# The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 2

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On reaching the main arcade, I found ample occupation for eye and mind in noting the person and costume. of the handsome race whose representatives, of both sexes, were passing along with an elastic step that gave token rather of repressed energy than of feverish haste.
The feminine costume, the most simple as well as graceful that had ever met my eye, appeared to me, unversed in such matters, to consist, as regards the upper portion, of a loose tunic of some white or grayish material. This was confined round the waist by a silken sash or girdle, and, when thus girded up, reached to about. midway between knee and ankle. The tunic was, however, of such a length as to reach the instep when not sustained by the girdle. Such was, indeed, the usual way of wearing this garment indoors; it being then allowed to flow to the feet, unless the wearer was engaged in some active occupation. The lower part of the costume consisted of a sort of Turkish trousers confined round the ankles.
The feet were not imprisoned in the uncomfortable and unsightly coverings of the present, which seem designed ​to compel the human foot, naturally so beautiful, to resemble a hideous hoof. Here I saw the feet protected by a sandal carefully adapted to its purpose. This sandal might aptly be compared to a shoe with only a vestige of a heel, and having the upper leather cut away to below the instep. The sole consisted of a thin layer of some. highly elastic material, protected beneath by a harder substance, the latter not in one piece, but arranged in strips, so as to allow the foot to bend as freely as when unshod.
Over the shoulders was worn a sort of light scarf or mantilla, fastened in front, or over one shoulder, by a simple clasp of artistic design, the only article of jewellery that seemed to be worn. The scarf was worn of various hues, though of much fainter tones than the borders of the tunic, which were usually of some bright color, scarlet, blue, or pink. It was the girdle, however, that especially lent richness to the whole, by its brilliant color and elaborate embroidery.
The wearers of this costume displayed no other covering on their heads than their luxuriant masses of wavy hair, gathered into a graceful knot, with or without braids; or allowed to flow freely behind, confined, at most, by a ribbon. This fashion of allowing the hair to hang down was confined, as I afterwards learned, to maidens not betrothed. Matrons and betrothed maidens were, again, distinguished by other peculiarities in the arrangement of their hair. This was both prescribed by express law, and established by what is yet stronger,—the custom of immemorial ages. Coverings for the head were not worn except when gardening, or other outdoor exercise, ex​posed them to sun or rain. When temporarily exposed to the sun, they would protect their heads by throwing over them a fold of the scarf.
This elegant, and to me novel, costume did not strike me with any great surprise. Even in the course of a lifetime feminine attire is, among us, subject to such extreme, and at times whimsical, changes, that we are not easily surprised by any vagary of fashion in the array of the fair sex. What did surprise me, however, was the information, that, with additions and changes of material for colder weather, this fashion had but slightly varied during hundreds of generations.
The male costume consisted of a short tunic, reaching not quite to the knee, and sandals. The latter were similar to those worn by the women, but of somewhat stronger make, and having the upper leather of a plain buff or brown, instead of red or yellow. These articles, tunic and sandals, with underclothing consisting of a thin woollen shirt and short drawers, constituted the entire summer clothing of the men. Neither hat nor glove was worn, except for actual protection against the rigor of the seasons.
The practice of keeping the head almost always uncovered seemed to have the best effect upon the covering provided by nature. Men wore their hair about as long as at present, but in no case could I detect any tendency to baldness. Even in those of advanced years, the hair, however white with age, clustered in thick, crisp locks. about their temples. A noble race, truly, they appeared to me, this people of the far-distant future, the men well made and vigorous, though somewhat sum-browned; the ​women beautiful and graceful beyond any of their distant ancestresses of the present. Their beauty arose, not from any mere regularity of feature: countenances as fair may even now be seen among us. But long ages of intellectual culture had imparted a character to their beauty that rendered it as superior to mere insipid perfection of feature as a living flower is to a waxen imitation. Many a fashionable belle may display hands and feet more diminutive than those I there saw, but certainly rarely so perfect in form, so graceful in movement. Could they but see for once the free, elastic step of those rationally shod dames and damsels of the future, they would cast aside forever the unsightly casings in which they now consent to torture and distort their feet.
So interesting to me was the observation of the features and costumes of this magnificent race, that we proceeded for some distance before I had eyes for any thing else, or found leisure for questioning my companion.
"How is it," I inquired at last, that we meet but one class of the population? These. I suppose, belong to the aristocracy of your city,—a noble and handsome race indeed. But where are the working-classes? For some time I have been looking around for a specimen, but in vain. All seem to belong to a superior class."
"We have no aristocracy," was the reply, "if by that you mean a class living in idleness by the toil of others. Nor have we any working-class, if you mean a class that spends its life in toil that leaves no leisure for their development as intellectual beings. Such as these you so greatly admire compose the only class among us. You may call them an aristocracy if by that you mean ​a cultivated and ruling class, for such they are. You may also call them the working-class, for all support themselves by their own exertions."
"What!" I exclaimed. "That must imply Communism, or something like it."
"No: Communism, in the sense you mean, does not exist among us. Each is the owner of whatever property he acquires, whether by gift or his own exertions. But public opinion stigmatizes idleness as the meanest of vices, the fruitful parent of other vices, and of crime also. Now, it has been ascertained, by careful computation and by experiment, that if every able-bodied person in a community works between three and four hours every day, at some productive employment, the result will supply all with every necessary and comfort of life, with something to spare. Allowing other ten hours for sleep and refreshment, there remain still other ten for mental improvement, and such unproductive pursuits as individual taste may prefer.
"If any live in idleness, it is evident that others must toil to support them. Time-honored custom, therefore, requires that all children, whether boys or girls, shall acquire some handicraft. For the present, I must defer a full account of our social arrangements to some other occasion. I shall merely remark, that we consider the body as well as the mind to stand in need of due exercise to preserve it in sound condition. It has been found, that no physical exercise is so beneficial and pleasing as labor skilfully directed toward some definite object. All, therefore, whether possessing much or little, men and women, young and old, spend a certain number of hours each day ​in some productive employment, and no more dream of having their work done by others than of having eating, sleeping, or digestion performed by deputy. In universal industry has been found a panacea for the worst of the evils that for long ages were the curse of society and the despair of legislators. Our labor, however, is not drudgery. A few steps will take us to a window where you may see and judge for yourself to what perfection machinery has been brought. We merely guide: the real work is performed by forces once allowed to go to waste."
Had I been one of that sex whose special delight is shopping, I should ere this, no doubt, have begun my observations on the shop-windows. But man has ever been to me of greater interest than things. What attention, therefore, I could spare from my companion's explanations, was directed to the persons that, by these very explanations, became objects of yet greater interest than before. Meanwhile we had been passing along, whither I had time neither to think nor inquire. As my companion ceased speaking, he brought me to a stand before a large window, formed, like the rest, of what appeared to be one immense sheet of plate-glass.
Within was displayed machinery, whose workmanship I could not help admiring, though I could form not the slightest idea of its purpose. My attention was first arrested by the fact, that those parts of the mechanism that now would be made of iron or steel appeared to be of polished silver. Glass, too, was employed to an extent that surprised me, considering the brittle nature of that material. In answer to my inquiry, I learned that ​what seemed to me silver was, in reality, a peculiar variety of steel, coated with an extremely hard alloy of aluminum.
"Even in your day," said my informant, the ores of this metal were known to be more abundant than those of iron even. But, as none but expensive methods were known for extracting it from its ores, aluminum remained of slight practical importance. Since then processes have been discovered that render aluminum and other kindred metals as abundant as iron. On account of its lightness, and the slowness with which it tarnishes in the air, this metal is now preferred to iron for numberless purposes. Even when iron is employed, it is generally coated with this alloy, which preserves it from rust, and makes the use of machinery much cleanlier,—a matter of no slight importance, as machines are used for every purpose.
"That machine you see before you is a regulator, an indispensable article of household furniture. It supplies, or, rather, distributes, the motive-power required for any purpose to which machinery is applicable."
"But why is so much glass employed in these machines?" said I. "The mere vibration should be sufficient to utterly destroy it."
"Here is the explanation," he replied, and struck with all the power of his arm a heavy blow against the immense window-pane.
I started in consternation, expecting to see the splendid sheet of glass shattered, with all sorts of unpleasant consequences. The only result, however, was a dull, muffled sound, as if he had struck the side of a boiler.
​Attracted by the sound, a pleasant, white-haired gentleman appeared in the door-way. Without a symptom of concern in regard to his costly window, he greeted my companion with a smile of recognition.
"I see, Utis,"—for so he addressed my friend,—"you, too, are interested by my window. The new system of packing works well. You notice there is scarcely any vibration."
After a few more words he retired; and my friend, seeing me still eying the window with astonishment, said, as be tapped the pane,—
"You might strike this with all the force you can put into a hammer. Dent it you possibly might, but shatter it you cannot."
"In the name of wonder!" exclaimed I, "what substance is this that appears to combine such incongruous properties? Is it glass, or iron?"
"This is malleable glass," was the reply, "perhaps the most useful invention of the last fifty centuries. Had a single man brought it to perfection, he would deservedly be reckoned among the chief benefactors of mankind. As it is, however, the name of the first inventor is unknown, or at least disputed; for this invaluable material is produced in its present perfection, only by the improvements slowly effected in the course of many ages.
"As now made, this material possesses most of the useful properties of a metal, combined with the important advantages of being transparent and practicably indestructible. We could spare almost any other of our inventions better than this. On the other side of the street is a range of buildings where nothing else is sold but ualin, ​as we call it, in its various applications. Our present civilization is founded to such an extent upon our possession of this material, that you cannot better begin your study of the one than by noting the manifold applications of the other."
Now that mention was made of crossing the street, I cast a look over the balustrade, and wondered how the crossing was to be effected. The surface of the street, I well saw, was occupied by four tracks. Upon the inner pair of these careered, at frequent intervals, vehicles of strange appearance, at a speed of ten or twelve miles an hour. To cross between these was evidently a matter of great risk, nor did I see any one attempting the passage. My guide solved the difficulty by simply leading me across one of the bridges already mentioned.
The arcades on this side presented as numerous a throng as those on the side we had just left. Here, too, the current of traffic showed a decided set toward the north. The windows of the various stores, which I now began to examine with more attention, displayed behind their glittering panes a vast array of objects, of whose names and uses I was as ignorant as a savage. One strange object after another met my view in such rapid succession that there was no time for asking questions.
Soon we had reached the place we were seeking. It would be useless to attempt a detailed description of the bewildering variety of crystal ware there displayed. The first store we visited was devoted to the sale of glass for floors and windows. There it lay, piled up in endless profusion,—plain, or curved, or curiously bent, colorless, or tinted in various hues; not tenderly packed in straw, but ​heaped up much as we see tin or boiler-plate. Here I had the satisfaction of convincing myself, by actual experiment with a hammer, that I could not break even a thin piece of this malleable glass that was given me. I was able to beat it out of shape, but not to break it. In other stores I saw all sorts of culinary and other domestic utensils, all made of this glass. Elsewhere, again, were found baths, wardrobes, water-pipes, all kinds of ware, indeed, now usually made of wood, terra-cotta, or metal. In another place the chemical apparatus specially excited my interest. I had been somewhat of a dabbler in that science, but here I found my knowledge of small avail. I could not even guess at the uses of the great variety of articles displayed before my bewildered eyes. Some few instruments had, in some degree, preserved their present forms throughout the long series of intervening ages. But, with a sigh of humiliation, I felt within me that I belonged to the dark ages of the far past.
My friend took as much pleasure in explaining as I in questioning. Yet, as he remarked, many things are impossible of clear explanation to even the acutest intellect that lacks the requisite preliminary information. Science had taken immense strides, and many of them; and I had yet to acquire the rudiments of the new system of knowledge.
"It is about time to leave the city," said my companion, when we again found ourselves outdoors.
"My home is fully thirty miles ontside the city, and we most not be late for dinner. Punctuality. in even the minor affairs of life, is, with us, less a virtue than a mental habit."
​Up to this moment, strange to say, I had given not a thought to my own dress. I had been too absorbed in observing that of others. But, at this most unexpected invitation to dinner, an alarming thought suggested itself. How was I to present myself before strangers, perhaps ladies, in the dressing-gown and slippers that formed my array before I left my chamber on this eventful journey? What a spectacle had I been presenting! With alarm I cast a hasty glance over my habiliments, and observed, for the first time, that the same influence that had translated me to a distant age had effected a corresponding alteration in my outward appearance. I found myself arrayed, as far as I could judge, in the prevailing style. of the period. It now occurred to me, that, among the great variety of glass-ware, I had noticed no mirrors, among us so important. On expressing my surprise, I was informed that the habits and costume of men were so simple that they rarely found occasion for such an article.
"But their wives and daughters?" I suggested.
He acknowledged, with a smile, that mirrors were in use among the fair sex.
"It is their privilege," said he, "to be beautiful, and, in some measure, a social obligation to keep themselves so. The arrangement of their hair, especially, though simple, requires the aid of a mirror. I understand, however, why you wish to see one; and, as it may put you more at your ease, I will take you to where you can view yourself at full length."
After a few moments' reflection, he bethought himself of a place where such articles were for sale, and took me there. Though of excellent quality, the glasses were ​generally of medium size. In one of the largest I surveyed my personal appearance in as serious earnest as ever did a young beauty arrayed for her first ball, or, indeed, as I myself had felt when about to—But that story has no business here.
Though not endowed with more than the average share of vanity that falls to my sex, I was certainly in some anxiety as to the appearance I presented in my novel garb. The inspection was satisfactory. Not only my clothing, but also my physique, had slightly changed, and for the better, so as to correspond with that of the new race among whom I found myself.
My somewhat prominent beak was toned down to a gentle aquiline. My eyes, for which I had lately been obliged to procure glasses, had recovered all the brightness of the days before they had been tried by much reading of poor print. They, as well as my hair, had also assumed a darker hue,—a tendency prevalent among the new race. My friend's surmise proved correct. This glance at the mirror had removed all uneasiness as to my personal appearance. Cheerfully I turned to announce my readiness to proceed, and remarked, for the first time, that a similar change had taken place in the well-known features of my companion. It might not unaptly be compared to the peculiar phonetic change that had softened to Utis Estai the name by which he had been known to me in that former life of mine.