist architecture. As wartime restrictions
lifted, many architects and designers who had fled the rise of Nazism swiftly
returned to their professions, working closely with a network of European
clients. Working across architecture, furniture, interiors, graphics, textiles
and in the media, Sydney’s émigré community made a unique contribution
to the adoption of modernism as both a philosophical approach and an
aesthetic choice.
Over the following decades, Harry Seidler became one of Australia’s most
famous architects. In contrast, very little is known about his European contem-
poraries. Seidler had studied in the United States with a number of European
modernist architects who had relocated there prior to World War II. In Sydney,
10 Seidler was working among architects who had studied in Vienna, Prague,
Budapest, Zurich and Stuttgart with some of modernism’s key practitioners,
many with established careers in Europe prior to migration.
 Although far less known, Seidler’s early Sydney domestic work sat alongside
that of Viennese-trained Dr Henry Epstein. Epstein had a successful career with
prominent clients, including Gerard Dusseldorp, founder of Lend Lease’s first
project, the 1959 North Shore Medical Centre. Seidler would go on to a number
of significant partnerships with Dusseldorp that brought great acclaim. Epstein,
despite being well published, disappeared from the histories of modernism.
Another contemporary, Hungarian Hugo Stossel, had also completed a number
of prominent modernist houses in Sydney by 1949. Stossel had designed
the innovative St Ursula apartment building by 1950, and by the late 1960s
had completed some of the largest and most high-profile apartment projects
in inner Sydney. His firm, H Stossel & Associates, continued into the 1980s
under the direction of another Hungarian, George Buda. Despite his once
high-profile presence, Stossel is also largely unknown. Equally successful
Hans Peter Oser was well published as a designer of modernist houses in the
early 1950s. His partnership with French émigré Jean Fombertaux from 1956,
Oser Fombertaux & Associates, was responsible for a number of significant
and high-rise projects including the William Bland Centre on Macquarie Street
and Tooheys Headquarters in Surry Hills. When Oser died in 1967, he fell off
the radar, unacknowledged as one of Sydney’s early modernist architects.
While the achievements of Harry Seidler continue to be celebrated, the
stories of the many other migrant designers should also be remembered. Rose
Seidler House is preserved today as a key example of the great flowering of
modern design that came to Sydney in the postwar period. The house is also an
important reminder of the many examples of European modernism emerging
across Sydney’s suburbs during the 1950s, an important yet under-explored
part of Sydney’s architectural landscape. This is the first collection of the stories
of Sydney’s émigré modernist designers. Far from a few exceptional outliers,
this collection identifies that Sydney’s émigré modernists were a diverse
and dynamic community working within a network of clients, manufacturers,
academics and journalists, all displaying a strong influence of the principles
of European modernism in their work.

Postwar European migration

While Harry Seidler had spent the war years first in the United Kingdom,
then in an internment camp in Canada, the majority of Sydney’s émigré
designers arrived in 1939, having fled the increasing dangers of a repressive
and expansionist Germany under Nazi rule. The rise of National Socialism
in Europe, and the war that followed, led to the displacement of more than
12 million people, of which Australia took some 200,000. For a country with
a small population, that number made a significant impact and increased
the number of non-British of European descent from just 1.3 per cent in
1933 to more than 10 per cent by 1965.
Europe’s émigrés were a strong presence in Sydney from the mid-1930s.
European immigration in this period occurred in three waves. The first, from 11
the mid-1930s, consisted of independent migrants, in many instances
Europeans of Jewish heritage fleeing persecution. The requirement for
The Hillman House, 40 Findlay Avenue, Roseville,
1949. Designed by Viennese-trained architect
Dr Henry Epstein, it was the home of Polish tailor
Chaim Hillman and his wife Florence.

12
sponsorship or a guarantee of £200 savings ensured the wealthy and well
educated predominated. Although this group was small in number, it included
a significant number of architects and designers who, by the 1940s, had
commenced practice in Sydney. A second group arrived during the early
war years or were stranded in Australia by the changing world events. This
included the Austrian Bodenwieser Dance Company and some 6000 intern-
ees shipped from the United Kingdom, most famously aboard the Dunera. A
significant number settled in Australia and became important contributors
to wartime cultural life.
The third wave, arriving in the postwar years from 1947 to 1954, were care-
fully selected by the newly formed Department of Immigration, and included
more than 180,000 of Europe’s Displaced Persons, brought in under the
‘Populate or perish’ mantra. Many of these people came from the Baltic States,
Austria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Poland. An unusually high proportion
were intellectuals with tertiary qualifications, including large numbers of grad-
uates of architecture and engineering.[1] By favouring professionals, university
graduates and the wealthy middle class, Australia’s migration policies ensured
the cultural group that had been the strongest supporters of modernism in
Europe predominated.

European modernism
Modernism was a philosophy intertwined with ideas of industrial functionality,
socialist reform and health, and led to comprehensive changes in production,
housing and city planning. Closely associated with both left-wing politics
and Europe’s urbanised Jewish communities, it developed in the centres
of Europe where these groups were strongest and had the most influence.
Although Germany and Austria were the recognised centres of European
modernism before World War II, the movement spread across Europe through
universities, Werkbund (workshop or craftsman) organisations, the regional
chapters of CIAM (Congrès internationaux d’architecture moderne or Interna-
tional Congresses of Modern Architecture) as well as through the movement
of practitioners around Europe. These links saw the other parts of the former
Austro-Hungarian Empire, Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Poland, generate
sophisticated modern architectural cultures. These eastern European centres
are well represented among the émigrés who came to Australia, and it is not
surprising therefore that those trained in, or patrons of, modernist design
were prominent among Australia’s European émigré population. After arrival,
this group set about both adapting to and recasting centres such as Sydney
into places that reflected their values, communities and culture.
European design training was diverse across Europe’s universities, applied
arts schools and technical colleges, many of which integrated industrial arts
and design programs. While the Bauhaus school has received much attention,
only two graduates of the Bauhaus were known designers in Australia. In
contrast, significant numbers of graduates of universities in Prague, Zurich, 13
Vienna and Budapest spent the majority of their working lives in Australia.
Chapter 1 provides a timely focus on the context of modernism in European
 design education before World War II and the reception of European grad-
uates as they began to practise in Australia.
Another important group of migrants included in the Displaced Persons
scheme was graduates of European industrial high schools. Combining matric-
ulation with intensive technical training from the age of 14, these schools
prepared students for supervisory positions within workshops and factories.
Mostly from Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, Latvia and Yugoslavia, some
5000 of these graduates were included in the postwar Displaced Persons
program.[2] This group of carpenters, furniture makers, weavers, builders
and designers had an immediate impact in Australia, which was starved of
skilled labour.
As right-wing regimes asserted control across Europe in the 1930s, there
were fewer opportunities for modernism, and by 1938 its development in
Europe had all but ceased. August Sarnitz noted: ‘When one attempts nowa-
days to offer an interpretation of the effect emigration from Vienna had on
culture, it can be said for the field of architecture that practically the entire
artistic avant-garde was compelled to leave the country involuntarily’.[3] This
mass migration of Europe’s skilled designers – mostly socialist, Jewish and
from the wealthy industrial class – while devastating Europe’s avant-garde,
had a significant effect on transporting modernism to the United Kingdom,
the United States and Australia.
The impact of European émigrés in the United States and England has
been well acknowledged in a number of publications since the 1960s.[4]
Giedion’s influential 1941 Space, Time and Architecture places Walter Gropius’
migration to America in the context of the emigration of ‘the most advanced
scientists, humanists, and artists who during the thirties had a direct impact
in every domain of science and culture, from modern aesthetics to nuclear
physics’.[5] The movement of European modernism to Australia had an equally
profound impact, but one that has received less attention.

Forgetting
Modernism, one of the watershed moments of the 20th century, has been
the subject of extensive critical scrutiny. As the first surveys of modernism
in Australia emerged, the focus was on a search for a nationalist form of
modernism, suited to Australia’s climate and culture. The Australian modern-
ism of the 1940s was characterised by neo-Georgian models of simplicity
and refinement.[6] Architects like Roy Grounds further developed what was
emerging as a particularly Australian version of modernism with an ‘instinc-
tive sympathy with the principles of the eighteenth century: the house with
a view, a self-sufficient order and restraint’.[7] While a modernism more akin
to the ‘International Style’ emerged in isolated examples from the 1950s
and 1960s, the popularity of Georgian Revivalism can be seen to have rein-
forced the notion that modernism was a European cultural movement with
14 little relevance to Australia. In the development of a narrative of a uniquely
Australian modernism, the eclectic and identifiably European work of émigré
architects was difficult to categorise and was omitted from the histories.
Other documents randomly have
different content
 PART TWO
"I love to lose myself in a mystery: to pursue my reason to
an O Altitudo!"
Religio Medici (sect. ix.).
I
How passing wonderful it is that I should be enabled to send another
message to the Earth, and still more wonderful, wonderful out of all
whooping, that I should be writing it not as sovereign of an
unsuspected planet but as a humble member of the human hive on
Earth itself, here in this mean Welsh sea-side inn! As to my former
missive which I dispatched to my present abode through d'Aragno's
kind offices some two years ago, I have, of course, no notion as to
its final fate. That it really did reach the sphere of its destination I am
convinced; but whether it is still lying unheeded on some rolling
steppe or sterile mountain range; or whether it has been ascertained,
deciphered, discussed, nay even printed, I am wholly in the dark.[1]
Not that I seek to vex my mind in this matter. Nevertheless, it
amuses me to assume that my former letter from Meleager has been
duly found, debated and published, even though such assumption
likewise includes the theory that its veracity is discredited by all who
have cared to study its contents. Are we not assured in The Book
that one arising specially from the dead and scorched with the
flames of hell will not arouse belief in the living man? And if the
mission of Dives to his careless brethren be a predestined failure,
what chance of credence can possibly await such a message in
manuscript from Meleager? Leaving these barren speculations, I
intend to resume the tale of my adventures at the point where I
halted—namely, on the eve of my entrusting my scroll to the custody
of the Meleagrian councillor.
[1] This was obviously written before the interview described in a
later chapter.—C.W.
It is not so easy to judge of the exact passage of time in Meleager,
but I fancy about two years must have flowed past without any
incident worthy of record since I parted with my cherished
manuscript. The diurnal revolution of duty, sleep, exercise and
meditation marched so smoothly onward that it came to my
unprepared mind as a crashing shock to learn that my cycle of calm
existence was liable to fierce disturbance. My sharp awakening was
on this wise. For some days I had received no visit from my dear old
friend, the Arch-priest (for by this time, in spite of certain barriers of
circumstance and polity, he had grown very dear to me), and this
omission caused me to feel some degree of anxiety concerning his
absence. More curious than alarmed I therefore asked one of the
hierarchy, Vaïlo, who was in attendance, the cause of this
suspension of the usual visits. The councillor, discreetly casting his
eyes to the ground, replied that the Arch-priest was expecting shortly
to be absorbed into the family of the Sun-god. Albeit enigmatically
thus expressed, I could not fail to realise the gravity of the news; in
plain parlance, my friend and adviser was on the point of dissolution.
A horrible chill invaded my heart, and I felt sick with a sense of
genuine sorrow and of deep misgiving. I knew him to be old, and I
ought therefore to have anticipated the propinquity of his death, but
with blind egoism I had overlooked such eventualities. My first
impulse was to ply Vaïlo with questions as to his condition and
chance of recovery, but the guarded replies afforded me no ray of
hope. I even begged to be conducted to the old man's bedside to
take a last farewell, but this request Vaïlo (I think and trust with a
touch of pity in his harsh voice) assured me was illegal. I then lapsed
into sullen silence, whereupon the councillor took the opportunity to
depart, leaving me a prey to unspeakable misery and agitation.
All that night I tossed and turned on my luxurious bed, and such
short spells of sleep as I snatched only reflected the dour images
that were passing through my brain. Mechanically I undertook my
usual duties in the morning, and later in the day I was sitting beside
a solitary and untasted meal in my balcony, moodily staring with
fixed unseeing eyes at the beautiful prospect sweltering in the
noontide sunshine, when Hiridia suddenly entered to announce that
a litter was being borne up the palace steps. A moment later
appeared a messenger with the request for an audience of the Arch-
priest, who was too feeble to approach on foot. With my black
despair of a moment past converted into temporary relief, I signed
my assent, and all expectation I watched the palanquin being carried
through the ante-chamber and finally set down on the pavement of
the balcony. With my own hand I assisted its venerable occupant to
alight and to install himself with some degree of comfort in a large
chair. It was distressing to mark the changes that the past few days
had wrought in my beloved friend, whom I had always regarded as a
sublime picture of hale and hearty age, sound alike in body and
intellect. Now the skin drawn taut over the face appeared like yellow
parchment; the hands were dry and osseous; the gait was languid
and hesitating; verily, the seal of impending death was firmly set
alike on limb and lineament. So soon as we were left alone, the
Arch-priest, gazing at me steadfastly with an expression in which
were blended at once pity, affection and grave concern, held out his
poor trembling arms towards me, whereupon I sank to the floor so as
to lay my head on the thick white folds of the robe that covered his
emaciated form. Long time he continued to stroke my hair or gently
trace my features with his dry, feverish hands, much as a blind man
might seek to feel or sense some precious object, the while I wept
unrestrained tears, whose bitter flow seemed to relieve my heart of
some of its accumulated anguish. Thus we remained, age comforting
and supporting youth, and both finding mutual consolation in this
belated concession and yielding to an open affection from which we
had so long been debarred. At length a warning voice in gentle,
feeble tones bade me dry my eyes and rise to my feet.
"My son," began the old man, "my son, for in my heart I have long
adopted you as such, your image and your fate have been troubling
me in dreams upon my bed. Be strong. Be prepared for evil tidings.
My life is ebbing fast, as you may see, but there are matters I must
announce to you before my small stock of vitality is exhausted. Seat
yourself in that chair facing me, and give me your hand to clasp,
whilst I tell you what I specially desire to impart....
"I am a very old man, and though I have retained my powers of mind
and body in a degree that is unusual in Meleager, whose denizens
fade as they mature earlier than do those of the Earth, the inevitable
call has sounded at last, and in my case more swiftly and suddenly
than I could have wished. For many months past I have been deeply
distressed on your behalf, my son. I have been rent and vexed by
the rival claims of duty towards my office and of my pity and affection
towards yourself. Or rather, I have been speculating with ceaseless
anxiety as to where my real duty lay. As a councillor of the hierarchy
of Meleager and a keeper of The Secret I am impelled to abandon
you to your fate, be what it may; yet as one who is about to say
farewell to all things in this existence, I feel I cannot, I must not
depart thus without lifting from you the cloud of subtlety and intrigue
wherewith your young life is overshadowed. I have endured hideous
visions upon my bed; I have heard your voice of reproach and
pictured your final struggle; I have communed with my own soul in
perfect frankness; and as the result of this spiritual conflict, involving
so many diverse arguments, I am here to-day to warn you."
Again the old man extended his wasted arms towards me and
embraced me with a renewed burst of tenderness. Then he
motioned to me to resume my seat.
"I must hasten to divulge what is lying like a load upon my heart, for
my span of life can now but be reckoned by hours, not days. In the
first place you have been grievously, wilfully deceived by our envoy
on Earth and also by myself (though herein I have been merely
following the normal trend of our polity) in one most important matter.
For you have been permitted, even encouraged, to believe that your
reign here in Meleager can be indefinitely prolonged, provided you
do not set yourself to withstand or embarrass the ruling hierarchy of
this planet. Only theoretically is this true. It is a fact, I admit, that our
kings can be rejuvenated over and over again, and by this means be
enabled to survive generation after generation of Meleagrians—but
this never happens in reality. Not a few monarchs have these aged
eyes of mine witnessed in Meleager, and I have heard tell of others,
but not one of these has attained to so much as two lustres of
regnant power in the star to which they had been translated under
circumstances similar to your own. It is true our kings have often
brought premature and well-deserved disaster on their own heads,
but of such I am not now thinking. I am speaking of our hierarchy
who are by no means immaculate, and whose intrigues and jealousy
will not permit any monarch to escape his predetermined end, no
matter how conspicuous his merits. Not that all our members are
tainted with this disease of treachery, that is far from being the case;
but in every executive body so strong is the spirit of self-interest that
no scruples will stand in the way of preserving power, from
whatsoever cause it is once threatened. Men are mostly evil, as your
great Italian thinker, Nicholas Machiavelli, was bold enough to
proclaim, and their guides or politicians are crafty animals who suck
advantage from every weakness of humanity. Such being the
inevitable state of things politic, our poor monarchs are placed in a
hopeless dilemma, whereby they are doomed to failure, and for the
following reasons. If they avoid the snare of politics, they grow
vicious or oppressive of the populace, so that they lose the general
esteem, and the watching hierarchy is swift to annex this alienated
favour and to transfer it to its own body by ridding Meleager of an
obnoxious semi-divine King. Again, it has happened on not a few
occasions that the King has set to combine with the subservient
populace against the real ruling caste. I myself have seen these
palace courts and halls slippery with the blood of slaves and soldiers
who have sought at the royal bidding to overthrow the executive
council, and have themselves been overwhelmed and massacred in
the attempt. Or else, commonest and most dreaded event of all that
we prepare to circumvent, our monarch will seek to found a dynasty.
This is a danger we are compelled to nip in the bud by eliminating
the erring sovereign rather than by destroying the victim or tool of his
designs. But you yourself belong to none of these categories of
undesirable rulers—the ambitious, the despotic, the brutal, the
licentious, the knavish; and it is for this very distinction that I now
have come hither to inform you of certain things.
"You alone of all the earth-rapt monarchs of Meleager that ever I
have known or heard of have pursued an even tenor of deportment,
holding yourself strictly aloof from the besetting snares of popular
adulation and of selfish indolence. You have never strained to
encroach on the prerogative of the hierarchy, yet you have openly
and boldly clung to such shreds of power as our constitution legally
permits you to exercise. You have never stooped to flatter the
priestly caste; although you have given proof again and again that
you clearly understand and appreciate the intertwining nature of the
bonds that unite the offices of King and council. You have shown
yourself affable and gracious to our nobility; kindly and sympathetic
to the people without any ulterior object in your behaviour. You have
forborne to break our laws with regard to dalliance with women, for in
your case no spy has as yet reported any such dereliction on your
part. You have worked well, within the limits assigned to you, to
assist the well-being of the community; and it is also evident that you
are a cordial upholder of our fundamental theory that human
happiness rather than human progress offers the truest mark for
statesmanship, and that those who enjoy the sweets of office and
power must alone taste of the bitter punishment entailed by their own
failure or disloyalty. In my eyes, therefore, you are the ideal King;
and yet, and yet, you will not survive to behold the complement of
the half score of years of sovereignty, which has only once been
attained hitherto in the whole course of Meleagrian annals. Your very
virtues of self-restraint and implicit honour have only contrived to
arouse in its direst shape that spectre of suspicion which is the
guiding genius of our state craft. In other words, even a good King of
Meleager is likewise foredoomed, whatever struggles and sacrifices
he may make to gain and hold the approval of his virtual masters.
"To divert my warning now from the general to the particular, I must
tell you that on my departure hence to the Hereafter, every signal
points clearly to the approaching cessation of your reign. Unless I
am gravely mistaken, the councillor who is marked out to succeed
me as Arch-priest leads our most truculent faction, and under his
auspices no long period will elapse before the order will go forth for a
change of monarch. Doubtless not a few voices will be raised in your
behalf, for you have grown dear to many of us; but I feel convinced
such pleading will not prevail. By this time you must, with your
acquisitive mind, have guessed at the fate which awaits yourself, the
fate that has engulfed so many of your predecessors, the Fountain of
Rejuvenation. The sustaining ropes will be cut during your plunge
therein, so that the fierce undercurrent may draw you into the bowels
of the underworld. Thus will you cease to reign, as we phrase it with
euphemistic delicacy. Should you perchance be cunning enough to
elude this mode of execution, rest assured there are other means in
plenty equally awful and drastic, once the fiat of your removal has
been definitely pronounced. My son, you must prepare to meet your
fate, for though I still hope some unexpected turn of Fortune's wheel
may yet operate for your preservation, in my opinion your doom is
already imminent. But one ray of comfort, or rather one spell of
delay, I am able to promise you. By our immutable laws the newly
elected Arch-priest, who guards the rites and mysteries of that
dreadful fountain, is compelled to retain in office the two attendant
councillors who assist in carrying out the process of the lustration.
Thus on the first occasion of this ceremony under my successor you
will be absolutely safe, for I have obtained the most solemn
assurances to this effect from the two colleagues who have lately
served me in this capacity. But this arrangement will only affect the
next ceremony, for thenceforth the new Arch-priest is empowered to
select assistants of his own, and naturally he will choose his own
creatures for the required purpose. Still, such a respite will afford you
some breathing-space for preparation and self-communing, as it will
prolong your existence for the space of a further half-year. Perhaps
fresh developments may arise within that span of time—who knows?
"One thing I implore of you, and I know I do not ask in vain. Do not
stir up strife in our planet, as other kings have done before you. Your
chance of success is almost hopeless, as no doubt you already
realise, knowing the intensity of the suspicion wherewith every
movement on your part is regarded and provided for. Because you
are destined to die, die alone, and forbear to drag a number of
innocent persons along with you to your doom. You have performed
your manifest duty for the past seven years with a steadfast
beneficence that is worthy of your alleged father, the Sun; and
remember, it is the fulfilment of duty alone that counts in the future
life of the Hereafter, whose prospective blessings will eventually be
yours."
I cannot describe the tender and earnest manner of the dying man's
discourse, terrible though its disclosures were to myself. Even the
final piece of advice, platitude of every creed and clime though it
was, seemed to come as a help and a spur to me at this critical
juncture. After all, what is a platitude but the untimely expression of
some great basic truth? And here, from the venerable hierophant,
who from a strict sense of duty had left his sick-bed to come hither
and instruct me, the words seemed to possess a peculiar meaning
and value; his simple appeal to my own sense of rectitude had all the
force of a profound thought extracted from a world of thinking. I could
only press the hot, dry, bony hand, as I shrouded my head in the
folds of my royal mantle in a vain endeavour to subdue a fresh bout
of weeping.
"And now," continued my companion, making an effort to rise, "I
must depart with my blessing upon you. Long may you be spared to
rule in Meleager; and if not so, then we shall meet in due sequence
within that narthex of silence and shadows which forms the vestibule
to the temple of the Hereafter."
Once more he embraced me long and lovingly, after which he bade
me strike the bell reposing on the table. At his request too I passed
to the farthest end of the balcony, so as to keep my face averted
from the little group of attendants who now assisted the dying man to
his litter. I could hear the shuffling of feet and whispering of voices
involved in the task of transporting my old friend, whilst with
swimming eyes I gazed blankly at the white cheerful city, the cool
greenery of the palace gardens and the flashing liquid mirror of the
haven of Tamarida. Nor did I budge from my stiff, comfortless pose
till at length I felt a light touch on the shoulder, the respectful touch of
a privileged dependent. On turning my eyes, still red and swollen
with my lately shed tears, they met the honest, inquiring face of
Hiridia, who was regarding me reproachfully, as though rebuking me
in silence for such an unseemly lack of control. I made the necessary
attempt in the form of a wan smile and a request for a cup of wine;
for a true public ruler must exhibit no private sorrow. Was it not the
magnificent Giovanni dei Medici, Pope Leo the Tenth, who was
reprimanded by his punctilious chamberlain for falling to tears openly
on the news of the death of his favourite brother, "seeing that the
Roman pontiff was a demi-god and not a man, and must therefore
display a serene and smiling countenance on all occasions to the
people"? It was in this spirit then that I accepted Hiridia's tacit
reproof; sometimes the will of man imposes itself on the weakness of
the gods.
II
Three days later I was informed of the passing of Anzoni, Arch-
priest of Meleager, and of the election of Marzona as his successor.
For the former part of this intelligence I was, of course, fully
prepared, but the latter intimation aroused my worst apprehensions
and depressed my spirits to their lowest depth. For I understood only
too well the hard, intractable, suspicious nature of the councillor who
had just been chosen—by what means or on what system I knew not
—to fill the vacant office of my dear old friend. All I could do was to
conceal with equal adroitness both my sorrow for the first calamity
and my anxiety over the second, and to pursue my normal course of
life with all the composure at my disposal. Nevertheless, my first
formal interview with the new potentate only served to strengthen
every foreboding on my part. Marzona always treated me, I admit,
with a courteous demeanour whether in public or private; but I was
only too conscious on every occasion of our meeting that I was in the
presence of a crafty, unrelenting foe, whom it would be useless to
attempt to placate. As for Marzona's prior career, I had gathered
some time ago that he was by birth a plebeian "intellectual," who had
risen by his talents (in the manner already described by me in my
former letter) to the order of the nobility, and from the ranks of the
nobles had contrived to pass through the school of the neophytes
and the college of the probationers, and thence into the coveted
oligarchy beyond. For private reasons he had always aimed at the
office of Arch-priest, sedulously declining, with this particular
objective in view, to undertake the voyage to the Earth, with the
result that now at last he had attained to that eminence on which for
years he had concentrated his hopes, his desires and all his
immense capacity of intrigue. In appearance Marzona was not
unprepossessing, and his face, which showed of a somewhat lighter
tint than is usual in Meleager, would have been accounted
handsome, were it not for the dull hazel eyes, which, however,
constantly emitted from their recesses a ruddy gleam, reminding me
of the hidden tongue of flame that lurks in the so-called black opals
of Queensland. To a nature so sensitive as mine, the very approach
of this personage caused an involuntary tremor of repulsion, and in
my heart I always quailed when those expressionless, opalescent
orbs were directed at me.
In estimating our misfortunes and brooding over them, we are
unwittingly given to exaggerate, so forcibly works within us the
irrepressible spirit of egoism. We oftentimes hold ourselves to be the
absolute sport of some malign fury, whereas, did we but know it, we
have in reality but commenced to drink of that bitter cup which we
imagine we have almost drained to the dregs. So it was in my own
case of despondency. I could not figure to myself a worse disaster
than what had just befallen me in the double blow caused by my old
protector's death and the election of his odious supplanter; and
accordingly I set to lament my grievances as though they were
incapable of further extension. My mental blindness on this point was
however swiftly and suddenly illumined by means of a recurring
stroke of evil that was dealt me within three weeks of the election of
the new Arch-priest. On awaking one morning I missed Hiridia's
customary entrance into my chamber, an omission of duty that had
never occurred previously except with my consent and knowledge.
The day passed slowly without any sign of my chamberlain, so that I
grew angered, puzzled and finally alarmed. Still, some inner
shrinking urged me to restrain my natural annoyance and curiosity
as to this mysterious lapse, and it was not till nightfall that I
summoned Zulàr, my senior equerry, and questioned him with such
nonchalance as I could assume concerning the cause of Hiridia's
abstention. Zulàr, who seemed terribly nervous, at first sought to
evade my inquiries; but on my growing stern and insistent, he
admitted to me what I realised at once to be the truth, or at least a
portion of the truth; Hiridia had entered the school of neophytes the
preceding night, having lately developed a vocation for the hierarchy,
for which his age now rendered him eligible. So far, this was strictly
accurate, for I knew that the graceful stripling of some seven years
ago had quite recently attained the prescribed age, being indeed a
youth no longer; also I was convinced he really was interned within
the walls of the seminary. On the other hand, it was inconceivable
that Hiridia should have deserted his master in so abrupt and so
insolent a fashion, even supposing he had honestly wished to
graduate for the hierarchy, of which intention on his part I had never
observed the least indication. His loyalty and devotion to myself and
my interests were beyond question, and I had the anguish to realise
that my poor favourite had been treacherously kidnapped and was
now a veritable prisoner within the walls of that hierarchical castle.
Fortunately indignation rather than grief was the predominating
emotion of the moment, so that I at once dispatched the affrighted
Zulàr to bear a message from me to the Arch-priest, bidding him
attend with all speed at the palace. For hours I waited in wakeful fury
the arrival of Marzona, who on some pretext contrived to delay his
coming until the following morning was well advanced. Perhaps this
slighting of my command was not wholly without benefit to myself,
for by the time of his belated appearance my mood had grown
calmer and I was disposed to regard the situation with some degree
of diplomatic restraint. Without, therefore, directly assuming his
influence in the matter, I bade Marzona explain to me this sudden
resolve on Hiridia's part, whereby I had been unexpectedly deprived
of an official whose services I valued so highly. I also laid stress on
the erratic and disrespectful manner of his withdrawal from my Court.
Coldly and steadily those dull, jade-coloured eyes scanned my face,
as I expatiated on my wrongs, so that I could easily gather there was
no help forthcoming from this quarter whence doubtless had
emanated this cunning stroke of malevolence. When I had made an
end, the Arch-priest began in suave tones of pseudo-sympathy to
express his regret for my loss, whose extent he did not seek to
minimise. At the same time, so he explained to me, the laws of
Meleager with regard to postulants for the hierarchy were
fundamental in their scope, and consequently utterly beyond the
control or interference of the Arch-priest. Hiridia had exceeded his
thirtieth year, and was therefore free to choose and inaugurate such
a career at any moment; at the same time he agreed with me in
thinking that Hiridia's conduct in so quitting my service snowed a
lamentable lack of gratitude and consideration to a most indulgent
patron. And he again offered me his condolences for my loss and
resulting inconvenience.
No Medicean Secretary of State could have exhibited greater
reserve and finesse in argument and deportment than did the new
Arch-priest of Meleager in this interview with myself. Had it not all
been so tragical and alarming, I could almost have been won to
admiration of the easy duplicity of Marzona, who parried my
questions and pretended to soothe my complaints of ill-treatment,
the while wholly indifferent to the patent fact that I was clearly
reading his black hostile heart. The moral prototype of this man must
have flourished centuries ago at the venal courts of Rome and
Ferrara; had the state craft of the petty Italian despots of the
Renaissance been transplanted into the fertile soil of Meleagrian
hearts, here in the twentieth century of our Herthian Christian era?
Disgusted and wearied at last from this verbal fencing with an
invulnerable antagonist, I nodded my head in token that the interview
was at an end and the incident closed, my sole ray of consolation
being that Marzona did not perhaps truly appraise the full extent of
the injury he had dealt me by his recent seizure of Hiridia's person.
Possibly he may have relied on my being goaded thereby into
indiscreet abuse, and if such were his main object, in this design he
had at least been foiled. Verily, this reflection was a sorry crumb of
compensation for the blighting loss I had sustained; still, it offered
some moral support in itself to think that I had successfully curbed
my natural fury. At the same time I did not wholly veil my attitude of
intense displeasure, for I argued it might possibly excite fresh
suspicion in another guise were I to bear my late discomfiture too
lightly in outward appearance. With my heart therefore secretly
wrung and tortured and with my brain afire from impotent indignation,
I sought to swallow my late indignities with as good a grace as I
could muster.
If man is incapable of estimating the full degree of a visitation of evil,
so also is he equally at fault in appreciating his present advantages,
until he be suddenly deprived of them. So it fell in this matter of
Hiridia's removal, whose unhappy consequences to myself only
emerged gradually after the event. Until a few weeks ago I could
never have believed that Hiridia's companionship had been of such
vital help to me or had so sweetened my royal existence. I had been
accustomed to regard my erstwhile tutor rather as a favoured page
whom it amused me to confide in, to mystify, to scold, or to twit as
might suit my passing whim. That I should have deeply regretted his
departure I was quite ready to admit; but I never anticipated the
serious nature of my loss till that loss was effected. A veritable
portion of myself seemed to have been lopped away by this devilish
scheme; whilst the haunting thought that the poor boy—for I made
scant allowance for his thirty years now fulfilled—was almost
certainly sobbing out his faithful and affectionate heart in a hateful
prison, only served to fan the flame of my torment. Yet I was helpless
and powerless, and could only await the approach of the solstice,
when the expected bath in the Fountain of Rejuvenation might
possibly brace my brain for some successful plan of action.
III
Happily this ceremony was not many weeks distant, and its
approach afforded me some objective, however uncertain and
inadequate, for fixing my hopes in the future. The lassitude too that
usually preceded this half-yearly reinvigorating process had
appeared rather earlier than its wont, so that the physical weariness
and languor were already rendering my brain less active and thereby
indirectly supplying me with some measure of relief from my tense
anxiety. I continued to perform my daily duties in the judgment halls
of the city, but otherwise I ceased to leave the palace during this time
of ineffable loneliness and humiliation. To fill Hiridia's vacant place of
chamberlain I nominated Zulàr, and likewise selected another
equerry. With my daily routine thus proceeding outwardly much as
usual, I relied on my being left in peace throughout the intervening
weeks before the coming of the solstice. But herein I was grievously
mistaken in supposing that the machinations of my enemies had
been even temporarily suspended, as the following incident can
testify.
I was in the habit, especially during the hot weather, of sitting in the
palace gardens to meditate. Now, in my case, this daily custom of
meditation supplied the place of reading, and with constant practice
it was interesting to find how excellent a substitute for books it
became in course of time. For I had gradually grown to appreciate
the luxury of solitary thought to such an extent that I should have
lamented the cessation of these opportunities as many an earth-born
mortal would regard his deprivation of all printed matter. "He is never
alone who is accompanied by noble thoughts," and inasmuch as I
felt myself in the cue for tragedy, poetry, comedy or pure fantasy, so I
had grown an adept in attaching my prevailing humour to the trend of
my musings. Thus I passed long hours of solitary communing in a
world of my own peopled with my intimate aspirations, ideals,
conceits and fancies. My favourite spot for the practice of these
cerebral gymnastics, if I may so describe them, was a certain shady
corner of the palace gardens which terminated in a semicircular
marble bench backed by a close-clipped hedge of bay and daphne.
The path leading hither was likewise lined with thick walls of
aromatic verdure, so that the air was often odorous with the clinging
scent of aleagnis and allspice. Overhead the branches of taller trees
had been artfully pleached, whilst the young leaves of the topmost
boughs in opposition to the fierce beams of the invading sunlight
caused a soft golden haze to brood in the sylvan vaulting of this
green alley. As I lay on my marble couch I used to note the
penetrating shafts of sunshine discover the knots of golden wire that
bound together these over-arching limbs, exposing the artificial origin
of the bower and reminding me of Leonardo da Vinci's Arbour of
Love with its gilded true-lovers' knots that still flourishes in one of the
vaulted chambers of the Sforzas' gloomy citadel in Milan. True, I
used to miss in my leafy Meleagrian lair the mocking fauns and
nymphs of Boboli and Borghese, who seemed set on their stone
pedestals to watch with sly glances as to whether Christian mortals
would behave with more decorum than themselves in those delicious
and provocative groves, where in primitive days they were
"Wont to clasp their loves at noontide,
Close as lovers clasp at night,"
with none to call aloud Halt! or Fie! To make amends for the absence
of these simulacra of the jolly pagan life of Herthus, there was a
fountain hidden somewhere behind the bosky screens, which
allowed its water to flow in a series of cadences and pauses and
arpeggios, so that it sung a lullaby that was by no means
monotonous to the surrounding thickets and to any stray inhabitant
thereof.
Here I used to expend many an hour in perfect solitude, seeking
repose and release from the canker of anxiety, trying more or less
effectually to emulate the advice of the poet and to annihilate my
entity to a green thought in a green shade.
It was on a hot afternoon that after the midday meal I sought as
usual my cherished retreat, wherein I seated myself according to my
custom, appreciating at once the melody of the unseen fountain, the
droning of the bees in the scented bloom without and the amber
radiance caught in the interwoven branches overhead. Lying thus, I
sought to hit on some apposite theme whereon to concentrate my
powers of meditation. But the jaded brain and the perturbed mind to-
day refused to permit me any relief from the engrossing melancholy
of my present situation. Thus I sat limp and despairing on my bench,
utterly oblivious of the passage of time and only dimly conscious of
the amenities of art and nature wherewith I was surrounded. From
this drowsy mood of reflection I was suddenly recalled by a rustling
sound close beside me. With ears alert I heard the sound increase,
and a moment later descried the thick wall of box and laurel tremble
and then divide so as to allow the figure of a young female to
emerge from its depths. In sheer amazement I continued to stare,
grasping every detail of the intruder's face and dress, as she
gracefully extricated her form out of the detaining undergrowth. She
was taller and slighter in build than the average type of her sex in
Meleager; her skin was considerably fairer and of an elegant pallor;
her hair had glints of gold and chestnut to relieve its blackness; her
eyes were like beryls. Clad in her green robe and coif she certainly
appeared a natural incarnation, a veritable hamadryad, amidst these
secluded groves which had just produced her. Instinctively I realised
she was no true native of Meleager; her figure, her eyes, her skin,
her gestures were not those of my subjects; on the contrary, there
was a subtle but pervading suggestion that this interloper was of the
Earth. Was she then the daughter, or possibly the descendant, of
some predecessor of mine in this perilous throne who had risked his
crown in an amorous adventure? Who was she? Whence was she?
Why was she here? Such questions naturally chased one another
across my perplexed brain, but the third of them at least the new-
comer was evidently only too anxious to explain. I myself was the
goal and aim of her present vagary, for still crouching low she
writhed towards my feet, which she proceeded to clasp, whilst with
tears in her beautiful eyes and breakings of her rich tender voice she
began to implore my protection.
Beset thus unawares, I could do no less than listen to the rambling
tale of woe and injustice her parted rosy lips delivered; how she had
managed to escape from the hateful tutelage of the priestesses of
the Sun; how she knew she could rely on my assistance; and how
many sanctuaries of easy concealment existed in the purlieus of the
palace. All the while this torrent of entreaty, flattery and self-
commiseration was being poured forth in an unbroken stream, my
suppliant contrived to edge nearer and nearer to myself, half-rising
from her knees and lifting her shapely white arms to the level of my
shoulders. There was an influence, an aroma about her that vaguely
suggested the women of my own planet. I realised the existence of
some indefinable link between my own nature and hers, something
of the Earth earthy, and therefore inestimably precious here in
Meleager. A warm current of human sympathy and magnetic
attraction seemed to be circulating around me. One moment, one
second more, and I felt we should be locked together in one
another's arms, we two hapless dwellers on Meleager belonging of
right to another world and meeting in an alien planet. One second
more, and we two waifs of different sexes would have been caught in
an embrace of commingled sorrow and devotion, caring naught for
the dangers ahead and happy only in our new-found union of
congenial souls. The bewitching face, with eyes that sparkled
through the film of tears and with radiant youth lurking in their wells
of light, was almost touching my own, when there flashed before me
a vision rather than a thought of my impending danger. I glimpsed a
sensation of orbs vigilant and sinister, multitudinous as the eyes in
the peacock's tail, usurping the places of the leaves around me; the
playing water's chant turned into a sudden note of terrified warning
and entreaty; the golden haze above grew lurid. With supreme
energy I knit my remaining strength together, as I battled with the
temptation to surrender. My bodily powers rose in obedience to my
guiding brain, and extricating myself none too gently from the
already twining arms of the maiden, I caught her with my right palm a
resounding box on the ear which echoed through that sylvan silence.
At the same moment I shouted aloud, and leaped to my feet. It was
as if scales had fallen from my mental eyes, for I could sense, even if
I could not actually see the enclosing hedges filled with spies, some
of whom were hurrying stealthily hence, whilst others were preparing
to enter the alley in as natural a manner as they could assume.
These latter came forward sheepishly and stood before me, as I
pointed to the grovelling form of the girl who was now weeping
violently at my feet. Whose duty was it, I asked, to prevent strange
women from invading these gardens and disturbing the noontide
repose of the Child of the Sun? As to my late reception of the
charmer, even assuming that every motion of mine had been
carefully observed by this battalion of eavesdroppers, there could be
no question as to the final rebuff her advances had encountered. Her
shriek of dismay and the scarlet flush on her pale cheek were at
least sufficient witnesses of the fact that I had not fallen into the trap
that had been so elaborately prepared for my ensnaring. Without
proof positive I had good reason to imagine that many of the persons
concealed in the bushes were not spies at all, but admirers and
supporters of my own, who had been specially invited hither to test
my fallibility. If such were the case, the Arch-priest and his satellites
must have received a distinct shock over this conspicuous
miscarriage of their scheme concocted for the express purpose of
alienating and disgusting those members of the council who upheld
my honour and integrity.
Quivering with an anger that I did not attempt to dissemble, I left the
open-mouthed group beside the girl who was still sobbing
hysterically on the ground. As for her, why should I waste a tittle of
compassion on her misfortune? Are not all creatures and tools of
cunning politicians always treated with contumely both by employers
and unmaskers when their ignoble missions fail? With indignant
mien therefore I strode from the gardens and retired to the palace,
where I gave the captain of the royal bodyguard a rating for his
alleged lack of vigilance. One result at any rate this plot secured for
me, and that was a complete freedom from further molestation
during the remainder of the period before the coming festival. A
further interview with Marzona however soon after this incident only
made me perceive yet more clearly the utter impossibility of my
arriving at any compact with an implacable and unscrupulous enemy,
who was merely biding his time to strike again and strike harder. It
was in vain that I essayed overtures; all my attempts at
understanding and conciliation were met with an icy condescension
that made my task obviously hopeless; and indeed from this time
forward the Arch-priest rarely gave me the opportunity of an
interview save in the presence of other colleagues.
IV
At length the expected date of my official rejuvenating process
arrived, to which I submitted with unusual docility. Despite the
murderous intentions of Marzona, I endured the subsequent plunge
into the fountain without trepidation, although I dared not face the
baleful eyes of the personage whose malignity was rendered
powerless for this occasion by the inevitable laws of Meleager. I
fancied I could detect an air of quiet reassurance to myself in the
bearing of the two inferior councillors; but in any case I swallowed
my apprehensions to the best of my ability and entered that
malodorous but invigorating fluid with a firm bearing. I duly obtained
my reward, for when I emerged all dripping from the seething pool, I
experienced a buoyancy of mind and body beyond that of any
previous occasion. Thus refreshed and refortified, I deemed myself
capable of taking the initiative, and so cheerful and confident did I
feel that I was almost tempted to snap my fingers in that saturnine
face as it grimly surveyed my drying and dressing. Before ever I
quitted the baptistery, several schemes of policy, and even of
escape, began to invade my brain, so that I longed to be alone with
my own thoughts; nor did many days elapse before I had
adumbrated a certain scheme of procedure.
This plan was, it is true, somewhat shadowy in its outline, but it was
founded on the assumption that any active effort on my part was
preferable to mere stagnation, to a passive courting of future
disaster. My idea too was of a dual nature, for it aimed both at self-
preservation and also at an unveiling of The Secret. For some time
past I had been speculating on the uses of Mount Crystal with its
temple of the Altar of the Sun, and from many items of information I
had acquired in devious or accidental ways, I had come to the
certain conclusion that on this rocky peak was to be sought the key
of the mystery. A presentiment, that was already become an article
of faith to me, told me that by penetrating hither even at a venture, I
should be pursuing the sole avenue leading to ultimate escape, to
regained liberty, to a safe return to Earth. In my fresh exuberance of
mentality I kept arguing to myself that as my translation to Meleager
had been successfully accomplished, so also there existed a
chance, however difficult, of my returning safe to my original
domicile. My immediate object therefore was to enter that distant
temple on the shoulder of the mountain, which I could descry from
my palace windows; the goal once attained, I must trust further to my
sharpened wits. The spirit of adventure flamed hot within me, so that
I found some difficulty in concealing my vigorous excitement under
an air of lazy indifference.
My first piece of preparation caused me to smile inwardly, but it at
least implied belief in a successful issue of my plan. It consisted in
extracting a number of gems from various ornaments which had
been bestowed on me for the decoration of my person, had I been
so minded. From these I cautiously removed a quantity of sapphires,
alexandrites and other precious stones, which I enclosed in a small
leather bag attached to a stout gold chain round my neck. Without
such a reserve of potential capital I scarcely relished the prospect of
my return in the form of a pauper to my native Earth, where that
ancient deity Mammon draws a conspicuous following in every cult,
and is likewise the leading, if not the sole, guide of the irreligious.
Without the possession of such a talisman, I knew I should be liable
to exposure to many ills and indignities; and I congratulated myself
on my forethought in this measure of precaution, and also on my
retentive memory concerning the universal conditions of the Earth at
the date of my removal.
Having completed this minor preliminary detail, I proceeded to
greater things. Now the sacred mountain stands at a considerable
distance from Tamarida, and in no case would it have been possible
for me (setting aside the existence of watchers and spies in the
palace itself) to make my way thither within the few hours of
darkness on which I was compelled to rely for the execution of my
plan. I therefore decided to pay a visit to a nobleman named Lotta,
who owned an estate that was bounded by the ravine separating the
area of Mount Crystal from the mainland. For the mountain itself is a
peninsula, washed on three sides by the sea, whilst the fourth side
consists of a long narrow arid gully which is crossed at one spot by a
viaduct. The precincts of Mount Crystal are, as I have already said,
the property of the hierarchy, and nobody is permitted to enter this
reserved domain save the councillors and their servants, who
approach by this solitary bridge. In vulgar esteem the thick forests
and rocky glens of the forbidden space are haunted by evil spirits, so
that I felt sure no Meleagrian of the people would venture to scale its
precipitous slopes, even by daylight; whilst no noble would naturally
intrude on this sacrosanct spot. From these deductions therefore I
concluded that the sole means of ingress, the viaduct, was not likely
to be guarded with any great strength or vigilance, seeing how little
fear of a trespasser there must be on the part of the custodians of
the place. Having reasoned so far, I had also formed the opinion
that, the bridge once safely traversed, there would be little to hinder
my speedy arrival at the temple itself, beyond which my present
calculations did not extend.
Not many days after the solstice therefore I set forth, accompanied
only by Zulàr, on my proposed visit to the country house of my
indicated host who received me with every sign of satisfaction and
respect. I had paid several visits here in the past, so that my present
resolution could not, and indeed did not, excite the smallest
suspicion on the part of my enemies, who were in no wise disturbed
by my departure from the palace. On the second evening of my visit I
was talking to young Bávil, my entertainer's son and heir, a special