CHAPTER XXXI. WINE-DRINKING IN MARS. CHAPTER XXXI. WINE-DRINKING IN MARS. I went downstairs the next morning before the doctor was ready, and when I met Thorwald I said, without thought: “A fine morning.” “Yes,” he replied, “all our mornings are fine. I do not mean that the sun is always shining or that we do not have clouds and a variety of sky effects, but we know the clouds can be depended on not to give rain till night.” “Do you not lose something by having a perpetual calm?” I asked. “For I understand the rain in the night comes only in gentle showers. In our rough world some of us enjoy the grandeur of the storm.” “How about those who are exposed to its fury?” asked Thorwald in reply. “I do not see how anyone can really enjoy what is sure to be bringing sorrow or even inconvenience to others. Could a mother take pleasure in a tempest if she knew her son was in danger of shipwreck from it? Why should it change her feeling to know her son was by her side and that it was only strangers that were in danger?” “But,” continued Thorwald, “are you and your friend ready for an excursion to-day? If you are, I propose to give you a new experience.” “We shall be delighted to accompany you, and as I see breakfast is ready I will go up and tell the doctor to hurry.” “Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” exclaimed Thorwald. “You must try to learn to live as we do, and you will remember I said the other day that we are never in haste. If, for example, it were Zenith who was late, I should never think of calling to her to hurry, for I should know she must have a good excuse for staying. Her liberty of action is as valuable to her as mine to me, and however long she might keep me waiting, I should feel sure that her action was the result of right motives and correct reasoning. If the doctor does not appear, we can easily postpone our excursion to to-morrow. There would be no lack of occupation for to-day.” “What a delightful feeling it must be,” I said, “to be always free from hurry. It is the commonest experience in our imperfect state for one to start a few minutes late in the morning, and then be on a constant jump all day to make them up. One of the evils of our driving age is the wear and tear of our nerves in what we consider a necessary haste to get there.” “Get where?” asked Thorwald. “To get anywhere or to do anything that we set out to accomplish,” I answered. “I fear,” said Thorwald, “that I have talked too much about Mars and not insisted enough on hearing about the earth. Suppose something should happen to break off your visit?” “You wouldn’t miss much, Thorwald.” “We certainly should regret exceedingly not learning many things that you could tell us,” he said. “Yes,” I answered, “but you cannot profit by our experiences, while we of the earth are in a condition where we need all the help and advice you have for us. If we ever return to our home we want to tell all about your advanced civilization and how you have overcome the evils that vex our race. But I wonder why the doctor doesn’t come. I think I will go and see, but I promise not to interfere with his liberty of action.” I soon returned with my friend, and we all went to breakfast. The doctor said he would not eat much, as he felt somewhat indisposed. Here was something new in the life of this household, and each one began to express sympathy and ask what could be done. The doctor was amused, and I said I thought a good, hearty breakfast would make him all right. But Thorwald insisted that something unusual should be done, although his inexperience was so great that nothing feasible suggested itself at first. Zenith was in favor of all repairing to the library, hunting up the histories of the days when people were ill, and finding out the proper remedy for his ailment. This would have been a logical proceeding, but I thought to myself that they did not understand the value of time in such cases and that the doctor would probably either recover or die while they were at work. As I did not appear to be any more alarmed than my companion was, the excitement soon subsided. But Thorwald was not satisfied yet, and after some further thought his face brightened and he asked me if a glass of good wine would not be the thing for the doctor. When I replied that it would probably not hurt him, Thorwald told his son to go and bring up a bottle of the oldest wine in the cellar, and soon not only the patient but the members of the family and myself were all partaking. No more was heard after this of the doctor’s indisposition, and Thorwald no doubt felicitated himself that he had effected a cure. The situation was rather suggestive to me, and while we were drinking, and eating our breakfast, I could not refrain from saying: “If some of our friends on the earth could see us now, Thorwald, we would be discredited in all that we might say about your higher condition. It would do no good to expatiate on your ripe character and on your attainments in knowledge and virtue. I fear they would not believe much of it if they knew that you not only drank wine yourselves, but encouraged its use by giving it to your guests.” “Why,” said Thorwald, “you could tell them the wine was brought out to be used as a medicine, and that the rest of us drank to keep the doctor company. But when you see your friends you had better tell them the truth at once, that while we all take wine here frequently this is the only instance where I have ever known it to be used medicinally.” “They would tell us,” said the doctor, “that you have made one mistake at least, and that it is a dangerous thing to have wine in the house, and especially to give it to children.” “He would have a very gross and imperfect conception of our character,” said Thorwald, “who should have the thoughts which you express. I can judge something of the nature of the feeling which you say exists on the earth, however, for only a few days ago I was reading a full account of the different temperance movements on our planet. Few subjects in our history are more interesting. Do not despise the temperance reformers, and if you think they are sometimes too radical you can afford to excuse that for the sake of the absolute good they accomplish. All through the early part of our career there was a perpetual warfare against the drinking habit. At first wine was an ordinary article of food, and in some countries more commonly used for drinking than water. There was much abuse of it, but in general people used it as a matter of course, without thinking they were any more responsible for the drunkards than they were for the intemperate in eating. But the evil of overdrinking increased, and some religious reformers found that the easiest way to check it was to forbid all use of intoxicants. Here is an extreme example that I have read of what one such reformer taught: ‘If a single drop of alcoholic liquor should fall into a well one hundred and fifty feet deep, and if the well should afterwards be filled up and grass grow over it, and a sheep should eat of the grass, then my followers must not partake of that mutton.’ Could any of your prohibitionists be more radical than that? “In later times many kinds of strong and poisonous drinks were made, and untold harm was done by their use. Drunkenness was the most fruitful source of crime and misery; it, more than any other cause, filled the jails, the almshouses and the insane asylums; it kept men in poverty and squalor; it scattered families and changed men, and sometimes women, too, into beasts. No class or profession was free from the evil, for it disqualified the scholar and statesman for their duties just as it unfitted the laborer for his daily task. It helped to debauch politics and public morals, while it brought disgrace and ruin to private reputation and character. More money was lost by it than was spent to educate and Christianize the world, and it cost more precious lives than war and pestilence combined. Being a crime utterly selfish and debasing, as well as extremely tenacious of its hold upon the individual life, it was almost the greatest enemy to the spread of the gospel. “Was there anything in the way of good to be said of the drinking habit to offset all this harm? Men drank to be sociable and companionable and to please their friends, and when the habit was fastened on them found they had lost every friend of value. They took to their cups to drown their sorrow, and found a sorrow more poignant among the dregs. They began the moderate use of stimulants to give strength to the body or activity to the brain, and discovered when too late that their abuse had brought down in common ruin both body and mind. No, it is impossible that anyone should ever attempt to make an argument in favor of drunkenness. “The more active the age the more prevalent was this evil, but the greater, also, was the determination to overthrow it. When the conscience was quickened by the growth of Christianity and men’s lives became more valued, many persistent efforts were made to stamp out the crime of intoxication. “Numerous societies were organized and good men and women entered heartily into the work. Every argument was used to show the danger of the drink habit and to teach the beauty and value of sobriety, appeal being made both to the reason and the conscience. The power of the state was invoked and punishment administered to the drunkards, while the manufacture and sale of intoxicants were restricted and sometimes prohibited. We see how firm a hold this evil had on all classes when we read that very often public sentiment would not permit these beneficent laws to be enforced. In all great reforms the apathy of a large part of the people has been a most discouraging feature. “Of course it was never intrinsically wrong to drink a glass of wine, but in view of the enormous amount of sorrow and trouble caused by overdrinking, can it be wondered at that many earnest souls came to abhor everything in the nature of intoxicating drink, and to practice and insist on total abstinence? Oh, I can tell you if I lived on the earth now I should be a radical of the radicals on this subject.” “Notwithstanding which,” said I, “here you are sitting at your own table and pouring into our glasses this delicious wine.” As a smile passed around at this remark it was Zenith who said: “Do you see anything incongruous in that?” I paused a moment to choose a reply, when the doctor spoke up with: “Far be it from us, Zenith, with our earth-born ideas, to even seem to pass judgment in this happy place, but I presume my companion was trying to imagine what our temperance friends, who do not know you, would say.” “As for us,” said Thorwald, “I trust we shall be justified in your eyes at least, before we are through, but let us inquire about those whom you call your temperance friends. I suppose they would have a poor opinion of a man who was loud in his public advocacy of temperance and yet drank wine at home.” “I think,” I replied, “that I have heard some such term as ‘hypocrite’ applied to men of that class.” “And yet,” continued Thorwald, “they would think it perfectly proper for a man to keep razors away from his children, but at the same time have one or more concealed about the house somewhere for his own use. It might very easily be argued that razors were dangerous things under any conditions; the children might find them by accident and do great harm to themselves or others; the man himself, though accustomed to their moderate use, might, in a moment of overconfidence, go too far and inflict a serious injury on himself or even a fatal one; and, further, it might be said that razors are of no real use to men, for nature knows best what is needed for protection, and if hair on the face was not necessary for the well-being of man it would not grow there. This argument could be pushed until, under an awakened public sentiment, the manufacture and sale of razors might be prohibited. “I have said this to introduce a plea for tolerance of opinion. You were created, I have no doubt, as we were, with different temperaments and inclinations, which, with various kinds of education, produce different opinions. You cannot all have the same mind on any given subject, nor all approve of the same methods of reform, but you will make but little progress in true temperance until you can bury minor differences and all work together. You must learn that everything that has been made, whether produced by the direct hand of God or through the agency of man, has its proper use. Do you say that some people would express the wish that everything intoxicating could be destroyed from the earth, as having no proper use? All the evil in it will surely be removed, but the good will remain. At present it is one of the stubborn obstructions in your thorny path. If your way were to be suddenly made smooth and easy your race would never learn self-denial, the only road that leads to a higher state. Your present imperfect life is a daily conflict, and it is only by battles won and temptations overcome that you will ever be built up into virtuous and God-like characters. “I said you must be tolerant. I can conceive that a man might feel perfectly safe in the use of wine and have no scruples of any kind against it, and yet be sincere in urging people in general to totally abstain from it on account of the harm some might receive. This man must not be denied a place in the temperance ranks. Another might think it a sin to touch a drop. One might believe the only right way to deal with the subject would be to prohibit the sale entirely, another would think more might be done by some other method of restriction. All that I have read of our experiences goes to prove that the people of the earth will never drive out this evil till all shades of temperance people get Christianity enough into their hearts to unite on a broad platform and work as one army with a single purpose.” “Will you not tell us,” I asked, “how the reform was finally effected on Mars?” “Like all other true reforms,” replied Thorwald, “it came about through the sanctified commonsense of the church of God, not suddenly by any means, but gradually and only after many years of severe struggle. A combined effort of all good people, especially women, working with spiritual as well as moral weapons, produced an impression which was lasting. When men were taught from their childhood the dangers which accompany the drinking habit; when one class of people denied themselves all indulgence for the sake of the class who were weak; when drinking became a disgrace, and those who could not keep sober were taken in charge by the state and permanently separated from the rest of the community; when the church awoke to its full duty and the rich poured out their money; when men and women forgot fashion and pride and caste in their love for the practical work of Christianity; when the power of the gospel had strengthened men’s will and had begun to plant in every heart a love for something purer than fleshly appetite; when the spiritual part of our nature began to gain the ascendency and to occupy the place for which it was made; then intemperance loosed its hold and soon disappeared, never to trouble us again. “You see it was a long road with us and I have no doubt it will prove so on the earth, but do not on that account lose courage. And let me counsel both of you to join the ranks of the reformers when you get home. “Although intemperate drinking has long been unknown among us, as well as all other gross imperfections of character, we still make good wine, and no more danger is felt in drinking it than in using milk. Everybody can have all he wants of it. Our tables may be supplied with the luxuries of every clime, but we have learned that it is best for us to be temperate in both eating and drinking. I am sorry your temperance friends, as you say, would not approve of us, but when you see them I trust you will do what you can to let them understand that such temptations as this of which we have been speaking belong to the childhood of a race, and that the people of Mars have long since passed out of infancy.” CHAPTER XXXII. A GENUINE ACCIDENT. Mona did not feel obliged to be present at our conversations after she had explained her position to us, but I saw her many times every day. I tried to respect her feeling and avoid the subject which still occupied so many of my thoughts. I fought against my passion, which I told myself was unmanly, since it was not returned in the good, old-fashioned way. What man of spirit would submit to the enchantment of one who, while professing she loved him with her whole heart, declared in the same breath that she also loved equally well half a dozen others? I tried to make up my mind to shake off the spell and be free. To this end I endeavored to examine my heart with the purpose of discovering if possible the secret of Mona’s power over me. I was sure I could not be weak enough to be held so firmly by her beauty alone, lovely as she was. Her mental equipment did not seem to furnish the ground for such a deep attachment, and I could not believe that I was good enough to be so powerfully drawn to her by the inimitable character of her spiritual nature. What, then, was the attraction? It was not far to seek. What was it that first moved me, before I had ever seen her? What accomplishment was it that always came to my mind first when I thought of her? In short, what would Mona, silent, be? I could hardly imagine. But then, she was not silent, and I knew well enough that, struggle as I night, I never could successfully resist the subtle charm of that voice. So, as I saw no escape for me, I next began to study how I could infuse into Mona’s love for me something more of the personal element. How could I teach her to love me just a little for myself alone? Evidently she had been educated in an atmosphere of the most uncompromising monotony. Where everybody loved everybody what chance could there be for lovers? I wondered what would move Mona. Some heroic action which should appeal to her sympathies would probably do it. She had been pleased with the part I had taken in discovering her retreat in the moon, and perhaps something else in that line would help me. But what was there one could possibly do in Mars which could be called heroic? I should have to ask Thorwald if he could think of anything I could do to arouse the imagination of Mona and bring her a little closer to me. Not long after I had been indulging in these conflicting thoughts I had a more promising opportunity than I had hoped for of showing Mona that I could do something besides make love to her. One morning she came to me and said she would like to go out for a long ride. As I never lost an opportunity of being alone with her I eagerly accepted this one and hurried off with her, lest any other member of the household should appear and propose to accompany us. Mona was as agreeable as ever, and chirruped away in her musical style as we walked down the hill in search of just the right carriage. We soon found one which pleased us, and as I was by this time perfectly at home in the management of these vehicles, we started off at a brisk pace along a road which took us through a charming section of the country. It made me happy to reflect that this pleasant ride was at Mona’s suggestion. Although she had peculiar views about my manner of wooing, she did not shun my company, and I could not refuse to believe she really loved me as she said. I turned on more power, and as our speed became exhilarating I said to my companion: “Mona, they will think we have eloped.” “Excuse me,” came out in sweet notes, “you will have to explain.” “Dear me, were your people so very proper that you don’t even know the meaning of that word? Didn’t they ever do anything wrong?” “Oh, is it wrong to elope?” “That depends entirely on the point of view. But I cannot explain further without bringing up the subject which you have forbidden me to speak about.” “What subject is that? I have forgotten that I have ever put you under such a prohibition.” “Why, the subject that is always nearest my heart and nearest my lips, the subject of my great love for you, dear Mona, so different from my regard for any other person.” “Oh, I remember now, but I assure you I had forgotten all about it.” And here her voice suddenly lost much of its tenderness and assumed a character which she rarely employed, as she continued, “But let us not discuss that topic again. I already know all you have to say on it, and why should we waste our time with such useless talk when there are so many more valuable things to occupy our attention?” “Forgive me,” I exclaimed. “If you will promise me not to sing in that tone again I will talk about anything you wish.” “I agree,” she responded, and never did her accents sound sweeter. Somehow I was not so much affected by Mona’s coldness this time as before, and I was able to recover my cheerfulness at once. I then determined to give her no occasion for another rebuff if I could help it, but to do all in my power to entertain her with what she called sensible conversation. There were many things connected with society on the earth in which she took a lively interest, and I made a great effort to talk myself into her favor, so that she would not say again that she preferred the doctor’s company to mine. We had been riding a couple of hours or more, generally at a swift pace, when, from a high point in the road, we saw we were approaching the shore of the sea or a large lake. Mona was so delighted with the view that I said: “If we can find any kind of a boat on the shore we will have a ride on the water.” “Can you manage a boat?” she asked. “Oh, yes, if it is not too large.” “But it may be some new kind, something you are not acquainted with.” “Then I shall have to study it out. But you are not afraid to go on the water with me, are you?” “If there is anything in this pleasant world to give me fear it is water in such mass as that,” she replied, stretching out her hand toward the sea. “But I thought you were afraid of nothing,” said I. “You have taught me the word,” she responded, “and I hardly know its meaning yet, but I must acknowledge that I shrink from the ocean. Its vastness, so much water, overwhelms me. You know it is many, many years since the moon had any large bodies of water.” “So it is,” I exclaimed, “and everything will be new to you. What sport we shall have, and I shall make it my business to see that the water does not harm you.” We hurried down to the shore and found the prettiest little boat I had ever seen all ready for us, as if we had ordered it for the occasion. It was evidently intended for children, but was fitted with both sails and oars, and also, I was glad to find, with a little screw and an electric apparatus to turn it. I was overjoyed with our good fortune, and prepared at once to embark. But Mona plainly hesitated. She kept up her musical chatter and tried to be as cheerful as ever, but I saw she was not as eager for the trip as I was. I did not let her see that I noticed her manner, however, and went on with my preparations. When I had brought the boat around so that she could step into it conveniently, she looked in my face, and asked in a voice which trembled with excitement: “Are you sure you understand how to manage it? It is all so strange to me.” She wanted to decline to make the venture, I thought, but her courage was too great. Now was the time when I proved myself still a son of the earth, with fallible judgment and a will too much engrossed with self. I had been wishing for an opportunity to do some difficult thing for Mona, something noble which should win her affection, and here, when the chance offered, I did not recognize it. The truly heroic action would have been to respect Mona’s feeling and give up the idea entirely, for I knew she had a strong aversion to trusting herself on the water. But it was really my own pleasure and not hers that I was seeking, for in answer to her question I said hurriedly: “Why, certainly. It is as easy to control as the carriage we have just left. We’ll not put up the sails if you say so, and I promise to bring you back all safe and sound in a short time. I am sure you will enjoy the new experience, and then I want to hear how your voice sounds on the water.” “Well, I will go,” she said, “on your promise to protect me; but I have the queerest sensation, I don’t know what to call it. Do you think it is fear?” “Oh, no, it can’t be that, because there is nothing to fear. Are you ready now? Let me take your hand.” As she stepped in and felt the motion she realized how unstable the water really was, and sank down at my feet, emitting an involuntary note of not very joyful quality. But she showed great bravery and, as I helped her to a seat, she said she would no doubt enjoy it after a while. I now shoved the boat out and used the oars a few minutes, but soon tiring of that exercise, I looked into the operation of the electric motor and found it quite simple. Turning on the power, the screw worked to perfection and sent the boat through the water in good shape. Mona was now recovering her spirits, seeing that no harm came to her, and at my request she sang some of her native songs. This was delightful, and I resigned myself to the full enjoyment of the occasion. It seemed to me that the excitement she had just passed through added a new and pleasing quality to her voice, if that were possible. As I sat listening and musing, my memory carried me back to the first time I had heard this marvelous singer, and I could not help contrasting the two situations. I felicitated myself on my present happiness, for when Mona was singing I wanted nothing more. I seemed to forget then that she would not listen to my tale of love, or if I thought of it I attached no consequence to it. The voice seemed to be a thing by itself, and a thing which in some way appeared to belong wholly to me, whether Mona was mine or not. She stopped singing after a while and asked if we had better not start for home. To which I replied: “I turned the boat around some time ago, and we are now headed directly for the place where we found it.” When she expressed surprise at this I steered about in various directions to show her how easily it was done, and then some mischievous spirit, which. I myself must have imported into Mars, put it into my head to try and see how fast our little vessel could go. My idea was partly to satisfy my own curiosity and partly to treat Mona to as great a variety of sensations as possible. The electric apparatus was extremely sensitive, and a slight movement of the lever made an instant increase in our speed. A little more, and we began to go through the water at quite a handsome rate. I enjoyed it immensely, and if Mona did not like it she had pluck enough not to make it known. This emboldened me to put on still more power, which sent the boat ploughing along at such a velocity that the spray flew all about us and the boat shook so that we kept our seats with difficulty. Not knowing what I might be led to do next, and being in reality terribly frightened, if she had only known what the feeling was, Mona now mildly expostulated with: “Isn’t this a little too fast? Something might happen.” “Don’t be afraid,” I replied. “I’ll take care of you. The doctor must have taught you that last word, as it is not used here. You know nothing ever happens in Mars. Everything goes along in the even tenor of its way, moved by laws which are fixed and certain. This boat, you see, is strong and well able to bear the strain. The water is smooth and contains no hidden rocks, and it is perfectly easy to steer clear of the shore, which you see is some distance off yet. But now that I have given you this little excitement, which you will not regret after it is all over, I will stop the current which produces this great force and bring in an artificial law, as it were, to override the natural law now in operation. Just look at this lever and see how easily it is done.” I seized the handle, intending to shut off the power suddenly, but by some unaccountable mistake I turned it the wrong way. Instantly I saw the bow of the boat jump out of the water and go over our heads, and then Mona and I realized that something had actually happened on Mars, for we were both buried under the boat. I was the first to extricate myself and come to the surface, and, not seeing my companion, I thought she was surely lost. I might save her yet, though, and was just about to dive under the boat again, when her head appeared insight, only a little way from me, her eyes wide open and, really, a smile on her face. “Can you swim, Mona?” I cried, excitedly. She had not the breath to answer or else thought my question unnecessary. But I soon found my own answer when I saw her head sinking again just as I had reached her. I clutched her, and, as I held her head above the water, I began to understand that I had something on my hands to fulfill my promise to take care of her. At this instant I saw one of the oars from the boat floating a little way from us and managed to secure it, holding Mona with one arm and swimming with the other. I now helped my companion to half support herself by grasping the oar, while for the rest she was induced to throw an arm over my shoulder. In this way I was left free to make what progress I could through the water, and I lost no time in swimming toward the shore, since there was no hope of our being able to make use of the boat, which now lay, bottom up, on the surface. All this was done without a word from Mona, although I had been talking to her freely, giving her directions and assuring her of my ability to save her. As this was her first experience in drowning, she had evidently been trying to sing under the water and had found it so difficult that she had determined to keep her lips closed till she was well out of it. With this thought in my mind I said to her as soon as we were under way: “Your head is so far above water now that you can open your mouth with perfect safety. You see I can talk, and my head is much lower than yours.” She was so situated that I could not see her face easily, and therefore I do not know whether she ventured to unstop her lips or not, but no sound came from them if she did. Perhaps the water still filled her ears and made her deaf. So I called aloud: “Can you hear me, Mona?” No answer in words, but I imagined I felt a slight pressure of her hand on my shoulder. I toiled on, musing over her strange behavior, till it occurred to me to try a subject which had never failed to bring a response from her. “I hope this will make you more affectionate to me, dear Mona,” I said; and then, as she made no answer, I continued: “If we reach the shore alive and get home safe you will love me more than you do Foedric, will you not?” I thought this would bring an answer, and I was not disappointed, except in the manner in which it came. Not the faintest note escaped from her lips, but a throb of feeling came along her arm, and her hand grasped my shoulder with unmistakable vigor. I suppose she thought I would understand what this answer meant, but I was puzzled. It might mean so many things. Perhaps her heart was softening toward me and she was so much affected by her love for me, stronger and deeper than she had ever thought it could be, that she dared not speak. With this possibility in view I began to feel very tender toward her and to experience the pleasure of one whose love is returned in full measure. But then her answer might have quite a different meaning. What if she were telling me that she had determined never to speak another word on that subject, and that my question was an offense to her? Surely she had told me often enough to talk about more sensible things, and perhaps this was only a new and forcible way of repeating the same injunction. I reflected, too, that it was hardly fair to take advantage of the present situation to force upon her a prohibited topic of conversation. There was another possible meaning to her manner of answering me. Perhaps she was indignant because I had insisted on her getting into the boat with me against her wish, and held me strictly responsible for all that followed. With this view in mind I imagined she was saying to herself: “I want nothing to say to you. I accept your assistance because I cannot get to shore without you, but when once out of this dreadful water I shall have nothing more to do with you.” To place against the latter theory I had the fact that Mona’s face had beamed with pleasure all the time I was getting her fixed so I could swim freely. Dwelling upon this memory my mind returned to thoughts of love, and I felt that I must try once more to start that familiar song. So I said: “Forgive me, Mona, if I have offended you, and let me hear your voice again. You are too good to punish me so severely for my fault in getting you into this trouble. Will you not cheer me with a few notes while I bear you safely to the shore?” Again a pressure of the hand but no expression from the lips, and I was left to further conjecture over the strange mood my companion was in. I swam leisurely, so as not to exhaust my strength, and as there was a considerable distance to go I had plenty of time to think after I had found it impossible to induce Mona to enter into conversation. Although so near, my companion seemed far away, and I became extremely lonesome. In trying to determine what had occasioned such a mishap in a world where I had been taught to believe such things entirely out of date, I came to the conclusion that the Martians owe their freedom from many misfortunes to their ripened characters, rather than to anything peculiar in their physical laws. With my imperfect development I had made an error in judgment in taking Mona upon the water, and with my untrained mind I had simply made a mistake when I turned the lever of the electric apparatus the wrong way. The Martians had reached such high attainments in every direction that it was practically impossible for them to make mistakes. Thus had they freed themselves from many of the vexations which harass the people of a younger world. I was fortunately able to endure the strain of the great task which I had undertaken, and finally succeeded in bringing my precious burden to land and helping her to a place of safety. We were both pretty well fatigued with our exertions, but felt no danger from our wet clothes, because of the mild and balmy air. Mona’s behavior still perplexed me. Her manner was delightfully pleasant and familiar. Now that we were safe she appeared to appreciate the humorous part of the situation, and I was loath to believe that she could or would affect such good nature if she were harboring unpleasant feelings toward me. But I could not account for her continued silence, for as yet no word nor sound of any kind had come from her lips. Her face and hands, however, were continually in motion, and after I had overcome my usual stupidity I discovered that she was actually making signs. “Why, Mona,” I exclaimed, “can’t you speak?” She shook her head. “Nor sing, I mean?” Another shake. “Do you mean to say you have lost your voice?” A nod. For a moment a shadow settled upon her face, occasioned, no doubt, by my falling countenance, for I must have shown something of the great shock to my feelings. Mona without the voice of Mona! I could not at once realize the depth of my loss. And now it was her turn to attempt to restore my spirits, as we fell back to our original mode of conversing. I urged her to make an effort to sing, and she told me she had tried many times, and that it had grieved her to be so unsocial while I was toiling so hard to save her life. “Why, my dear,” I answered, “I thought you were angry with me for speaking to you again about my love.” Her reply was a look so full of tenderness that I was almost sure that, if she had had her voice, she would have used it more kindly than before. Still it may have been only compassion. By this time we had found our carriage and were on our way home, and I am sure that if, on our arrival, our friends had judged from our looks, they would have supposed I, and not Mona, had experienced a great misfortune. Avis had returned to her distant home several days before this, but Antonia and Foedric were at Thorwald’s when we arrived, and I had the unpleasant task of relating to the whole household our sad experience. I did not spare myself, although they were all kind enough to offer every manner of excuse for me. Everybody showed sympathy with Mona in all possible ways, but she herself still exhibited the same sunny disposition as ever, although the house seemed quiet without her bright and happy song. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMAN. Family life in this model home went forward without a jar. Thorwald and Zenith exhibited not the least sign of restraint before us, so that what we saw from day to day we were sure was their natural and usual behavior. They never worked at cross purposes, were never impatient nor forgetful of each other, but without effort, apparently, to avoid friction, they always did what was best pleasing to themselves, and at the same time what was just suited to each other. This happy state of affairs did not come from a division of labor, by which Zenith should have nothing to do with outside matters and Thorwald nothing to say about how things should go in the house, but it seemed to proceed from their innate love of harmony, their perfect compatibility, and their practical equality. The doctor and I saw there was something here far different from anything existing in the conjugal relation on the earth, but we could not decide just what it was. The doctor was strongly of the opinion, however, that it arose in some way from the higher condition of woman. “You know,” he said, when we were alone, “the civilization of a people on our planet is pretty correctly measured by the position occupied by the women, so that here, in this exalted society, they must be held in high esteem, if there is the same analogy between the two worlds in this as in so many other things.” I quite agreed with him, and took the first opportunity when we were all together to introduce the subject. “I should like to direct the conversation,” I said, addressing our host and hostess, “to a topic of considerable interest, just now, to the people of the earth. I am sure we can learn something of value in regard to it from you, and I will introduce it, if you will pardon my impertinence, with a personal question. Will you please tell me who is the head of this household?” “Zenith.” “Thorwald.” Two answers in one breath. “It is very polite of you,” I said, “to disclaim the honor and each one give it to the other, but, seriously, is there no head?” “Why, no,” answered Thorwald; “we never think of such a thing, and yet you must admit that things run smoothly without it.” “I will then try again, if you please,” I said. “Which of you is the bread-winner?” To which Zenith replied: “That question is hardly appropriate, for you know we do not work for our daily bread. The bread would come anyway, whether we worked or not; but then, as a matter of fact, every one does work at some useful occupation, because we have found out by long experience that it is much better for us than idleness. If you reply that you have not seen us work while you have been here, I will say that our time is considered to be well employed if we can be learning anything or imparting knowledge to others, as this is supposed to add indirectly to the general well-being of society. But perhaps what you want to know is which of us does the more to benefit the world, and even this would be a difficult question to answer. Thorwald creates, we will say, an elaborate design for a noble cathedral, and as he watches its fair proportions rise under the hands of skilled men, who take an equal pride and satisfaction in their work, his heart is made glad by the thought that for many years after he has left the body the structure will be used as a place for teaching the way of life, with its graceful spires pointing men to heaven. While I, perhaps—” “Let me tell that part,” interrupted Thorwald. “While Zenith, with just as strong a feeling of responsibility for a share of the world’s work, composes a beautiful song and writes the music for it, and then sings it before a vast audience, while the phonograph catches it and holds it for future generations. Is she not doing as much as I am toward earning the bread for the family?” “It certainly cannot be denied,” I answered. “But what I want to find out is, to use a homely expression common with us, which of you two holds the reins in this home?” “Well,” replied Thorwald, laughing, “that is a figure of speech which is not employed here, for we use no reins of any kind; but I know what you mean, and I will answer you by saying that we each hold one rein, and in that way drive as steadily as if we were one person.” “But when disputes arise, which one gives in?” “Disputes never arise, and if they did we would both ‘give in,’ whatever that expression means.” “If not your wills, do not your wishes or inclinations sometimes oppose each other?” “Why, no,” Thorwald answered quickly. “It is impossible, and for this reason: each one of us is so intent on trying to please the other that we are saved from all temptation to selfishness, which is the root and source of all differences.” While I was considering what next to ask, the doctor broke in with: “I think my companion will be obliged to discontinue his questions and accept the truth that here we have found an ideal household, where husband and wife are in reality equal. Let me ask if the women, all over this happy world, are treated with as much consideration as in the case before us.” “Why, what a funny question,” exclaimed Zenith, before Thorwald could speak. “Why don’t you ask if, all over this happy world, we treat our men with consideration and respect? But, to save you the trouble of asking, I will say that, all over this happy world, a man is held in as high esteem and is as tenderly cared for as a woman, every bit. Your words, Doctor, remind me that I have several times wanted to speak to you about a certain manner which you and your friend have exhibited toward me. No one could accuse you of disrespect to Thorwald; indeed, I think your carriage toward him is excellent, but with me you seem to be a little strained, and your manner is a trifle effusive. Pardon me for the criticism. I know your action is well meant, although it is something I am not accustomed to.” “I suppose,” said the doctor, “you refer to our feeble and, it appears, stupid efforts to be polite.” “Oh, then I ought to feel complimented instead of finding fault with you. But why should you wish to be more respectful to me than to Thorwald? He is more worthy your regard than I am, and has as many rights in this house as I have, exactly.” “We have been taught to pay an extra deference to women,” answered the doctor. “Why?” asked Zenith. “Because they are superior beings?” “Hardly that, I think.” “Then it must be because they are considered inferior, and you seek to hide your real feeling, which is one of commiseration, by a false show of politeness.” “That sounds harsh,” said the doctor, “and I believe you are not correct.” “Oh, I do not mean to criticise you personally,” Zenith made haste to say, “but the system. It seems to me that you, Doctor, try to be sincere; and assuming that to be so, let me ask you why you are more ceremonious in your manner to your neighbor’s wife than to your neighbor’s husband.” “Well, let me see. Why do I instinctively make a special show of respect in meeting a woman? I never analyzed my feeling, but I will try to do so for you. I think one principal reason is because it is so very conventional that she would expect it, and think me either piqued or ill-bred if I omitted it. Then, deeper than that is a desire to tell her that I recognize in her and admire those graces and amenities which are supposed to be peculiar to her sex. And I suppose there is, also, a little selfishness in it, as if I were asking her to take note that I knew what were the usages of good society.” “But would you not also tell her in effect by your flattery, if you will excuse the word, that she and the rest of her sex are by birth not quite equal to men, and you are trying to make up the difference all you can by politeness?” “I am not conscious of such a feeling, I am sure,” answered the doctor. “It seems to me that woman is entitled to some extra attention because she is physically weaker than man.” “True,” said Zenith; “that is a good reason why she should be protected.” “And should we not maintain and practice toward her the spirit of true courtesy?” “Most certainly. But women should also exercise the same spirit toward men. The duty is reciprocal. The days of knight-errantry, when men were chivalrous and women were merely beautiful, should not last forever; women, too, should learn to be chivalrous. Do not imagine I would have you less considerate or thoughtful of anyone, or less demonstrative in your feelings, if you will only remember that men and women are equal, have equal duties and privileges, and should have similar treatment. Great respect should go where it is deserved, whether to man or woman. If I were an inhabitant of the earth and a woman, I should try to have some such thought as this: one man of character knows another good man is his equal; therefore as they treat each other so I would have them treat me, for then I would know that they held me, also, as an equal, and not as a doll, pretty and well dressed perhaps, but brainless, nor as a child who must not be told things too deep for its mind.” “I begin to understand you,” said the doctor. “You first get me to admit that women are not a superior order of beings, and then you argue that, as we do not treat them exactly as we do each other, we cannot consider them our equals, and therefore nothing remains but that we must look upon them as inferior to us.” Zenith gave a pleasant little pink laugh and answered: “I see you have found me out. But you do not deny that my logic is correct.” “I have tried to tell you several times,” returned the doctor, with a smile, “that, as for me, I do not feel guilty of harboring the least degrading sentiment toward women. But I cannot answer for the opinions of the world at large. This subject promises to be more interesting than we anticipated. I see you know a great deal about it. Have women always been accorded an equality with men, or is it a part of your mature development?” “Now, Doctor, just see how prejudiced you are. You would never think of asking if the men of Mars had always been the equal of women. It would be quite as natural with us to ask it in one way as the other.” “I will try again, then, by asking if the two sexes have always been so happily equal as at this time.” “I will give you a direct answer to that question. They have not. But I think I have talked enough for once. Thorwald will tell you all about our tortuous course in reaching our present condition, if you wish.” “Not at all,” said Thorwald. “I would like to tell it, but this is a topic that Zenith has taken a special interest in, and she shall have the pleasure of talking to you about it.” “Now then!” I said to myself, “here is a difference right away. Zenith says Thorwald must tell it; Thorwald would like to do so, but insists on sacrificing himself for Zenith’s sake. Now, what if Zenith should prefer the pleasure of self-denial, and refuse to let Thorwald immolate his desire so readily? What could prevent war in this happy family? Would a quarrel be any less a quarrel because its cause was unselfishness rather than selfishness?” But if I, with a worldly heart, was expecting a lapse from these excellent people, I was disappointed, for Zenith, with a look of wifely affection toward Thorwald, said pleasantly: “Very well, since Thorwald is so kind, I will do my best, if you are sure you will not tire of hearing me talk.” The doctor and I expressed our pleasure with the arrangement, and Zenith began: “I wish to say at the start that, whatever may have been your experience on this question, it is hardly possible that your mistakes have equaled ours, for the folly and wickedness of our race have been stupendous and of long continuance.” “If you will excuse the interruption,” I said, “I will suggest that we can sympathize with you, as our history shows the greatest injustice to women.” “Your remark proves to me that you cannot fully sympathize with us. I did not infer, as you seem to do, that the women of Mars had been the only victims of injustice. “But without further delay let me begin, only do not hesitate to break in upon my story with any inquiries that suggest themselves to you. “We read that God created man, male and female; that is, there came forth from the hand of the Maker a male man and a female man, and all through that early age of gold they loved each other, and served their God with purity of heart and without a selfish thought. God was their father, they were his children, with equal privileges, equal affection, and equal ability to do faithful service. No evil spirit was near to whisper in the ear of either a suggestion of personal leadership. Ambition, that ambition which would exalt self at the expense of another, was not yet born, and neither of these happy beings could conceive it possible to achieve a higher happiness by lording it over the other. “So they lived till sin came; and among the woes which sin brought in its train there were few more dreadful than the decree that the man should rule over the woman and that her desire should be unto her husband. For thousands of years our race struggled against that giant evil. During a long period the condition of woman was so low that we know nothing of her, and when she reappears it is only as the servant of man. Made in the image of God as the companion of man and an equal sharer in all his rights and duties, she is now his chattel, a piece of property, held for his selfish use or disposed of for his advantage. “Even in these dark days individuals of our sex rose out of the general degradation and showed that they were fitted by nature for a higher position. But sin and ignorance kept the mass of them under the heel of their masters. As civilization advanced there came some mitigation of their lot, and where pure religion gained a foothold women began to receive recognition; but their state was deplorable indeed among all those peoples whose religion was only gross superstition and idolatry. “In the process of time Christ came and brought the light of heaven to this dark world, and from that hour woman can well say that her day began to dawn. One of the sweetest strains in her song of salvation is that evoked by the memory of her resurrection from misery and abasement to a position of honor among the children of men. The change, however, was very gradual, for Christianity itself was slow in gaining ground; but the gospel was ever the friend of woman, as of all the oppressed, lifting her up where she could influence the world and begin to fulfill her destiny. As fast as the nations shook off barbarism and became in any degree enlightened, the unnatural burdens were lifted from the shoulders of woman, although for a long time she was compelled to perform more than her share of severe toil even among people who thought themselves civilized. “Then came a time when, in nations of some refinement, there was such a reaction against the injustice and degradation to which woman had so long been subjected that she suddenly became an object of sentimental regard among courtly men. Her noble qualities were exaggerated far beyond their merit, and she was set on a pedestal, to receive homage and all the outward forms of respect from those whom she so recently served as a menial. Being so poorly fitted by her long training in serfdom for such exaltation, what wonder is it that her head was turned by the flattery, and that her recovery was slow and difficult? The insincere and superfluous manners of that period remained for ages a vexation to our growing intelligence and a hindrance to our true progress; and, from what you have said, I am inclined to think you of the earth are now going through some such experience as ours. “After that epoch had been passed, woman never fell back to her former condition, although she did not yet for a long time reach a position that was at all enviable, except as compared with the dark days of her bondage. But she was now where she could take advantage of the general uplifting of the race, and though kept in the background by man as much as was possible, she was constantly growing and learning, preparing herself for a future of which she would then dare not even to dream. “And now I am coming, in this rapid sketch, to that period of activity and change which Thorwald has described to you in its industrial features. In portraying some of the evils of those days, arising from our almost ineradicable selfishness, he was obliged to make his picture a somber one, a necessity under which, happily, I am not placed. Looking at the times, not as compared with the present era but with what had gone before, which was the only comparison the people of that day could make, there was much room for encouragement. It was, in truth, a bright day, whose beauty, however, consisted not so much in the realization of happiness as in the promise of still brighter days to come. Material prosperity abounded, education flourished, and religion was beginning to creep down from men’s heads into their hearts. Wrongs were righted, justice enthroned, and philanthropy sprang into being. Even while there was so much evil, and while some men seemed to be trying all they could to keep back the breaking dawn, the day was surely coming. The brotherhood of man, long preached as a settled principle, now became a living force, showing itself in a multitude of devices for relieving distress, lessening pain, alleviating poverty, and for the general betterment of society. “Surrounded by such a universal spirit of improvement, woman felt the impulse of new life, and heard the call to a higher service to humanity than she had ever yet rendered. As men’s minds broadened and their hearts grew more tender, and as their sympathies reached out to the weak and down-trodden of every class, it was not possible that their ancient prejudice against woman could much longer survive. Her rise from this time forward was rapid. Let us examine the position which, under the influence of this kindly feeling, she soon came to occupy. Protected by many special laws, guarded by all the legitimate forces of society, but exempt from military and police service, honored for her high and noble qualities, respected by all whose regard was of value, and loved with a true affection which scorned the question of individual rights, her lot seemed indeed a happy one. Shielded from the severe struggles of life, freed from the cares of business, released in a great measure from uncongenial work and from the dangers attending exacting labor, with the disagreeable things in life kept from her as much as possible, always seeing the best of every man’s character and manners, and, more than all, being supreme in her natural domain, the home, with none to dispute her right, what more could she ask?” “What, indeed?” I remarked, as Zenith paused a moment after her question. “The picture you have drawn looks so bright, beside your description of her former lot, that I have no doubt she was now contented and happy.” “So you think that shelter and protection and the love of husband and children and the serenity of home ought to be enough to satisfy one who was created with a spirit as restless, a brain as active, an individuality as marked, and hands as clever as those of man?” As Zenith threw this question at me and waited for me to answer, I realized that I had been caught by her former inquiry, and found not that Zenith was about to take advanced ground on the subject before us. Wishing I had not drawn her attention so squarely to my personal opinions, and yet feeling obliged to stand up for my position, I said: “It seems to me that woman’s surest path to honor and happiness is that marked out for her by nature, a path which she adorns because so well fitted for it, and that to forsake the home and compete with man for the thousand places in the work of the world would be to cast aside the charm of her womanliness and all that makes her what she is, a solace and comfort to all the world. If she seeks for a pleasurable life, where can she find such keen and lasting pleasure as among the duties of home, and if she is ambitious to lift the world to a higher plane, where is it possible for her to have so much influence as in the nurture of the young?” “So spoke the men of our race in the era I am describing to you,” replied Zenith. “It seems as if you must have been reading some of our old writers, so closely do you follow the ideas then prevalent. I have read and reread those histories until I am quite familiar with them, and you shall hear how such views as you have expressed soon became very old-fashioned.” “I am sure your account will closely concern us,” I said, “for the age of which you are now speaking must be that corresponding to our own times on the earth. The woman question is attracting special attention, and seems bound to remain with us indefinitely; but I am frank to say I think our women are making a mistake in trying to elbow their way into man’s domain, whatever may have been the result of the movement in this favored world.” “I suppose you would have them stay at home where they belong,” said Zenith, with a good-natured laugh, which sounded as if she were confident enough of her ability to meet any possible argument. “Yes,” I replied, “out of pure kindness to them. It is an astonishing thing to me that they can think of gaining anything by giving up all that is distinctive in their nature and becoming more like us. I am not so much in love with my own sex as to enjoy seeing our sisters and our wives and daughters trying to make themselves over into men.” I now felt that I had said enough, and so expressed myself to Zenith, but she replied pleasantly that she was glad I had told my thoughts, as it gave her an opportunity to say some things that might not otherwise have been called for. “You seem to think,” she continued, “that woman’s supreme happiness is to be gained by self-effacement. I suppose her custom is with you, as it formerly was here, to renounce her own name at the marriage altar.” “It is,” I replied. “And from that hour,” resumed Zenith, “she makes every effort to bury herself, to deny her personality, and to lay aside whatever individual desires and aspirations she may have had; that is, if she is what you would call a true woman. If she objects to this renunciation and attempts to make an independent career suited to her talents, then she is strong-minded and is trying to unsex herself. With the world full of work waiting for her nimble fingers and loving heart, she is compelled to suppress all secret hope of doing something to impress her own character on that world, because her only duty is in the home. A man is also called upon to be a good husband and father, but that by no means comprises all he is expected to be and do. To him it is given to strike out into untrodden fields, and, without reproach, to make a name for himself if possible. “You say work is hard and disagreeable, but is it all dull and uninteresting? Are there not sweet moments of hope in every work, and then the joy of achievement when it is over? Do not men find this joy and the rewards of labor amply sufficient? The more difficult the task, the greater the satisfaction when it is accomplished. Business is perplexing and uncertain, you say, but what of the triumphs of success? Would any man refuse to undertake an enterprise because success was not certain? The very uncertainty adds zest to the business, and makes hope possible. From all this striving and achieving, and from all the satisfying rewards which come with success, woman is debarred. Then there are the professions and the wide range of occupations which require education and special training. What a variety for man to choose from, while you would confine woman to one; and a great many women, not being born good cooks or good housekeepers, cannot fill that one with any credit to themselves. So what can life be to them compared with what it ought to be? Think of the opportunities they might have in these higher occupations of competing for the prizes of life—honor, fame, position, riches, and, above all, the consciousness of doing some good in the world. Oh, it is impossible for you to realize anything of the longing in woman’s heart to be someone, to do something, and so to be relieved from the everlasting monotony of the treadmill, which, if men were obliged to submit to it, would make the majority of them insane. “You see I have put myself in the place of one of my sex in that olden time, and have spoken as she felt when to express her feelings would have been almost a shame to her. “What I desire to show you is that woman had not then received all that was due her, although men seemed to think she was fully emancipated. But events moved rapidly in that stirring age, and this great question could not be kept in the background in a day when every abuse and injustice was allowed a hearing and reform was in the very air. Even the dumb beasts had such powerful advocates that cruelty and unkindness were greatly checked. What wonder then, as men’s sensibilities and consciences became quickened, that they should begin to see, what they could not see before, that a fuller liberty ought to be accorded to woman? But this vision came not without help. Sometimes in our history we have known of a race being deprived of their freedom, and so benumbed by their condition that they desired nothing better, and so perforce waited for a movement for their enfranchisement to come from without. It was not so in this case. Women themselves cried out against their lot. They were not so enraptured with the calm and quiet of their conventional life but that they felt the stirrings of ambition for something different, and they did not fear to raise their voice for more liberty.” “Liberty!” I echoed. “Were they really deprived of liberty?” “Yes, liberty to choose a calling that would suit their individual tastes and satisfy their growing ambition.” “Excuse me,” I again interrupted, “but were not these women who exhibited so much restlessness unattached—that is, without many family ties? And were not the great majority so contented in the shelter of home and so engrossed in the care of husband and children that they were entire strangers to any such disturbing fancies, or ambitions as you call them? And, again, did not this large class of happy and busy wives and mothers resent the action of those self-appointed liberators who were fighting for an image of straw and crying themselves hoarse over imaginary wrongs?” Zenith smiled again in that peculiar manner which told me, in the pleasantest possible way, that she was perfectly sure I was on the losing side, and with the smile she resumed: “Your questions are so familiar to one who has studied this subject that they seem like another plagiarism, as it were, from our histories, but I will give you fair answers. “It is true that the early protests came from the solitary women, unfortunately not a small class at that day, who, being without legal protectors, felt the inequalities of the law and the unjust restraints put upon their sex by society, but the truths they spoke came with added force because of their intimate acquaintance with their needs. “You are wrong in your supposition that the mass of women were so shallow in mind as to know nothing of those longings for a fuller, more satisfying life. Deep in their nature, planted by the Creator himself, was the same lofty spirit with which man was endowed, and it could not be smothered by marriage. Taking a husband should not, and in reality does not now, change one’s ambition or aim in life any more than taking a wife does, but in those benighted days men, after marriage, could go forward with their plans just as if nothing had happened, while the women were supposed to forget their high hopes and aspirations and confine themselves entirely to the trivial round of domestic duties. The men, however, were much mistaken if they thought their wives were forgetting. They but bided their time.