New Amazonia: A Foretaste of the FutureCorbett, George, Mrs.
Science
New Amazonia: A Foretaste of the Future
Corbett, George, Mrs.
Amazons -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Feminism -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
The next excursion of any importance which I made was in the company of
Principal Grey, who proved a splendid cicerone, inasmuch as she spared
no pains to explain everything which presented itself to me in a
puzzling aspect. I had often visited different European countries, and
had been greatly interested by many things I saw. But in New Amazonia
the constant predominating feeling was _amazement_, not mere interest.
Fancy going through a city, anywhere in Europe, in our own days, without
seeing either a beggar or a poverty stricken individual of any sort.
Dirt, squalor, drunkenness, profane language, sickness, rags, and a
thousand other miseries, meet us at every turn in the poorer quarters of
our big cities. But not one of these things did I note in New Amazonia.
Purity, peace, health, harmony, and comfort reigned in their stead, and
presented a picture such as I had never hoped to gaze upon in this
world.
But what ultimately struck me as the strangest thing I had yet observed,
was the fact that I had not seen a single old woman or man since I came
here, and I determined to appease my curiosity on the subject as soon as
possible, by addressing some questions to Principal Grey.
“How is it that I have seen no old people since I came to your country?”
I asked. “Is it because you keep them secluded after they have arrived
at a certain age, or because you die comparatively young?”
“My dear woman,” was the Principal’s reply, “We have both met and spoken
to a great many old people this very evening. Do you mind telling me
what you call old age? Perhaps your ideas and mine on the subject differ
considerably.”
“Well,” I replied, “We call seventy or eighty very old, of course.”
The Professor looked at me with great astonishment. “Seventy or eighty!”
she exclaimed. “Why, how old do you take me to be?”
Had it been an ordinary English lady who had asked me this home
question, I should probably have hesitated in my reply. But this was a
being who despised the appellative _lady_, with all its accompanying
affectations, and prided herself upon nothing so much as being an
honest, truthful, candid _woman_. So I made what I considered to be a
fair guess, and replied that I judged her age to be about forty or
thereabouts.
“Only forty!” was the disparaging comment upon this guess. “I am very
glad to say that it is long since I passed that baby age. One must be at
least forty-five before a position like mine is attainable. I have
occupied my present post for thirty-five years.”
“Now, you are asking me to believe too much,” I expostulated. “Why, you
would at that rate be eighty years old at the very least, and you have
not even the suspicion of a wrinkle about you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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