A Traveler from Altruria: RomanceHowells, William Dean
General
A Traveler from Altruria: Romance
Howells, William Dean
United States -- Social conditions -- 1865-1918 -- Fiction; Utopian fiction
“No, I can’t say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the
continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which
you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is
strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the
first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us
that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel
to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to
Britain.”
“Yes, we know that,” the minister intervened, “but it is perfectly
astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to
the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our
era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean’s surface
a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since
Columbus sailed westward.”
“No, you wouldn’t. And I wish,” the doctor suggested in his turn, “that
Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us
about ours.”
“Yes,” I coincided, “I’m sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At
least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor
would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a
defenceless stranger.” Since the professor had given me that little stab,
I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information
in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly.
This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious
about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the
Altrurian said: “I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to
talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall
be still happier to show you many things that I couldn’t make you
understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and
I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that
it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend
here,” he went on, with a smile toward me, “a suspicion that I was not
entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some
ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize.”
“Oh, not at all,” I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture
so accurate. “We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have
nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe
in it fully: we are used to the English tourist.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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