# The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 5

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"THIS is my home," said Utis, as we alighted, "and yours, too, till you weary of it."
At the sound of the dog's bark, two lovely children came rushing forth to welcome their father. The girl of about twelve summers, and the eight-year-old boy, were clad in costumes closely resembling those of their elders. To the boy was intrusted the task of wheeling the curricle to its quarters. The girl took charge of the packages my friend had brought from the city.
Two ladies met us as we entered the house. These were my host's wife and her sister. The latter was engaged, as I could tell by the arrangement of her hair. The ladies, introduced to me as Ulmene and Ialma, reecived me with cordiality as a kinsman for some time expected, but seen for the first time.
Some chance expressions let fall by them informed me that I was supposed to have arrived that day by the Australian mail-ship; and, strangest of all, I received the information that my baggage had already arrived, and awaited me in my room. Somewhat bewildered by this astounding information, I followed my host to the apart​ment assigned me. There, sure enough, were two sizable portmanteaus. Strong they were, but travel-stained, and bearing those unmistakable marks by which we recognize the veterans of their kind that have passed through the hands and seen the cities of many-languaged men. Upon the sides was marked, in the plain lettering of the period, the name,—
ISMAR THIUSEN,
under which I had now been introduced to a number of persons. That might pass; but to take possession of a stranger's baggage, as well as of his name, was too much. When, therefore, Utis, seeing me stand gazing stupidly at the trunks, suggested my opening them in order to dress for dinner, I decidedly objected.
"This baggage does not belong to me. Nor, if it did," I added, as a clincher, "have I the means of opening those strong locks."
"Perhaps you will find the means in there," said Utis, smiling as if at my forgetfulness, and pointing to a pocket in my tunic.
It was almost without surprise that I actually did produce a pocket-book from that hitherto unnoticed receptacle. This pocket-book contained, among many other things, a key of peculiar form; and this key, upon trial, was found to open the trunk. My host, seeing me still hesitate, unpacked some of the clothing, shook it out, and placed it over the back of a chair, saying as he did so,—
"As there are no servants, every family now does its own work, each member, from infancy, learning to take a due share. This is the suit you will put on after bathing," he continued, while he laid out some underclothing, ​and an outer suit of much the same style as that I had on, but of finer material and richer coloring. "Here is the bath," he next said, leading to where a low partition cut off about a third of the apartment.
The bath did not greatly differ, either in size or shape, from those now in use, except that the glass of which it, with all its fittings and accessories, was composed, imparted an aspect of most inviting purity. He turned on the water, pointed out the rose of the shower-bath, promising to return in twenty minutes.
"We consider twenty minutes as amply sufficient for a man's toilet, including bath, rubbing dry, and putting on the simple costume we wear."
Braced and invigorated by the bath, I hastened to don the simple evening suit. While doing so, I could not but appreciate the good sense that had adopted a costume so rational. Both comfortable and elegant, it required little more than two minutes for its putting on, instead of the weary and sometimes exasperating time demanded for the due assumption of our tasteless garb, the joint invention of brainless idlers, and their well-matched purveyors.
I soon became aware of a want. Was there no mirror? I looked round me. The room was of moderate size, had polished floor and walls, high ceiling, and a door-window opening on the upper veranda. It was furnished with severe simplicity. A silken hammock suspended in one corner, a chair, a small table, and a large wardrobe of ualin, comprised the entire list of movables. Evidently a place for sleep only. Next I perceived a door. Passing through it, I found myself in what was evidently the sitting-room, or study, to which the bedroom was an append​age. Walls and ceiling were neatly panelled in maple of different colors. Two windows opening on the veranda took up a large part of two sides of the apartment. Besides chairs, a table, book-case, and other articles whose nature I readily recognized, there were many the purpose of which I could only guess.
That object resembling a small harmonium was an electric tachygraph, by which I afterwards learned to commit my thoughts to paper with the rapidity of a shorthand writer. Those other objects were, as I correctly guessed, a telephone and a telegraph apparatus. In another corner was a calculating-machine, an instrument in general use. Opposite the window hung what I sought,— a mirror,—apparently placed there rather for ornament. than for use. A hasty survey of my person proved satisfactory. Accordingly, when my host appeared, to conduet me to the dining-room, I followed without diffidence.
The dining-room was decorated in much the same style. as the apartment I have described above, with the important addition of a few oil-paintings of some age and great merit, but of a school of art entirely strange to me. We took our seats at a round table, the centre of which resembled a parterre, so copiously was it adorned with flowers of various kinds, mostly unknown to me. In the midst of the flowers was a stand containing carafes of water, and what, from the colors, I thought might be wine, but proved to be sherbets.
After the utterance of a short prayer by the head of the household, he pressed on a small knob before him. The parterre in the centre of the table rose slowly before my eyes, in obedience to some concealed mechanism, and ​proved to be the top of a sort of dumb-waiter. I imitated the rest by taking from the compartment before me. a snowy napkin, a roll, and also several forks and spoons. These were not of silver, but—imagine my surprise— of solid gold. Ulmene produced, besides, from her compartment, a tureen and set of plates. When she had placed these things before her, the cebin, as the dumbwaiter was called, immediately descended to its former position; and the lady helped us to some excellent potage. That disposed of, the cebin again rose, tureen and plates were replaced in their receptacle, and Utis produced from his compartment a covered dish and plates. This proved to be fish. A third rise of the cebin, to a greater height than before, yielded another course, consisting of exquisitely cooked vegetables, compotes, and a roast, but from what animal I was not able to decide. In color, flavor, and tenderness, it was not unlike venison at its best. What puzzled me was the peculiar shape in which it came to table, and the fact that it was not carved, but helped with an instrument somewhat resembling a fishslice.
I may here mention, in passing, that knives were never used at table, all viands being so well cooked as to require no such aid for their division. The sight of a steel blade at table would have there produced as great a sensation as would, among us, the spectacle of a gallant knight drawing his trusty dagger to carve for self and lady. I remarked also the comparatively small amount of each dish that appeared at table. There was enough, and no more. Each convive, too,—and I was careful to imitate them,—made a point not to leave any thing on ​the plate. This, it appears, was a point of etiquette, and, like most such points, was founded upon general convenience. In regard to the apparent economy of food, I received from Utis, in a subsequent conversation, the following explanation.
"You know enough of the culinary art to see that the due preparation of such a dinner as we have every day would absorb fully the time and energies of one or more persons daring a large part of the day, besides entailing a great waste of material. All cooking, therefore, is done on the co-operative plan. About the centre of this district is a building, carefully fitted up with every appliance and convenience for the preparation of food that science or experience has suggested.
"Bills of fare for each day are carefully drawn up, for some time in advance, by a special committee. The prescribed dishes are prepared with care. You have had opportunity to judge how skilfully and scientifically our artists can work. For we justly regard the skilful preparation of food as a fine art, contributing in no small degree to the health and happiness of our race. Waste of all kinds our training causes us to shrink from with a dislike almost instinctive. The telephone sends in the orders of each household on the preceding evening, so that the quantity required of each dish can be estimated with scientific exactitude.
"The culinary essentials of only two meals are provided. The slight noon refection involves no cooking. Punctually at the appointed hour each day, dinner-trains leave the culinary depot to carry to each household the meal ordered on the preceding day. At the well-known ​signal, a member of the household receives at the gate the dinner-case, ingeniously contrived for carrying, without loss of heat, the enclosed meal. Of each dish we order only a carefully estimated amount. This is partly from dislike of waste, but still more in order to avoid the constant tendency to excess in the use of rich foods. This we specially avoid, though permitting the appetite more freedom in the use of such things as bread, fruit, etc."
To return to the dinner, the last course comprised fruits, especially strawberries of delicious flavor. Grapes. were always present,—a fruit that their science enables them to keep in perfection throughout the year.
The meal, enjoyed with much deliberation, was eulivened by such conversation as might be expected among people of cultivation and high breeding. Their manners, though simple and unaffected, were yet controlled by a well-defined system of etiquette, if I may so term it, which I found universally prevalent. "Etiquette is to true politeness," said their proverb, "what the rind is to the fruit." In putting into practice the principle contained in this saying, they were careful to avoid extremes. On the one hand, the rind was not made too heavy and unelastic for the purpose it was intended to subserve; yet just as the envelopes of some fruits are in themselves beautiful, so they invested many acts of their ceremonial politeness with a grace that would not willingly be spared.
It was not customary, I remarked, for children to address their elders at table unless in reply. At the same time, it was equally incumbent on the elders not to overlook the children, but to draw them into conversation by ​suitable questions. The remarks of the young, thus drawn out, were listened to with as serious attention as the words of the wisest. Their opinions, if not coincided in, were met, not by ridicule, but by a few words of comment intended less to convey the elder's opinion than to suggest the correct line of thought. Conversation thus became an important, if not the most important, means of education, in so far as the training of the moral perceptions, and the exercise of the judgment, is of greater importance than the mere imparting of information.
If required to state the pervading characteristic of the manners of these people, I should say self-control. In proportion as man had become master of nature, it had become needful to become master of himself. Calm self-respect was there, such as might he expected in a class. conscious of high powers, and knowing no superior: arrogance was wanting, that in which it originates being wanting,—a supposed inferior class or classes.
I have already adverted to the general prevalence of personal beauty among the population. To this rule the hostess and her sister were no exceptions. Ulmene, though the mother of a twelve-year-old girl, and, as I learned, in her thirty-fourth year, was in the pride of her beauty. She differed from her sister, some twelve years younger, chiefly in the Juno-like dignity befitting the mother of two children.
Ialma was soon to be a bride,—as soon, indeed, as she should reach the legal age,—twenty-three. She was now receiving from her sister some final instruction in the practical details of housekeeping. Though within a few weeks of her wedding-day, she was entirely free from the ​petty cares now attending a position such as hers. The delights and worries associated with the words milliner and shopping were to her equally unknown. Her simple trousseau, though comprising nearly all the clothing she would require during the rest of her life, had long since been prepared by her own fair hands. The collection of china, plate, and similar articles comprised in the customary contribution of the bride to the common stock, had been a labor of love for her mother, ever since her daughter's birth, and had grown at each recurring anniversary. Not an article but was associated with some happy memory of her girlhood. By a pretty custom, each girl-friend contributed a piece of porcelain decorated by her own. hands. The execution, of course, was very unequal in merit; but none fell below a fair standard. Drawing was practised by all from infancy, with even greater assiduity than writing; since there were many substitutes for the latter. Every stroke, therefore, was as characteristic of the donor as are to us the letters of a familiar handwriting.
As might, therefore, be expected, the most inferior, from an artistic point of view, was by no means the piece least prized. Once, when Ulmene was displaying to me her treasures, my eye was caught by a small case, which I supposed must contain some especially fine specimen. On pressing the spring, I found displayed within merely a small breakfast-plate. The decoration—but partly finished—reminded me, in its style, of a child's first laborious attempt at a letter. I looked up to make inquiry; but, instead, I reverently closed the case, and silently replaced it whence I had taken it. Man may do ​much to relieve himself from the grosser evils of life, but that shadow will never pass from earth.
Of jewellery, except a few pins and clasps of the simplest form, Ialma had none. The notion of loading her person with pieces of metal or with glittering stones would have been as repugnant to her taste as tattooing, or the wearing of a nose-ring. A wreath, a few flowers in her hair, completed her costume for dinner or breakfast.
Gold, indeed, was far from being relatively so costly as at present, and was employed solely for purposes in which its utility was manifest. Its relative value might be about that of silver among us. The art of crystallizing gems had long been brought to perfection. The diamond, the ruby, in fine, every kind of precious stone known to us, and many we do not know, could be produced, of a size and beauty that would astonish the lapidaries of to-day. But facility of attainment and value are ever in inverse proportion. These gems, so precious among us, were valued only for the few practical uses to which they were applicable. The wearer of the most costly diamond parure ever produced would, among these people, have been regarded with the same good-natured contempt excited in us by the gaudy finery of the savage owner of some strings of bright-colored beads.
Ialma took matters so quietly, seemed so slightly agitated by the closely approaching change in her condition, that I came to the entirely wrong conclusion, that she cared but little for her betrothed husband, that hers was the calm of indifference. He was in a distant part of the world, had been absent nearly a year.. Yet she would refer to him with as little hesitation, would utter his name ​as calmly, as if he were only a brother soon to return from college. By the merest chance, however, I happened to be a witness of their meeting after his return. Their manner was calm enough outwardly. But I read in their eyes what was to me a revelation of how much of long-repressed feeling can be expressed in one look,—trust, joy, love, beyond the power of words.
During the dinner my attention had been strongly attracted by an oil-painting that hung opposite me. It represented a beautiful girl standing on the verge of a cliff. With one hand she strove to restrain the disorder of her garments, blown by a furious gale. In the other she held on high a flaming torch, which cast a weird light upon her long auburn tresses streaming in the wind, and on a countenance where strangely blended love, terror, and resolution, mastering both terror and physical fatigue. The painting was evidently a masterpiece, or, at least, an excellent copy. Catching the eye of Esna, my host's daughter, I made inquiry as to the subject of the piece.
"Why, that is Esna Diotha," replied the girl, whom the question seemed, for some reason, greatly to surprise.
"Who, then, was Esna Diotha?" I inquired again, somewhat interested by the sound of the second name, and amused at the confidence with which the youthful mind assumes its knowledge to be universal property.
It is a strong testimony to the fine manners of those with whom I was sitting at table, that, at the moment when I put this question, I felt as much at home as if I had been an inmate of the house for years. My feeling was as if dining with old friends in a strange land. The surroundings are unwonted, yet soon cease to affect one. I was ​all the more impressed, therefore, by the sensation produced by those careless words of mine.
Esna, too young as yet to have her emotions completely under control, gazed at me in open-eyed astonishment. The fair Ialma kept her eye fixed upon her plate, as if she feared they might reveal her thought; while a faint flush mantled in her checks. Ulmene telegraphed to her husband a look that seemed to say,—
"Is it really so bad as that?"
What had happened was, indeed, very much as if, among us, a man of supposed liberal education should frankly confess his total lack of any mental associations. with the names Dido, Caesar, or Napoleon. As for Utis, he said quietly,—
"You see, Esna, your cousin Ismar wishes to hear the story of your famous namesake. Show him how well you know it."
At this command, without any attempt at excuse, or display of childish shyness, the girl stood forth, and related with a dramatic power, that showed how her heart went with it, a simple and ancient story of love and self-devotion. How a maiden had served her country, and saved many lives, by the imminent risk of her own life, and of a life dearer than her own. So well was the story told, that I could compliment her in all sincerity.
"You should hear cousin Reva, then," said Esna.
"All we Diothas know that story well."
"So Reva is your cousin,—first or second?" said I inquiringly.
"She is my first cousin, and your second," replied the child.
​"How do you make out that?" I went on, willing to know more, yet inquiring rather as if to test the accuracy of her information than to gain any.
"Semna Diotha, your grandmother, and Asta Diotha, my grandmother and Reva's, were sisters."
"Well?" said I when she paused.
"So your mother and ours are first cousins, which makes you our second cousin."
From the silent acquiescence of the elders, I saw that this was accepted as a correct statement of our relationship. I accepted without comment the crowd of newly acquired relatives. I had ceased to wonder at any thing. There was an undefined pleasure, too, in finding myself related, but not too nearly, to the beautiful Reva. I might have been proved her brother or grandfather, so I felt reason to be thankful.
I might have tried to gain indirectly some further information in regard to my relatives, but that we now rose from table. A small cup of black coffee—better I had never tasted—was the only stimulant of which we had partaken. The handsome carafes in the centre of the table contained, not wine, but iced sherbets.
"The habitual use of stimulants," said Utis in the course of a subsequent conversation on the subject, "has been proved by experience to be dangerous, if not absolutely hurtful, to the young and vigorous. Some wine is used, indeed, but only by persons above seventy. In younger years, wine is not only distasteful to our healthy. and vigorous organizations, but is especially shunned on account of its interference with that clearness of intellect from which we derive our highest enjoyment. Tea ​and coffee, as well as some other infusions, are used, as you see, but in great moderation."
It was growing dark when we rose from table. A mere turn to a handle, and the apartment was illuminated by a flood of soft electric light, affording light for the task now before us. All set to work, each taking an allotted part in setting things to rights. One remained to sweep the table-cloth and clear the floor from crumbs. The rest of us descended to an apartment beneath the dining-room, to which the cebin descended. Every thing was removed from the compartments of that apparatus, and was either washed or dusted: all, in fine, was put in readiness for the morning meal, except, of course, the dishes to come from the culinary depot. All employing themselves deftly and intelligently, every thing was in order in about twenty minutes.
I, as a matter of course, could not stand idly by when all were so busy. But my attempts at assistance were so clumsy as to call forth, on one occasion, a merry peal of laughter from Ialma, who must have thought my home-training somewhat deficient. Seeing me take it in good part,—her laugh, indeed, was irresistibly contagious—we all laughed; and the work went on merrily. Ialma and I were thenceforth very good friends.
This short interlude over, to my mind much more enjoyable than the corresponding period after our dinners, we betook ourselves to the parlor, without heaviness, and without anxiety in regard to digestion.
In the parlor prevailed the same general style of ornament and furnishing as in the apartments already described, the same simple elegance, the same harmony of ​color and design. As in the dining-room, one side of the apartment was entirely thrown open; so that it formed, as it were, a mere recess from the veranda. Guided by the insight already acquired, I could make a fair guess at the purpose of most of the furniture; though its appearance was, in most cases, extremely diverse from that of corresponding objects in our time. A chessboard alone seemed to greet me as an old familiar friend. That, at least, was not affected by the mutations of so many centuries. The pieces were so slightly altered in form as to be readily identified.
Esna, seeing me thus employed, good-naturedly challenged me. I accepted, not unwilling to discover what changes, if any, had taken place in the laws of the game. These I found to be of such minor importance as rarely to cause me embarrassment. My youthful antagonist opened with the Muzio Gambit, and played a surprisingly good game for her years. She was no match, however, for one of the best players of the Philidor. She looked up in surprise after studying my tenth move, and was mated after a few more.
"Ialma!" she exclaimed to her aunt, who happened to be passing, "Ismar plays much better than I,—almost as well as Olav."
Olav was Ialma's betrothed. Though five thousand miles away, he enjoyed the privilege of an hour's conversation with her every day by means of the telephone. They also carried on a game of chess, a move every day. According to the prevailing custom, both players were allowed to accept assistance from any acknowledged source. This both lessened the pain of defeat, and led ​to the rapid interchange of new methods of play between widely separated localities. In this case Ialma, aided by Reva, her cousin and prospective sister, said to be an enthusiastic player, had gained one game, and Olav a second. Now the deciding game was in progress, Olav seeming to have a decided advantage. Reva was greatly mortified at the prospect of impending defeat. Just because she greatly admired her brother, she had enjoyed that first triumph. These details Ialma communicated to me in her animated way, coupled with an entreaty to render what assistance I could.
"I would show you the record now," she continued, "but we are about to have some music."
Ulmene had already seated herself before a sort of desk, on whose slope were several rows of small keys. somewhat resembling those of a concertina. The slightest touch on one of these produced a note, the strength of which, as regulated by pedals, could be made to vary from a tone barely audible to the most powerful. Some series of notes were produced by the impact of hammers on stretched strings, as in the piano, or on metallic plates or small bells. The sweetest tones of all came from reeds, the mechanism and tuning of which had been brought to such perfection, that their tones rivalled those of a violín in the hands of a master.
On this instrument Ulmene, whose special talent was music, began an improvisation. Slowly at first, and in simple style, she played a music whose beauty depended chiefly on melody. Gradually, as the inspiration came on, the theme became more involved, till it culminated in the grandest and most complicated combinations of har​mony. Now the white, shapely hands moved slowly and with deliberation over the face of the key-board, anon their movements became rapid and indistinct as the flitting of the storm-driven send over the disk of the equinoctial moon. Again the music changed to a slow and stately movement of religious solemnity. Transported in spirit to a distant land, and a still more distant age, I thought I once more heard the grandly swelling strains that seemed, beneath that majestic dome, to give utterance to the upward aspirations of countless millions. When the music ceased, each seemed absorbed in revery; and, after little more conversation, we separated for the night.