Unveiling a Parallel: A RomanceJones, Alice Ilgenfritz
Science
Unveiling a Parallel: A Romance
Jones, Alice Ilgenfritz
Feminist fiction; Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Science fiction; Utopian fiction
"Well, an entertainment, perhaps, something superb, something out of
the common; or may be a voyage in her private yacht. Bait of that
sort is too tempting for any but the high and mighty, the
real aristocrats, to withstand. The simply respectable, but
weak-hearted,--who are a little below her level in point of wealth,
position, or ancestry,--fall into her net. I have observed that a
woman who has forfeited her place in the highest rank of society
usually begins her reascent by clutching hold of the skirts of honest
folk who are flattered by her condescension, and whose sturdy arms
assist her to rise again."
"I have observed the same thing myself," I rejoined, but he had not
finished; there was a twinkle in his eye as he went on:
"If you were to reveal the secret of your air-ship to a woman of this
kind she would probably seize upon it as a means of salvation; she
would have one constructed, on a large and handsome scale, and invite
a party to accompany her on an excursion to the Earth. And though she
were the worst of her class, every mother's son--and daughter--of us
would accept! for none of us hold our self-respect at a higher figure
than that, I imagine."
"Yes, Severnius, you do," I replied emphatically.
"I beg your pardon! I would knock off a good deal for a visit to your
planet," he said, laughing.
By this time we had left Cupid's Gardens far behind. The road bent in
again toward the river, which we presently crossed. If it had not been
for the dreadful things I had just listened to, I think I should have
been in transports over the serene loveliness of the prospect around
us. The view was especially fine from the summit of the bridge; it is
a "high" bridge, for the Gyro is navigated by great steam-ships and
high-masted schooners.
Severnius bade the driver stop a moment that we might contemplate the
scene, but I had little heart for its beauties. And yet I can recall
the picture now with extraordinary clearness. The river has many
windings, and the woods often hide it from view; but it reappears,
again and again, afar off, in green meadows and yellowing
fields,--opalescent jewels in gold or emerald setting. Here and there,
in the distance, white sails were moving as if on land. Far beyond
were vague mountain outlines, and over all, the tender rose-blush of
the sky. The sweetness of it, contrasted with the picture newly
wrought in my mind, saddened me.
Some distance up the river, on the other side, we passed an old,
dilapidated villa, or group of buildings jumbled together without
regard to effect evidently, but yet picturesque. They were half hidden
in mammoth forest trees that had never been trimmed or trained, but
spread their enormous limbs wheresoever they would. Unpruned shrubbery
and trailing vines rioted over the uneven lawn, and the rank,
windblown grass, too long to stand erect, lay in waves like a woman's
hair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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