The Drymeans make use, most especially, of solar energy. Perhaps the relative imperfection of their machines forces them to replace roads by water. Travel has developed in a fashion incredible in our world, broken up into peevish nations. Different languages are no obstacle with the employment of ideographic characters and the fluvial company constituted by Drymeans approaching the age of retreat. The latter travel the entire continent in order that their eyes might see the greater part of their world before they die.
On the other hand, the young girls exchange one realm for another with disconcerting facility. There is no law to guide the circulation of living beings on Drymea but their pleasure.
For days, the Dragonfly advanced through plains cultivated like gardens or low hills covered with trees. Everywhere, the edifice-villages stood up, various in height, form and color in different provinces. If the press and the telegraph do not exist on Drymea, drawings reproduced without limit spread all over the planet, and Hertha aw her image everywhere. Everywhere, too, she found a singular mix of private and public property. The wealth of each individual was supported by the enormous wealth of all. That had accumulated for centuries, untroubled by wars and revolutions. The tendency of Drymeans to form groups must have commenced, originally, by virtue of the necessity of assisting mothers and children. Everyone, at some time in her life, would have need of everyone else—but in their living flesh, not according to dead books.
Above all, though, the effect of that sixth, psychic or collective, sense ensures that a Drymean enjoys another’s joy, and feels a part of her pain. No one can ever isolate herself is solitary dolor; invisible ties link her to the souls that surround her. If, among us, the unit of society is the individual, on Drymea, it is the group; a more powerful life superimposes itself on the life of each individual, enough to raise her up, but not enough to oppress her. We might have a feeble image of that faculty in our times of crisis, momentarily. The profound instinct of Drymeans brings them to combine forces against any difficulty or pain suffered by one of them; they arrive effortlessly at loving one another, for everyone among them also suffers. The Queen senses the invisible bonds, and she could not resist the distress of her people, if it wished to overwhelm her with its power. Drymea of dreams!
In the edifices, elect sages mingle with the most highly-paced delegates; above them is the law of the realm, a heterodox mixture, by our lights, which nevertheless seems successful. The force of a unilateral heredity supplements education in the modeling of souls. So called precious metals were soon vulgarized by fortunate discoveries. The only money is valued as much for the beauty of its engraving as for its conventional value; it circulates, signed with the supreme seal of the Council of Queens, throughout Drymea. No great fortunes, initial wealth, land and mines being attached at the outset to edifices or provinces. Industry is scattered, as mobile as water. Only the Queen and the Princess possess vast domains and great wealth by inheritance; in their responsible hands immediate help can be promptly given in the case of a sudden disaster.
Hertha imagined the life of an ordinary young woman prior to maternity. Surrounded by her group, uninvolved in necessary work, she would devote at will to a preferred art, graceful sports, faithful friendships, inter-group relationships and other ideals unknown on Earth, resulting in that faculty of being all for one and one for all. Her placid career was free of the moral struggles and passions of our Earth. The best are worth less if the general level is superior. In the spiritual hierarchy of worlds, Earth and Drymea have nothing in common. The latter seemed to owe its durance to the lassitude of the Goddess, while the Earth rotated in a whirlpool of blasphemy and prayer, hatred and lust, theft and baseness, without anyone being able to foresee who, in the end, would win out.
As for Hertha, she savored the vast serenity of Nirvanir. Her pride was flattered, artists having multiplied her image; everyone in the large realm was familiar with it. The sages asked her advice, and the virgins with soft gazes came to her trustingly. Without even desiring it, she ruled, the harder tempering of her soul imposing itself on those who had not struggled.
She loved the pleasure-edifices, all columns, flowers and transparency, which framed the life of the Drymeans in their hours of rest. Outside the capital, the enormous crowding of our cities does not exist. The largest towns do not exceed 20,000 inhabitants; they can be understood and organized by human brains. By contrast, our giant States and vast cities surpass the possibilities of the direction and comprehension of leaders. In consequence, the instincts and the unconscious govern masses of men with a frightful wastage of suffering, and sometimes of blood. Nirvanir exceeds the population of France, but actually constitutes more a federation of petty States, under the rule of a prudent Queen, rather than an empire.
The Goddess of Nirvanir is represented as a veiled woman, the only image permitted in the rites. Gracious legends surround her: the creation of the world and the first Drymean, the Goddess’s messengers bringing the first sciences. Around the Veiled Being stand certainties. The priestesses, visionary or inspired, from mother to daughter, know what we seek to know about death. “It opens a door to another world,” said Nyve, “And we don’t fear the Goddess, for she is better than us!” Hell and the fall do not exist in the theologies of Drymea. No one has ever killed, even an ignorant beast, except in self-defense.
One golden night, brief darkness appeared, before the silver dawn. The tranquil hours were about to begin. Half the year on Drymea is an endless day, the other is divided into periods of increasing and decreasing darkness. Oriah and Nynfa then reign in the skies. Hertha was able to raise her eyes toward the stars. Even the familiar constellations had disappeared. Nothing remained of the Earth.
The nights grew longer; she found herself at ease there—her companions less so, at first. The tranquil hours brought Drymean life to a standstill. The solar machines ceased to beat, all becoming immobile. The inhabitants waited for dawn on the terraces, in the moonlight. The temperature remained mild, travelers caught out paused without fear in open country.
During these nights, curious gazes, armed for the first time with knowledge, were raised toward the skies. Drymea’s companion planets were revealed as worlds. Satellites displayed their seas and mountains.
“What do you know,” Hertha asked, “about the profound heavens?”
Nyve smiled. “Very little, Nevea. Some think one thing, others something else. We can’t know.” The Princess added, with slight malice: “I understand that on your world, people study the stars, but little children die for want of care. You told me that. You did well to come here, my golden-haired friend!”
One morning, they came into a deserted lake, amid sterile plans. The inland sea advanced its lagoons. They had reached the borderlands of the realm, and in that bleak extent, a silent city slowly emerged.
“The city of dead Queens,” said Nyve. “When a Queen dies, she comes here, dressed as she preferred, as an eternal inhabitant, to occupy and edifice built for her during her life. In its funereal hall, she rests on a bed, surrounded by those who pleased her in this existence. No one goes in there by the Sovereign or her daughter.”
The edifices succeeded one another, differing in accordance with the times and the Queens. The most ancient presented massive forms with bare walls. In others, grace sought to soften power. Figures in relief recalled rites and legends unknown to Hertha.
In accordance with an ancient custom, the Queen comes to the city of the dead for one week every year. Her ship waits for her at the entrance. Alone with the Queens and before the Goddess, she comes into the City of Silence, and she thinks at her leisure of the day when neither crown not subjects can be of any use to her before the Justice of the other world—which demands a heavy count of a Queen, for she is Responsible.
Darkness descended on the city. The yacht, equipped with an auxiliary engine, continued on its way, and in the morning, Hertha woke up in the realm of Manharvar, confronted by the profoundly blue horizon of the inland sea.<
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“Drythea, the Queen of this realm, desires to see you,” said Nyve. “All Drymea knows of your pale beauty and your golden hair.”
There are pure and good individuals who are only able count as a benefit; to live with them and cherish them without reservation is only granted to a few of us. Nyve was that to Hertha; she erased in her the legacy of Cain; her soft eyes made her a better person, and she shivered at the thought of losing her princess’s esteem. The latter took pleasure in spending all her days in the company of the daughter of Earth. Curious, Nyve had no idea of the obstacles that might separate humans here, but Hertha learned to comprehend those strange souls, and loved them too much not to forgive them a little indiscretion.
The edifices of Nirvanir disappeared, replaced by domes sprung from aerial perspectives or light constructions open to the cool wind. Painted boats with high prows came toward the Dragonfly, laden with curiosity-seekers. Their clothes, bright beneath their hair, so dark that it seemed blue-tinted, and the eyes shining in their bronzed faces, were different from those of Nirvanir. They greeted her in an impenetrable language.
At golden mid-day, they reached the capital. Then a heavily-decorated boat with six rowers came to meet them. In the bow, on a seat decked with purple fabrics, stood Queen Drythea. Her red clothing made her dark beauty stand out. She seemed to be no more than 25 years old. Taller than Nyve, she was nevertheless surpassed in height by the daughter of Helgar.
She invited them into her boat. After a few obligatory remarks to the Princess, Drythea said: “Nevea, I have been told of your marvelous destiny and everything that you have bought to gentle Nirvanir. Queen Nacrysa will permit you to come back here. I was very desirous of seeing you.” Her words and voice resonated pleasantly, but her ardent eyes revealed the flame of her race. It is not in vain that a burning simmer reigns over Manharvar!
Drythea had them escorted to her Palace on the river; beds were ready to receive them, under arcades beside the transparent water facing the golden sun, attenuated by red veils.
I have lived long beneath vast porticoes/Which marine suns tinted with a thousand fires,37 Hertha thought. She translated the lines for her companions.
“Have you seen anything as beautiful as my Palace on your world?” asked Drythea, with pride in her dark eyes.
Venice rose up before Hertha; she described the famous city to the queen with the ardent eyes—but months on Drymea had taught her to soften all speech, so she added: “That city, of which your palace reminds me, is regarded as a rare marvel; people visit it from everywhere in the world. All those who love beautiful works would praise your dwelling.”
“I will show you the Water Palace, pale stranger, which my builders have just completed for my Nobles.”
The royal boat took them under a vast gateway, a hundred meters further on. The walls were 20 feet high, painted in the brilliant colors that the daughters of Manharvar loved. Above them loomed caryatids whose arms supported the floral roof. Fresh air circulated between their superb figures. A vast basin with marble quays rolled the limpid water into the palace, with the iridescent caprices of clear fountains. On the edges were the statues of heraldic beasts.
A population of bathers was swimming in the basin or circulating beneath the whiteness of the marble. Hertha rediscovered something of the Earth in their features. They would have been excessive in any context—art, work or pleasure—impassioned by their affections, but perhaps familiar with anger or scorn. They were, however, beautiful and graceful.
Hertha was able to praise the Water Palace sincerely. The young women at play showed themselves to be as clever in the waves than their counterparts on Earth. A few steered capricious boats, always unstable; many contented themselves with enjoying the coolness and rest and closing their eye. As soon as they entered, the queen had given brief instructions, doubtless ordering that nothing in the scene should change
Soon, she asked: “Are the daughters of our world as beautiful as my nobles? For I cannot believe that all of them, out there, are like you.”
To please her, Hertha evoked the women of Earth and their various beauties. The dark queen seemed alternately charmed and astonished. Her eyes never left Hertha, searching to see further than her words.
Nacrysa’s first priority is utility, but Drythea’s is beauty, Hertha thought. She replied: “In the countries of the North, from which my race came, the women resemble me: tall, pale, with blonde hair, and blue or clear eyes.” She astonished the Queen by talking about ice, snow and harsh winters. But she saw in her ardent eyes that Drythea believed her.
When Hertha fell silent, the Queen murmured something in her own language. Nyve understood and replied: “The route is too long to go there.”
“It was a long time ago that I left my Earth,” said Hertha. “I cannot even recognize the sun that was mine; everything has changed out there. I no longer know anything of my world.”
“You have doubtless seen many lands, many beauties,” said Drythea. “You eyes must have learned to judge on your strange world, inhabited by more varied races than ours: black, red, yellow, white…”
“O Queen,” said Hertha, “Most of all I have seen, as I gained experience, the suffering and misery of human beings. In order to be useful, I learned to care for others, to relieve pain, in the great service given to me by my sister, the Princess of Kartha, my realm. Much sadness reigns on the Earth. Now, in our country, everyone is always dressed when outside. Although the human form is regarded as the most beautiful of things and is reproduced a hundredfold by skillful artists, it is considered very shameful to be seen naked by strangers.”
“Why?” asked the Queen, surprised.
Hertha judged it wise to keep silent, once more, about the opposite sexes, the hunter and the prey. She justified her words by the existence of various different civilizations and savages. In any case, so many things struck the Queen. She interrogated her until nightfall in the palace to which they returned. Drawings were mingled with speech in order to depict the natural and artificial beauty of our Earth and its varied mores. Drythea seemed to take great pleasure in the conversation, never taking her eyes off the stranger.
When the stars appeared, a celebration began on the river. Luminous boats danced on the waters; invisible musicians played; the edifices became unreal and profound in the imprecise light; perfumes rose up in the shadows. Nyve and her friends went back to the yacht, but Drythea wanted to keep Hertha on her boat. Stretched out, they went downriver, perfumed lamps burning overhead. The rowers took them to the middle of the river. Manharvar alternately emerged from and faded away into the darkness, colored flames rising up beneath the stars. The light revealed a statue supporting an arcade, and the moment was very sweet.
Suddenly, the Queen turned abruptly to Hertha and said: “Nevea, listen to me. I am Queen of Manharvar. I have everything in my hand, from the Inland Sea to the mountains of Noral. You have seen my beautiful Realm. Stay with me, pale stranger! You will be the most highly-placed, after my dignity. I will give you ten cities! I will surround you with the most beautiful of my subjects, and I will have a palace like mine built for you. Do you accept?”
Softly, Hertha replied: “It was scarcely a few hours ago, Queen, that you saw me for the first time. Am I worthy of your generosity? You do not know me.”
“It is plain to see,” replied the Queen with the ardent eyes, “That you were born in a world of ice. Do you think that I need a thousand years to love you? You do not know that here, in Manharvar, our hearts are as hot as our suns. You know how we feel the pain and joy of others, and I can divine something in you. I have had your companions questioned by the cleverest of my women and you would not say that they do not know you. Do you think that I am blind? I have been able to read the heart of your princess, for she is of my race. Paradise, for Nyve, resides in your eyes. Would Nacrysa, the prudent Queen, have allowed you to become the mistress of her soul if you were not worthy of it?”
After a pause, Drythea continu
ed: “I sense that your words are steel. The women of my realm are sometimes fickle and inconsistent, their winged words coming and going. But you! Fortunate is she who can put her head on your shoulder and rest in your golden hair, for your heart knows neither deception nor weakness. But listen! I will unite myself with you by the Cup, the Mantle and the Terrible Oath, before our shining Goddess. All Drymea trembles to break that irrevocable indissoluble bond. You can entrust yourself to me, Hertha!”
“Thank you for your judgment,” Hertha said, “but since I awoke on Drymea, I have lived on the generosity of Nacrysa, and Nyve with the soft eyes has shared everything with me. Should I abandon her? You’ve said that she loves me.”
“You speak well,” said Drythea, animatedly. “You are as wise as you are beautiful. But will you compare the royal virgin, the pale silver sun, with me, a queen? Nacrysa’s generosity will be rendered to you a hundredfold. In any realm on Drymea, a stranger would have been cared for and fed. What more has Nacrysa done? Think, then, that I am a queen and not a child. I can leave you my beautiful Manharvar! If ever a daughter is born to me, you will reign for years in her name. I will make your life more beautiful than your greatest desires. Stay!”
“I have saved Nyve’s life,” said Hertha. “I cannot stay. You say that my heart is faithful, my word firm. I have to return with Nyve to the Summer Land. How would you judge me in the depths of your heart if I abandoned someone who had confidence in me?”
Suddenly, the Queen exclaimed: “Nevea! I’m afraid! Don’t you see…?”
Within a second, the tall Hertha had put a strong arm around the Queen. Her other hand fell to her girdle, and, pointing her weapon at the perfidious waters, she said: “Don’t be afraid. With this weapon, of which I made use in Nirvanir, I can kill the Terror of the Sea at a hundred paces, if that is what you’ve seen!”
The World Above The World Page 29
