# The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 16

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Of all the social changes brought under my notice, none. surprised me more than the stringency of the laws governing the family relation. Most of these laws, indeed, had become practically needless,—much as laws against cannibalism or man-stealing would be among us. They still survived, however, as a legacy from the ages of conflict, when the existing social organization was slowly evolved. They dated back, for the most part, to that period already referred to, when, during the re-action against the rule of corrupt demagogues and social disorganizers, society re-asserted its right of self-protection with a vigor that partook of ferocity.
Nor was property the only interest to obtain vindication. For the first time in the history of our race, the influence of woman made itself directly felt in legislation. This influence, purifying in every direction, was especially active in the repression of the twin evils from which their sex had been the severest, and, for too long, the helpless, sufferers.
Intemperance was made simply impossible by a total prohibition, under severe penalties, of the manufacture ​or possession of intoxicating beverages. The wonderful improvement effected in the condition of society by a few years of this régime reconciled to it even those who, on general principles, had been most violently opposed to prohibitory legislation. The cessation of the enormous amount of waste of various kinds, estimated to amount to fully one-fifth of the total productive capacity of the community, was found to make all the difference between the existence of an ever-increasing substratum of hopeless poverty and a general diffusion of comfort and independence. It soon became an almost incredible tradition. of the evil past,—those days when drunkenness in a legislator was a cause neither of disqualification nor of surprise; those days when "the rum-soaked senator from All-know-where" could stand up, or, rather, lean, to hiecough forth his boozy philippies against men in whose presence he was not worthy to stand, and against measures he was as incapable of comprehending as of originating.
It had long been recognized, though with but slight result in the way of remedy, that offences against chastity are among those that eat most deeply into the life. of a nation. Of this there had been seen a terrible example in the degradation and final ruin of a once noble people, whose long and glorious history had come to a disgraceful end. Uncleanness, like a foul ulcer, had devoured the manhood of her sons, and so infected her literature, that other nations had found themselves compelled in self-defence to exclude utterly the pestiferous nastiness from their borders. At length, despised, and regarded as a centre of moral contagion, they had fallen ​under the dominion of manlier races, who had extirpated the disease with fire and steel.
The lesson was not lost upon the world. The purifying influence of woman was nowhere more conspicuously exerted than in the legislation that tended to the protection of the sex that too long had been the slave or victim, despised or petted or flattered, of the coarser sex. Seduction was treated as a serious crime,—as, in certain cases, the basest and most cruel of crimes. The seducer was not, indeed, compelled to marry his victim, but was given the option between such reparation and being rendered incapable of offending again in that way. If one, or both, of the guilty parties was already married, both were purged from the land, unless it could be proved that one had sinned in ignorance.
Nor were these laws allowed to remain inoperative. The woman was tried by a judge and jury of her own sex, who generally proved inexorable in vindicating the outraged dignity of womanhood. The condemnation of the woman necessarily drew after it that of the man. The stronger sex thus learned to be extremely guarded in its intercourse with the sex so long regarded as the lawful prey of the stronger.
The state of things in which such laws had been necessary had, however, at the period of which I am writing, become as remote as is to us the society of the palæolithic period. Offences that society now easily condones had become practically impossible, if for no other reason, because the idea of them would have aroused as instinctive an abhorrence as among us would the idea of dining on a tender infant.
​From the universal diffusion of property, there was no financial difficulty to prevent any man marrying as soon as he attained the legal age. The difficulty, in many cases, was of an entirely different nature,—the impossibility of finding a wife. From various causes the proportion of women to men, at the age of thirty, had steadily decreased, till for some time it had been about a hundred to a hundred and five. There was, accordingly, a brisk competition for the hand of every marriageable maid or widow. Widowers rarely had an opportunity of marrying a second time. In the case of a widow, however, she was regarded as fulfilling a social duty should she see fit to accept the hand and gladden the heart of some lonely suitor.
Marriage being regarded as the most important step in life, and practically irrevocable,—for divorce, though allowed by the law in certain specified cases, was almost unknown,—the intercourse of the young people of both sexes was surrounded by a number of restrictions. These had for object the prevention of hasty choice and too early union.
Till the age of twelve, there was no difference in the training of boys or girls. They attended the same classes, joined in the same sports. At twelve a slight change was made in the style of dress, as also in the course of study. The girls henceforth wore the selean, or long tunic, and attained to the dignity of a colored border to the same. The boys now had their long hair cut short, and began to wear the shorter male tunic.
From this time till the age of seventeen, though the young people mostly attended the same classes, they sat ​separately. Much freedom of intercourse was still allowed, though always under the supervision of watchful matrons, who each takes her turn in what is regarded as an important public duty.
If, toward the end of this period, the buddings of a more tender feeling make themselves felt, forewarned on the subject by their mother, and so trained as not to consider such a feeling as any thing to be ashamed of, they do not hesitate to make of her a confidant. If on any account,—too near propinquity of blood, or for any similar reason,—the mother does not think the feeling ought to be encouraged, she truthfully explains to them her reasons, and advises with them as a tender friend, trying, if necessary, the effect of absence.
The girls, indeed, she aids as far as may be done; but, knowing that they are always certain of a suitable match if they choose to marry, her chief anxiety is about her son, who runs the chance of being obliged to pass an unwedded life. For him she anxiously studies the maiden toward whom his thoughts turn, and imparts the results of this study in appropriate advice as to the best means of attracting her thoughts toward him, and the most fitting manner of indicating his regard.
Flowers, and the language they speak, find extensive employment at this stage of matters. By their means, the maiden also may, with all propriety, afford her incipient admirer some slight indication of how she regards his attentions. By these most beautiful, as well as most evanescent, of symbols, she may bestow encouragement, indicate hesitation or uncertainty, or give warning that pursuit will be in vain. A coquettish encouragement to a ​vain pursuit is justly stigmatized as a social treachery, utterly unworthy of a high-minded maiden.
Fully aware of the power of mere proximity in such matters, the mother finds many pretexts for affording her son this advantage. As far, that is, as she may deem advisable. For, with the intuitive ability of her sex to read the signs of feeling, she may soon deem it necessary to warn her son of the probable failure of his suit. In such a case the mother would probably urge her son to put her judgment to the test by inviting the fair one to a seat in his curricle. It is considered but proper, it may be remarked, to give the maiden an opportunity of saying "no," even when this answer is an almost foregone conclusion. It is frequently advantageous, also, to afford the maiden an opportunity of speaking. Though politely excusing herself, the fair one may give her rejected suitor a valuable hint of a quarter in which his attentions may be more acceptable,—a hint often acted on with the happiest results.
It was somewhat in this way that Utis was first drawn to Ulmene. His youthful affections had first been given to Osna Diotha, and the flower language had led him to entertain some hopes. It was he that introduced to her house his friend, Eured Thiusen; nor was it long before he observed, with secret dismay, the strong mutual attraction between the two.
His mother, whose quick eyes had observed the same thing, advised him of this. Perhaps, too, she may have thought him too young for Osna, who was of the same age as himself. In some way an inkling of the state of matters reached Eured. Filled with dismay at the thought ​of the injury he had unwittingly inflicted upon his friend, he also, became aware, for the first time, of how irrevocably his feelings had passed beyond the stage of mere admiration. He sought at once an explanation with Utis,—set forth his utter ignorance of the state of his friend's feelings toward Osna, and concluded by announcing hist intention of at once departing, at whatever cost to himself.
"Not till Osna has decided between us!" exclaimed Utis. "I know my answer beforehand, but it is her right to utter it."
"I was refused, as I expected," said Utis, when he related to me the story, "but in such a way that we have been fast friends ever since. On returning to where I found your father pacing the garden in agitation greater than I ever saw him show on any other occasion, I merely said, 'It is your turn.' He understood, went, and returned as the affianced lover of Osna Diotha.
"It was about a week after," continued Utis, "before I again met her who was hereafter to be but a friend. She had learned through Eured, she said, of what she was pleased to call my noble conduct.
"'You have no idea,' she continued, laughing, 'of what a strong champion you have in cousin Ulmene.'
"'Little Ulmene?' said I, surprised. Ulmene, at that time, was a little maid of some seven summers, small, too, for her age, and then giving but slight indication of the beauty by which she was afterwards distinguished.
"'Yes, Ulmene. She is most indignant at what she calls my poor taste. She makes comparisons between you and Eured that would, perhaps, render you too vain ​should I repeat them. We were great friends, but she has not spoken to me for a week.'
"When, acting on a hint from my mother, I returned after an absence of nine years, and saw Ulmene in the pride of her beauty, her opinion of me was no longer a matter of amusement, but of most serious moment. Fortunately for me, she had not, as she has since acknowledged, outgrown her chidish liking: she even thought the man of twenty-seven improved beyond the youth of eighteen.
"If a young man is rejected, even when the disappointment is most severe, he is expected to take the matter quietly. He merely anticipates the usual term of expatriation, and departs at once on the course of public duty and education that intervenes between seventeen and twenty-five.
"Even if successful in inducing the object of his preference to bind up for him her locks, he is still only on probation. For two months he is allowed to enjoy as much of her society as is consistent with the entirely probationary nature of their relation. Within doors their interviews always take place in the presence, though not necessarily within earshot, of the mother, or else some one entitled to take her place. He may also take her out every day for a ride on the high-road in his curricle. At this stage of courtship, no familiarities whatever are permissible; for the maiden may at any time break off the matter by re-appearing with tresses free and unrestrained.
"By the end of the two months, the maiden has had time to make up her mind as to whether she will enter ​the first betrothal. By this ceremony she passes from the ranks of the vioran (from vio, a bud, whence viora, a budding beauty) to the ranks of the zeruan (from zer, a hand, whence zeru, a clasped hand, and zerua, a plighted maiden). The ceremony takes place in the presence of all members of both families that can at all conveniently attend. Rings are exchanged; and, for the first time, he gives her a kiss. They part immediately, not to meet again for, probably, a full year."