AND ONE WOMAN.
At the time we tied our car to the rocks, to prevent us from drifting
away from the earth, we did not anticipate that the fastenings would
receive any very severe strain, but now the velocity of the wind was
such that there was great danger of our breaking away. The moon was not
a very hospitable place, to be sure, as we had thus far found it, but
still we preferred it to the alternative of flying off into space in our
glass car and becoming a new species of meteor.
And yet it seemed to be courting instant death to attempt to leave the
car and seek for other shelter. We could not decide which course to
take. Both were so full of peril that there seemed to be no possible
safety in either.
As I review our situation now, and think of us spinning along on that
defunct world we knew not whither, with no ray of light to illumine the
darkness of our future or show us the least chance of escape from our
desperate plight, it is astonishing to me that we did not give up all
hope and lie down and die at once. It only shows what the human body
can endure and of what stuff our minds are made. I think it would not be
making a rash statement to say that no man ever found himself in a worse
situation and survived.
But help was nearer than we supposed. From what we had seen of the
moon we could not have imagined a more unexpected thing than that
which happened to us then. Suddenly, above the roar of the wind and the
thumping of our car on the rocks, even above the tumult of our spirits,
there came to us the strains of more than earthly music. Whether it was
from voice or instrument we could not tell, and in its sweetness and
power it was absolutely indescribable. At first we did not try to
discover its source but were content to sit and quietly enjoy it, as it
fell gently upon us, pervading our whole being and so filling us with
courage and strength that we seemed to be transformed into new men.
Then, wondering if we could discover from whence the notes came, we
turned and looked about us, when there was revealed to us a vision of
beauty which filled and satisfied the sense of sight as completely as
our ears had been enchanted with the angelic music.
Not far from our car, with her flowing garments nearly torn from her in
the fierceness of the gale, was a young girl, stretching out her hands
imploringly toward us and pouring forth her voice in that exquisite
song. We soon discovered it was not for herself that she was anxious,
but for us; for when she observed that she had attracted our attention
she smiled and turned to go back the way she had come, beckoning us
with hand and eye to follow her, and still singing her sweet but
unintelligible words. Perhaps I flattered myself, but I thought she
was looking at me more than at my companion, and I began with great
eagerness to unfasten the door of the car.
“Wait!” cried the doctor. “Where are you going?”
I could not stop an instant, but answered with feeling:
“Going? I am going wherever she is going. I’ll follow her to the end of
the moon if necessary, though the surface be everywhere as bleak as our
own north pole.”
“Well,” he replied, “if it is such a desperate case as that, I’ll have
to go along to take care of you.”
I found that when such a woman beckons and such a voice calls there is
but one thing to do. The sirens were not to be mentioned in comparison.
Twenty thousand hurricanes could not have prevented me from attempting
to follow where she led as long as I had breath.
We reached the ground in safety, and with the greatest difficulty made
our way in the footsteps of our guide, leaving all our possessions
behind us, to the doctor’s murmured regret. And now the words of
the singer seemed to take on a joyous meaning, and we could almost
distinguish her invitation to follow her to a place where the wind did
not blow and where our present troubles would be over. She kept well in
the lead but walked only as fast as our strength would allow, looking
back constantly to encourage us with her smile and ravishing one heart
at least with the melody of her song.
Presently we came to the edge of an immense crater, hundreds of feet
deep and as empty and cold as all the others we had seen on the moon.
Instead of going around this, our leader chose a narrow ravine and took
us down the steep side to the bottom of the crater. We supposed she did
this just to give us protection from the wind, and we were very much
sheltered, but she did not stop here. Entering one of the many fissures
in the rocks, she led us into a narrow passage whose floor descended
so rapidly and whose solid roof shut out the light so quickly that in
ordinary circumstances we would have hesitated about proceeding.
But, although it was soon absolutely dark, we kept on, guided by that
marvelous voice, now our sole inspiration.
“Come, come, fear no harm,” it seemed to say, and we were content to
follow blindly, even the doctor no longer objecting.
[Illustration: “POURING FORTH HER VOICE IN THAT EXQUISITE SONG.”]
How many hours we proceeded in this way, going down, down, all the
time, toward the center of the globe, I have no means of telling; but I
distinctly remember that we began, after a time, to find, to our great
joy, that the air was becoming denser and we could breathe quite freely.
This gave us needed strength and justified the faith with which our
mysterious deliverer had filled us.
At length we were gladdened by a glimmer of light ahead of us, which
increased until our path was all illumined with a beautiful soft haze.
Soon the way broadened and grew still brighter, and then we were led
forth into an open street, which seemed to be part of a small village.
There were but few houses, and even these, although they showed signs
of a former grandeur, were sadly in need of care. Not a creature of any
kind was stirring, and in our hasty review the whole place looked as
if it might have been deserted by its inhabitants for a hundred years.
There was one spot, however, so retired as to be entirely hidden from
our view at first, which had anything but a deserted appearance. The
house was small, but it was a perfect bower of beauty, half-concealed
with a mass of flowers and vines. Here our journey ended, for our guide
led us to the door and, entering, turned and invited us to follow her.
The doctor and I were tired enough to accept with eagerness her
hospitality, and soon we were all seated in a pleasant room, which was
filled with the evidences of a refined taste. Now we had a much better
opportunity to observe the resplendent beauty of our new friend, and we
found, also, that her manners were as captivating as her other personal
qualities. At intervals, all through our long walk, her song had ceased
and we expected she would make some attempt to speak to us; but being
disappointed in this, it struck me after we had entered the house that
I ought to end the embarrassment by addressing her. The circumstances
of our meeting were peculiar, to say the least, and, of all the thousand
things I might have appropriately said, nothing could have been more
meaningless or have better shown the vacant condition of my mind than
the words I chose.
“It’s a fine day,” I said, looking square in her eyes and trying to
speak pleasantly.
In answer she gave me a smile which almost deprived me of what little
wit remained, and at the same time emitted one exquisite note.
I was now at the end of my resources. I had always thought I could talk
on ordinary topics as well as the average man, but in the presence of
this girl, with everything in the world unsaid, I could not think of one
word to say. The doctor soon saw my predicament and hastened to
assist me, and the remark which he selected shows again his wonderful
self-possession in the midst of overwhelming difficulties. He waved his
hand gently toward me to attract her attention and said:
“My friend and I are from the United States and have come to make you a
visit. This is your home, I suppose, away down here in the middle of the
moon? It is very kind of you to bring us here. I hope you will excuse me
for my rudeness, but what time do you have supper?”
This time three little notes of the same quality as before and then
a little trill, and the whole accompanied by a smile so sweet that I
suddenly began to wish the doctor had been blown off the top of the
moon. It was a wicked thought and I put it away from me as quickly
as possible, being assisted by the recollection that the doctor had a
charming wife already, who was no doubt thinking of him at this very
moment.
We were not making much progress in opening conversation, but our
charming hostess seemed to understand either the doctor’s words or his
looks, for, stepping into another room, she called us presently to sit
down to a table well supplied with plain but substantial food. She soon
made us feel quite at home, just by her easy and agreeable ways. We did
not once hear her voice in ordinary speech, and at length we began to
suspect, what we afterward learned to be true, that she talked as the
birds talk, only in song. Whether she used her language or ours she
would always sing or chant her words, and every expression was perfect
in rhythm and melody.
The doctor and I hesitated to say much to each other, out of deference
to the feelings of this fair lunarian, but he took occasion to remark to
me quietly that as she could not tell us her name just yet he proposed
to call her Mona [Footnote: _Mona_ is old Saxon for _moon_.] for the
present. I assented easily, as it made little difference to me what we
called her, if she would only remain with us.
It happened that the doctor, who knew everything, was well acquainted
with dactylology and the latest sign language, used in the instruction
of deaf mutes, and as it seemed likely that our stay in our present
abode might be a prolonged one, he told me he would try to teach Mona to
converse with us. I could not object, although I secretly wished I could
have taken the place of instructor. But it soon occurred to me that I
must be a fellow pupil, if we were all to talk in that way; and so,
with this bond of sympathy established between us, Mona and I began our
lessons.
During the closing years of the century great progress had been made, on
the earth, in the method of talking by arbitrary signs and motions.
The movements of the body and limbs and the great variety of facial
expressions were all so well adapted to the ideas to be represented that
it was comparatively easy for an intelligent person to learn to make
known many of his thoughts. As our studies progressed day after day
it began to dawn on me that Mona, in spite of the disadvantage of not
knowing our spoken language, was learning faster than I was. I was
somewhat chagrined at this at first, but it finally turned out to my
advantage, for the doctor announced one day that Mona had acquired all
he knew and could thenceforth teach me if I pleased. Here was a bond
of sympathy that I had not looked for, but I was glad enough to avail
myself of it, and delighted to find that Mona was also pleased with
the plan. With her for a teacher it did not take me long to finish.
Her graceful movements made poetry of the language, and the web she was
weaving around my heart was strengthened every hour.
As Mona gradually learned to express herself to our comprehension we
began to ask her questions about herself and her history. The doctor,
being less under the spell of her charms than I was, showed a greater
curiosity, and one of the first things he asked was:
“When do you expect the other members of your family home?”
Mona was at first puzzled, but saw his meaning as soon as the motions
were repeated, and answered with a few simple signs:
“I have no friends to come home. I am alone.”
The expression we put into our faces told her of our sorrow and sympathy
better than any words, and the doctor continued:
“But these other houses! Surely they are not all empty?”
“Yes,” she replied, “their inmates are all gone. I am the only
inhabitant left.”
And then she told us from time to time that there were no other villages
anywhere in the moon and that she was absolutely the last of her race.
Our method of conversation was not free enough to allow her to tell us
how she had discovered the truth of this astounding information, and
there were a thousand other questions for whose answers we were obliged
to wait, but not forever.
The doctor and I talked freely to each other now, and playfully said
a great many things to Mona, who, though she did not understand them,
laughed with us and gave us much pleasure with her easy, unembarrassed
manner and piquant ways. And she not only jabbered away with hands and
face in the manner we had taught her, but she did not cease also to make
life bright for us by repaying us in our own coin and talking to us in
her natural, delicious way. With such music in the house life could not
be dull.
My infatuation increased as the days went by, and I began to seek every
possible occasion to be alone with Mona. I often encouraged the doctor
to go out and learn what he could of our surroundings, excusing myself
from bearing him company on the ground that I did not think it safe to
leave Mona alone. Or if Mona wanted to go out I would suggest to the
doctor that I needed the exercise also, and that he really ought to
be writing down our experiences while he had leisure, as there was no
telling how soon the moon would land us somewhere.
I did not then know whether the doctor saw through my designs or not.
I thought not, for I did not suppose he was ever so deeply in love as
I was. But if he did he was good enough to take my little hints and say
nothing.
On these occasions, whether Mona and I remained in the house or walked
abroad, I wasted no time in asking her more questions about the moon or
such trivial matters, but spent all my efforts in trying to establish
closer personal relations between us. While she was exceedingly pleasant
and agreeable, she did not seem to understand my feeling exactly,
although I tried in every way to show her my heart. She was not
coquettish, but perfectly unaffected, and simply did not realize my
meaning. For once the sign language did not prove adequate; and so, as
my feelings would not be controlled, I was fain to resort to my natural
tongue, and poured forth my love to my own satisfaction if not to her
comprehension. I did not stint the words, astonishing myself at the
fullness of my vocabulary, and hoping that the fervor of my manner and
the passion exhibited in my voice would make the right impression on my
companion.
Day after day, as opportunity offered, I returned to the same theme.
Mona was sympathetic in her own charming way, but apparently not
affected in the manner I was looking for. And still, “I love you, I love
you,” was repeated in her ears a thousand times. The fact that she did
not understand the words made me all the more voluble, and I lavished my
affectionate terms upon her without restraint.
One day, after this had been going on for some time, the doctor came in
from a walk and found us together as usual. He had a rare blossom in
his hand, and stepping to Mona’s side he offered it to her with some
gallantry. She accepted it with a beaming countenance which set my
heart to thumping, and then she burst forth in a strain so sweet that
it thrilled my whole being and roused in me again that jealous fear that
Mona was learning to care more for the doctor than for me. But how
shall I describe my emotions when she suddenly blended syllables of
our language with the accents of her song, and, still looking into the
doctor’s eyes, closed her entrancing melody with the burning words, “I
love you”?
I wonder how other men have borne such a shock as that. It seemed to me
that by simply living during the next few minutes I was proving myself
stronger than others. And I was able to think, too. It occurred to me
that perhaps Mona was merely a parrot, repeating, with no perception of
their meaning, words which she had so often heard from me. But this idea
passed swiftly away when I remembered the warmth of her expression and
the ardor of her manner, both of which, alas, she had also learned from
me.
As I recovered somewhat from the effects of the blow I found Mona’s eyes
were fixed on me, and she looked so innocent, so entirely unconscious
of wrong, that if I had any anger in my heart it melted away and left
me more her slave than ever. There was something in her behavior which
I could not comprehend, and it was evident that she had not yet acquired
any particular fondness for me, but these were not sufficient reasons
to make me cease to care for her. My love was too strong to give her up,
even after I had just heard her declare, in such a passionate way, her
love for another. These thoughts passed through my mind as she beamed
upon me in her radiant beauty, smiling as sweetly as ever, as if to
encourage me still to live and hope.
But how did the doctor receive this remarkable love-song? Like the
philosopher he was. Being astonished beyond measure at what he had
heard, he sat and pondered the subject for some minutes. What chiefly
interested him was not the personal element in Mona’s words, which was
so vital a point to me, but the fact that she could make use of any
words of our language. The possibilities which this fact opened up to
him were of the greatest moment. If Mona could learn to talk freely
she would be able to give us much information that would be of great
scientific value. After he had pursued these thoughts a while it
suddenly struck him that the expression she had used was a singular one
to begin with, and he turned to me and laughingly said:
“You must have taught her those words. I did not.”
“I shall have to acknowledge it,” I replied, “but I assure you I did not
influence her to make such use of them.”
“No, I suppose not; but that question is of small account beside the
knowledge that Mona has begun to learn our speech. Now let us give all
our attention to her instruction.”
We did so from that hour, the doctor from high motives of philosophy and
philanthropy, while I was actuated by more selfish reasons. Although
I had learned that I had been too hasty in my attempt to gain Mona’s
affections I did not despair of success. I should have to take time and
approach the citadel of her untutored heart with more caution. In the
pleasant task of teaching her the intricacies of the English language
I anticipated many delightful opportunities of leading her into the
Elysian fields of romance. If she could learn to understand fully my
intense feeling for her I had no doubt she would return my passion. With
such a hopeful spirit does the love god inspire his happy victims.
In order to assist in the realization of these rosy fore-thoughts, I
suggested to the doctor that each of us should take his turn in Mona’s
instruction, so as to make it as easy and informal for her as possible.
He had no objections to make, and we began a task which proved to be
much simpler than we had imagined. Mona had heard us talk so much
that she had half-learned a great many words and expressions, and her
remarkable quickness of intellect helped her to pick up their meaning
rapidly as soon as we gave her systematic aid. Hence it was not long
before she began to converse with considerable freedom.
From the first the doctor and I had been curious to know if she
would give up the musical tone and simply talk as we did, and we were
pleasantly surprised to find that her song was not interrupted by the
form of words she used. Whatever the phrase she wanted to employ she
turned it into verse on the instant and chanted it forth in perfect
melody. So spontaneous was every expression that her very thoughts
seemed to be framed in harmony. Her voice was not obtrusive nor
monotonous and generally not loud, but was always well adapted to the
sense of what she was singing. The tones mostly used in conversation
were low and sweet, like rippling water, but these were constantly
varied by the introduction of notes of greater power and range.
To have such use made of our rugged speech was a revelation to us, and
words, as we employ them, are inadequate to express our enjoyment of
Mona’s song, when to its former beauty was added the clear enunciation
of language that we could understand.
It was through this rare medium that the doctor and I learned, from day
to day, something of the history of Mona’s race. The surface of the moon
had once been peopled, as we supposed, but as the day of decay and death
approached the outside of the globe became too inhospitable to longer
support life. The interior had cooled and contracted, and as the solid
crust was rigid enough to keep its place, great, sublunar caverns had
been formed. Into these rushed the water and the atmosphere, accompanied
by the few remaining inhabitants. The conditions were not favorable, in
such places, to the continuation of the race, although their advanced
knowledge in every direction prevented them from melting away suddenly.
Settlements had been formed in many different sections of the moon,
and interior communication was established between them. As the people
gradually passed away, those who remained naturally drew nearer together
until at last the remnant of the population of the globe were all
gathered in the little village where we were now living. Here the
process still went on, and year after year saw a constantly diminishing
number. A few years before our arrival Mona’s last companion, a girl
of her own age, had died, and ever since then this tuneful creature,
possessed of the most sunny disposition we had ever known, had lived
alone, with the knowledge that there was not another living being in all
the moon.
“So you see,” she sang, “I was as glad to find you as you were to hear
me.”
“But,” asked the doctor, “how did you know we were out there, nearly
ready to be blown off into space?”
“I didn’t know it till I saw you. I went out to try to discover what
was the matter with my old world. For some time I had had the queerest
sensations imaginable. I was accustomed to being out of doors a great
deal, and I first began to notice that I could walk and run more easily
than before. I was becoming rather sprightly for one who was so soon
to pass off this deserted stage. Then everything I took up seemed to
be growing marvelously light, and I began to have a feeling that I must
hold on to all my movable possessions, to keep them from getting away.
After this unaccountable state of things had existed for a while, there
came, one day, a terrible shock, which threatened to crack the moon’s
skull and rattle its fragments down upon my head. This was followed at
intervals by similar or lighter shocks, and it was all so exceedingly
unusual that I became very curious to know what was happening. Then all
was quiet for many days, but when at length the quakings began again my
natural instinct of self-preservation told me I ought not to take the
risk of another such siege, and so I started to make my way to the
surface by a well-known path. The trouble did not continue as I feared,
but I kept on, fortunately for you as well as for myself, and found
the outside world too uncomfortable a place for any of us to remain in
longer than necessary.”
This halting prose represents the meaning of what Mona said, but it
gives a feeble idea of the beauty of her poetic expressions, chanted in
melodious phrase and in ever-changing, ever-joyous tune.
We replied by explaining to her what had happened to her disjointed
world, expressing our gratitude also for her kindness in bringing us to
her sheltered home.