After dinner was over the students indulged in conversation. I
discovered afterwards that music usually formed a prominent feature in
after dinner amusements, but to-day the Honourable Augustus and myself
afforded sufficient food for pastime. We were, however, not exactly
mobbed, though our audience was a large one in every sense of the word.
One thing puzzled me exceedingly. When I spoke awhile ago of being
“English,” my interrogators seemed thoroughly mystified, and yet they
were speaking my native tongue in all its insular purity. Evidently
there was a good deal to explain on all sides.
Augustus Fitz-Musicus had by this time got over his chagrin, and was, I
could tell, even congratulating himself in a mild sort of way over the
fact that he was proving a much greater source of attraction than I was.
He was receiving the attentions of this bevy of big beauties with such a
ridiculous air of conceited nonchalance, that I was provoked to
laughter, in spite of my polite attempt to restrain my mirth.
Myra comprehended the cause of my amusement, and whispered, “I see,
little lady, that the male biped is the same all the world over,—a
conglomeration of conceit and arrogance. Your little man looks too funny
for anything, and yet I will warrant that he thinks himself capable of
captivating one half of us. What is he thought of in your country?”
But to this question I was unable to give a satisfactory answer, as I
could only say that I was perfectly ignorant of everything connected
with the Honourable Augustus, never having seen him in my life until
to-day.
This reply amazed Myra and others who heard it, but further
interrogations on her part were stopped for a little while by the advent
of the Lady Principal and two of the professors, who wished to speak
with me and to know how I came to be here.
The young students respectfully made way for them, and I confess that my
sensations on beholding them approached something very near akin to awe.
The Lady Principal, especially, was a being to be remembered. In height
she was somewhat superior to the others. Her features were so perfect in
outline and expression that I think Minerva must have looked like this
woman did. There was not one among all these women who did not look the
embodiment of health. Principal Helen Grey did more than this; she
seemed to me to be the goddess of health herself, and to be capable of
endowing others with this most to be prized earthly blessing.
She sat down beside me, and gently asked me who I was, and how I
happened to be here. My answer to the effect that I did not know how I
had got here was evidently a tax on her credulity, but she was too well
bred to do aught but listen quietly while I continued my explanations.
I told of my perusal of certain magazines, and how my feelings had been
strongly excited upon one subject, until I must have gone to sleep while
thinking of it. Then I described my awaking amid strange surroundings,
and that I supposed the Honourable Fitz-Musicus had been transported
hither also. My account of our first interview with each other provoked
amusement, and every face around me rippled with smiles.
After a few moment’s musing, Principal Grey asked me what I meant by
saying that a certain article deprecated the introduction of Women’s
Suffrage into my country. “Do you mean to say,” she asked, “that men are
the only voters in your country?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and men are not the only obstacle to woman’s
advancement in England. Only a small minority of women dare avow their
real opinions on this very subject. More stupid and less enlightened
females hurl all sorts of contemptible reproaches at them for presuming
to endeavour to better the condition of their sex. All the laws of my
country have been made by men, and they are all made in the interests of
men. It is only a few years since it was possible for a married woman to
hold property in her own right. She might earn, or in any other way
acquire, a large fortune. Her husband could take and squander every
penny of it, without the least fear of being taxed with having done more
than he had a perfect right to do.” “Your England, as you call it, must
be a strange country,” said Principal Grey. “But I cannot quite make out
where it is. I am not considered ignorant in matters appertaining to
history and geography, but I am unable to locate this England of yours.
Once upon a time, a matter of a thousand years ago, the neighbouring
island, which is now called Teuto-Scotland, was called Albion, and later
on England, but we have always understood ourselves to be the only race
living which is at all representative of England and the ancient
English.”
“And what country is this?” I enquired in my turn, marvelling much to
hear this giantess speak of “the ancient English.”
“This country is New Amazonia. A long time ago it was called Erin by
some, but Ireland was the name it was best known by. It used to be the
scene of perpetual strife and warfare. Our archives tell us that it was
subjugated by the warlike English, and that it suffered for centuries
from want and oppression. The land was appropriated by English
mercenaries, who exacted enormous rents, which they spent anywhere but
in Ireland. Famines, attempted revolutions and conspiracies, unjust
repressive laws, and all sorts of calamities are said to have ruined and
depopulated the country until the wars arose which resulted in our
coming here. But as all is so strange here to you, you shall, if you
care about it, be taken out this evening, and then you will be better
able to judge what sort of people we are. Meanwhile, our duties must be
attended to. Hilda, be good enough to take this woman to your room,
until we can make other arrangements, and—oh dear, there is the little
gentleman! What shall we do with him?”
The Honourable Augustus was being conducted through the principal
reception rooms of the college, for such the building was, and the
question of his ultimate disposal could be discussed without the
embarrassment which his presence might perhaps have entailed.
“Suppose we request Mr. Medlock to take him until he decides what his
future arrangements will be?” suggested Professor Wise, a lady who had
hitherto taken no part in the conversation. “It would never do to let
him sleep in the college for a night! The poor little thing’s character
would be irretrievably compromised.”
“Of course it would,” agreed Principal Grey, and she set about making
the necessary arrangements forthwith, while I, wondering if I had been
asleep for five or six centuries, followed Hilda to the upper story in
which her sleeping room was situated. But long before I reached it I
felt tired to death. The marble stairs were exceedingly massive, and
were apparently interminable, while the beautiful banister rails were
too large for me to grasp them with my hand, and thus help myself up. I
was at last compelled to sit down exhausted, feeling that not one more
step could I mount.
Hilda looked at me in astonishment, as I sat panting with my unwonted
exertions. “Is it possible,” she cried, “that the walk up these few
steps has exhausted you? You must be ill, or is it the fault of the
queer clothes that you wear that you are incapable of taking exercise?
But whichever way it is, you cannot sit here, so be kind enough to
excuse me.”
The next moment I was lifted up as if I were a child, and Hilda ran
nimbly up another long flight of steps with me, finally depositing me in
a room that was very handsomely furnished, though most of the articles
in it were of a style the like whereof I had never seen before. Seeing
that I had apparently been Rip-van-Winkelized for about six hundred
years, this is not at all surprising.
But I could not help noticing a piano, which was the facsimile of one
which was in my own possession before I fell asleep. In fact, I had an
idea that it was the very same piano, though how it got here I could not
imagine. Hilda saw me looking at it, and did not remove my mystification
by remarking, “Yes, it is a curious old thing, isn’t it, and in
excellent preservation, I believe. We have several more of them in the
capital, all formerly owned by Englishwomen who originally settled in
Dublin after the wars.”
“Then is this Dublin?” I asked. “If so, I am not so very far from home,
after all.”
“This place used to be called Dublin in the time of the ancient Irish,
but when the country was turned over to what was then contemptuously
called ‘petticoat government,’ nearly all place-names were changed, and
the names of famous women applied to them. Thus we have Fawcetville,
Beecherstown, Weldonia, Besantsville, Jarrettburn, and hundreds of other
names, the etymological origin of which is easily traceable. In fact, it
is one of our laws that no town or village shall receive a name which
does not commemorate some woman who has done all she could to advance
the interests of her sex.”
Our conversation lasted awhile longer, but Hilda had her studies to
attend to, and after reaching several books from a bookshelf for me to
amuse myself with during her absence, she left me for awhile to my own
devices promising to do all she could to make my visit a pleasant one.
There were many things here to arouse my curiosity, but I was most
anxious to see if the books were printed in a style which I could
understand, as I hoped to gain a great deal of information relative to
the strange land in which I found myself, through no effort of will on
my own part.
Fortunately I found the type and paper very beautiful, and with the
exception that the spelling was considerably more phonetic than that in
vogue with us, I found very little difference between our language as at
present printed, and as exponed in the pages of “The History of
Amazonia,” which was the first book I opened.
I must have spent at least two hours in close reading, and if anyone
would like to know the results of my investigations in posthumous
history, she or he will find them recorded in the next chapter.