Across the Zodiac (25 page)

"Equality, then, has given your women a harder life and a worse
position than that of those women in our world who are, not only by
law but by fact and custom, the slaves of their husbands?"

"Yes, indeed," he said; "and our proverbs, though made by men, express
this truth with a sharpness in which there is little exaggeration. Our
school textbooks tell us that action and reaction are equal and
opposite; and this familiar phrase gives meaning to the saw,
Pelmavè
dakâl dakè,
'She is equal, the thing struck to the hammer,' meaning
that woman's equality to man is no more effective than the reaction of
the leather on the mallet. 'Bitterer smiles of twelve than tears of
ten' (referring to the age of marriage).
Thleen delkint treen lalfe
zevleen
, "Twixt fogs and clouds she dreams of stars.'"

"What
does
that mean?"

"Would you not render it in the terminology of the hymn you translated
for us, 'Between Purgatory and Hell, one dream of Heaven?' Still
puzzled? 'Between the harshness of school and the misery of marriage,
the illusions of the bride.' Again,
Zefoo zevleel, zave marneel,
clafte cratheneel
, 'A child
(cries)
for the stars, a maiden for the
matron's dress, a woman for her shroud.'"

"Do you mean to say that that is not exaggerated?"

"I suppose it is, as women are even less given to suicide than men.
That is perhaps the ugliest proverb of its kind. I will only quote one
more, and that is two-edged—

"'Fool he who heeds a woman's tears, to woman's tongue replies;
Fool she who braves man's hand—but when was man or woman wise?'"

Here Zulve came to the door and made a sign to her husband. Waiting
courteously to ascertain that I had finished speaking, and until his
son had somewhat ceremoniously taken leave of me, he led me to the
door of a chamber next to that I had hitherto occupied. Pausing here
himself, he motioned me to go on, and the door parting, I found myself
in a room I had not before entered, about the same size as my own and
similarly furnished, but differently coloured, now communicating with
it by a door which I knew had not previously existed. Here were
Eveena's mother and sister, dressed as usual.

Eveena herself had exchanged her maiden white for the light pink of a
young matron, but was closely veiled in a similar material. Her mother
and sister kissed her with much emotion, though without the tears and
lamentations, real or affected, with which—alike among the nomads of
Asia and the most cultivated races of Europe—even those relatives who
have striven hardest to marry a daughter or sister think it necessary
to celebrate the fulfilment of their hopes, and the termination of
their often prolonged and wearisome labours. I was then left alone
with my bride, who remained half-seated, half-crouching on the
cushions in a corner of the room. I could not help feeling keenly how
much a marriage so unceremonious and with so little previous
acquaintance, or rather so great a reserve and distance in our former
intercourse, intensified the awkwardness many a man on Earth feels
when first left alone with the partner of his future life. But a
single glance at the small drooping figure half-hidden in the cushions
brought the reflection that a situation, embarrassing to the
bridegroom, must be in the last degree alarming and distressing to the
bride. But for her visit to the Astronaut we should have been almost
strangers; I could hardly have recognised even her voice. I must,
however, speak; and naturally my first sentence was a half-articulate
request that she would remove her veil.

"No," she whispered, rising, "
you
must do that."

Taking off the glove of her left hand, she came up to me shyly and
slowly, and placed it in my right—a not unmeaning ceremony. Having
obeyed her instruction, my lips touched for the first time the brow of
my young wife. That she was more than shy and startled, was even
painfully agitated and frightened, became instantly apparent now that
her countenance was visible. What must be the state of Martial brides
in general, when the signature of the contract immediately places them
at the disposal of an utter stranger, it was beyond the power of my
imagination to conceive, if their feelings were at all to be measured
by Eveena's under conditions sufficiently trying, but certainly far
better than theirs. Nothing was so likely to quiet her as perfect
calmness on my side; and, though with a heart beating almost as fast
as her own, if with very different emotions, I led her gently back to
her place, and resting on a cushion just out of reach, began to talk
to her. Choosing as the easiest subject our adventure of yesterday, I
asked what could have induced her to place herself in a situation so
dangerous.

"Do not be angry with me now," she pleaded. "I am exceedingly fond of
flowers; they have been my only amusement except the training of my
pets. You can see how little women have to do, how little occupation
or interest is permitted us. The rearing of rare flowers, or the
creation of new ones, is almost the only employment in which we can
find exercise for such intelligence as we possess. I had never seen
before the flower that grew on that shelf. I believe, indeed, that it
only grows on a few of our higher mountains below the snow-line, and I
was anxious to bring it home and see what could be made of it in the
garden. I thought it might be developed into something almost as
beautiful as that bright
leenoo
you admired so greatly in my
flower-bed."

"But," said I, "the two flowers are not of the same shape or colour;
and, though I am not learned in botany, I should say hardly belong to
the same family."

"No," she said. "But with care, and with proper management of our
electric apparatus, I accomplished this year a change almost as great.
I can show you in my flower-bed one little white flower, of no great
beauty and conical in shape, from which I have produced in two years
another, saucer-shaped, pink, and of thrice the size, almost exactly
realising an imaginary flower, drawn by my sister-in-law to represent
one of which she had dreamed. We can often produce the very shape,
size, and colour we wish from something that at first seems to have no
likeness to it whatever; and I have been told that a skilful farmer
will often obtain a fruit, or, what is more difficult, an animal, to
answer exactly the ideal he has formed."

"Some of our breeders," I said, "profess to develop a sort of ideal of
any given species; but it takes many generations, by picking and
choosing those that vary in the right direction, to accomplish
anything of the kind; and, after all, the difference between the
original and the improved form is mere development, not essential
change."

She hardly seemed to understand this, but answered—

"The seedling or rootlet would be just like the original plant, if we
did not from the first control its growth by means of our electric
frames. But if you will allow me, I will show you to-morrow what I
have done in my own flower-bed, and you will have opportunities of
seeing afterwards how very much more is done by agriculturists with
much more time and much more potent electricities."

"At any rate," I said, "if I had known your object, you certainly
should have had the flowers for which you risked so much: and if I
remain here three days longer, I promise you plenty of specimens for
your experiment."

"You do not mean to go back to the Astronaut?" she asked, with an air
of absolute consternation.

"I had not intended to do so," I replied, "for it seems to be
perfectly safe under your father's seal and your stringent laws of
property. But now, if time permit, I must get these flowers to which
you tell me I am so deeply indebted."

"You are very kind," returned Eveena earnestly, "but I entreat you not
to venture there again. I should be utterly miserable while you were
running such a risk again, and for such a trifle."

"It is no such terrible risk to me, and to please you is not quite a
trifle. Besides, I ought to deserve my prize better than I have yet
done. But you seem to have some especial spite against the unlucky
vessel that brought me here; and that," I added, smiling, "seems
hardly gracious in a bride of an hour."

"No, no!" she murmured, evidently much distressed; "but the vessel
that brought you here may take you away."

"I will not pain you yet by saying that I hope it may. At all events,
it shall not do so till you are content that it should."

She made no answer, and seemed for some time to hesitate, as if afraid
or unwilling to say something which rose irrepressibly to her lips. A
few persuasive words, however, encouraged her, and she found her
voice, though with a faltering accent, which greatly surprised me when
I learned at last the purport of her request.

"I do not understand," she said, "your ideas or customs, but I know
they are different from ours. I have found at least that they make you
much more indulgent and tender to women than our own; and I hope,
therefore, you will forgive me if I ask more than I have any right to
do."

"I could scarcely refuse my bride's first request, whatever it might
be. But your hesitation and your apologies might make me fear that you
are about to ask something which one or both of us may wish hereafter
had neither been asked nor granted."

She still hesitated and faltered, till I began to fancy that her wish
must have a much graver import than I at first supposed. Perhaps to
treat the matter lightly and sportively would be the course most
likely to encourage her to explain it.

"What is it, child," I asked, "which you think the stranger of another
world more likely to grant than one of your own race, and which is so
extravagant, nevertheless, that you tremble to ask it even from me? Is
it too much to be bound not to appeal against me to the law, which
cannot yet determine whether I am a reality or a fiction? Or have I
proved my arm a little too substantial? Must the giant promise not to
exercise the masculine prerogative of physical force safely conceded
to the dwarf? Fie, Eveena! I am almost afraid to touch you, lest I
should hurt you unawares; lest tenderness itself should transgress the
limit of legal cruelty, and do grave bodily harm to a creature so much
more like a fairy than a woman!"

"No, no!" she expostulated, not at all reciprocating the jesting tone
in which I spoke. "If you would consent to give such a promise, it is
just one of those we should wish unmade. How could I ask you to
promise that I may behave as ill as I please? I dare say I shall be
frightened to tears when you are angry; but I shall never wish you to
retain your anger rather than vent it and forgive. The proverb says,
'Who punishes pardons; who hates awaits.' No, pray do not play with
me; I am so much in earnest. I know that I don't understand where and
why your thoughts and ways are so unlike ours. But—but—I thought—I
fancied—you seemed to hold the tie between man and wife something
more—faster—more lasting—than—our contract has made it."

"Certainly! With us it lasts for life at least; and even here, where
it may be broken at pleasure, I should not have thought that, on the
very bridal eve, the coldest heart could willingly look forward to its
dissolution."

She was too innocent of such a thought—perhaps too much absorbed by
her own purpose—to catch the hint of unjust reproach.

"Well, then," she said, with a desperate effort, in a voice that
trembled between the fear of offending by presumption or exaction, and
the desire to give utterance to her wish—"I want ... will you say
that—if by that time you do not think that I have been too faulty,
too undeserving—that I shall go with you when you quit this world?"
And, her eagerness at last overpowering her shyness, she looked up
anxiously into my face.

We wholly misconceived each other. She drooped in bitter
disappointment, mistaking my blank surprise for displeasure; her words
brought over my mind a rush of that horror with which I ever recall
the scenes I witnessed but too often at Indian funerals.

"That, of course, will rest with yourself. But even should I hereafter
deserve and win such love as would prompt the wish, I trust you will
never dream of cutting short your life because—in the ordinary course
of nature—mine should end long before the term of yours."

Her face again brightened, and she looked up more shyly but not less
earnestly.

"I did not make my meaning clear," she replied. "I spoke not, as my
father sometimes speaks, of leaving this world, when he means to
remind us that death is only a departure to another; though that was,
not so long ago, the only meaning the words could bear. I was thinking
of your journey, and I want you to take me with you when you go."

"You have quite settled in your own mind that I shall go! And in truth
you have now removed, as you yesterday created, the only obstacle. If
you would not go with me, I might, rather than give you up, have given
up the whole purpose of my enterprise, and have left my friends, and
the world from which I came, ignorant whether it had ever been
accomplished. But if you accompany me, I shall certainly try to regain
my own planet."

"Then," she said hopefully, but half confidently, "when you go, if I
have not given you cause of lasting displeasure, you
will
take me
with you? Most men do not think much of promises, especially of
promises made to women; but I have heard you speak as if to break a
plighted word were a thing impossible."

"I promise," I returned earnestly, very much moved by a proof of real
affection such as I had no right to expect, and certainly had not
anticipated. "I give you the word of one who has never lied, that if,
when the time comes, you wish to go with me, you shall. But by that
time, you will probably have a better idea what are the dangers you
are asking to share."