AN UNSATISFACTORY LOVER.
It was delightful to live in the same world with Mona, not for me only
but for every one who knew her. No one could help loving her; there was
simply nothing else to do. Others did not make as much show of their
affection as I did, perhaps because no one else was selfish enough
to claim the same personal rights in her, but I found every new
acquaintance she made succumbed to the power of her many charms. The
secret of this general homage was her own loving nature, which just
worked itself out spontaneously, but the more her love was shed abroad
the more she retained for new-comers. At first my naturally jealous
disposition continued to give me long hours of anguish, but I happily
was able to overcome this to a great extent as I became better
acquainted with her marvelous spirit.
Although I was at that time too much under the spell of this fair
creature to form an unprejudiced judgment of her, I have since then
attempted something of the kind, in comparing her in my mind with
Antonia and others whom we met in Mars. Let me say that the Martians are
not a perfect race. With our undeveloped spiritual natures we could not,
during our entire visit, see any imperfections in them; but, as will be
seen further on in this narrative, our good friends Thorwald and Zenith,
under whose instructions kind fortune had placed us, were particular
to tell us that their race had reached only an advanced state of
civilization, to which the earth might one day attain, and that
perfection was still a dream of the future. Taking Antonia, then, as
a representative of her kind, I can see that she had a solidly formed
character. She was what she was, not because she could not help it but
because she herself willed it. That is, when she might have done wrong
she chose to do right. Her connection with temptation was not entirely
through her remote ancestors, whose sins filled such a large page in
their history, but she herself had felt drawings toward evil. Yet so
slightly had she yielded, and so strongly had her right years of living
buttressed her against all kinds of wrong, that she, as well as all of
her race whom we saw, appeared to us about perfect. Theoretically she
might transgress, but practically it was all but impossible. Hers, then,
was a truly noble character, and when she gave her love to Foedric he
had good reason to be proud of the gift. Nor did she defraud others of
their due, but her heart was open to every proper call.
Such was Antonia, one whom we could in some degree appreciate, although
so far above us. But how could we understand a being like Mona, who told
us, and we saw no reason to disbelieve her, that she had never known
what it was to do wrong? She seemed as incapable of evil as the birds of
the air, or, to make the comparison still stronger, as a beautiful rose.
She was guileless by nature, and goodness and truth were as much a part
of her as her beauty was. She was made to be a joy and comfort to every
creature brought within the circle of her influence, and she could no
more help loving than the sun can help shining. All who came near her
received a share of her gracious beams.
She was unselfish and full of sympathy and every right feeling, not
because she had seen the evils of selfishness and meanness, but because
these latter qualities were utterly unknown to her. Her high character
and perfectly correct life, therefore, were not the result of reason and
choice, but were the instinctive manifestations of her pure nature.
I do not undertake to say which of these two presented the higher type
of womanhood, and I certainly entered into no such speculations about
them at that time, but I never had any difficulty in deciding that
Mona was the one I loved. I did not, of course, relish her fondness for
others. In that respect I considered her nature altogether too ardent,
but I found I must get accustomed to it, as she would not change.
It made me quite despondent at times, fearing I could never lead her to
feel any special liking for me. Then when she smiled upon me and sang so
sweetly to me, I thought I ought to be happy though I had to share her
heart with all the world. Still I did not relax my efforts to make my
share larger.
“Mona,” I said, one day, “I wish you would ask me to do something real
hard for you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“So that I could show you how much I love you.”
“But you have already shown me,” she said. “I cannot think of anything
more difficult than you have done. Did you not keep up a firm belief
that I would be found, even after the doctor and these wise men of Mars
had lost all hope, and did you not, by your enthusiasm, prevail on them
to enter on a difficult search for me on the moon? I have heard all
about your deep concern for me and how you were affected by hearing
singing which you thought was like mine. And now that I have been found,
you are so watchful for my comfort and like to be so near me all the
time, that I am sure I do not need any further proof of your strong
attachment. But why do you pay me so much attention? Why do you not like
to be with Antonia as much as with me?”
“Because I do not love her as much as I do you.”
“Why do you love me so? Because I took you down to my quiet home and
saved you from being blown off the top of the moon?”
“No, the doctor and I are both grateful to you for that kindness, but
gratitude isn’t love.”
“I haven’t done anything else for you,” she said.
“It isn’t for anything you have done that I love you.”
“What then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it is because I can’t help it.”
“Oh, then you are becoming like me, for I can’t help loving everybody.”
“I shall never be good enough for that,” said I.
“What is love, as you understand it?” asked Mona.
“Love--love,” I hesitated; “why, it is the feeling I have in my heart
for you. Love is what kept hope alive when you were lost and gave me
such joy when I heard your voice and knew we had found you. Love makes
every task light that is done for you and every place where you are the
brightest spot in the universe. Even this delightful world of Mars is
more beautiful than ever because you are here. Love, if mutual, is
a precious bond, uniting two hearts and making them beat in harmony.
Cannot you and I be joined in heart, Mona?”
“My dear friend,” she replied, “I am very sorry I cannot share your
feeling, but I do not understand such love as you have been trying to
describe.”
“Then I fear you do not love me,” I responded, with great sadness in my
voice.
“Oh, don’t say that,” she exclaimed. “Indeed I do love you. Now, how can
I prove it to you? What is the opposite of love?”
“Hatred; or, in such a case as this, indifference would be about as bad
as anything.”
“Well, I don’t know much about such things, but do I seem like a person
who could hate you or be indifferent to you?”
“No, Mona, you seem to be the most loving creature in all the worlds we
have ever known, but--”
“Oh, do not spoil that fine speech with a ‘but.’ I know what you want
to say. You think I ought to love you more than anyone else, or in some
different way. Now, that desire of yours is what I cannot understand.
I love everybody alike because I know of no other sentiment. So it is a
matter of course with me, and I do not feel obliged to tell people that
I love them. You seem to make too much of it, coming to me everyday and
telling me, over and over again, that you love me, just as if I doubted
it. Why do you like to be with me so much? Do you think it is right to
be so exclusive? You ought to favor the others with your company. As for
me, I must say I prefer Foedric’s society to yours, because he has so
many interesting things to talk about, while you stick continually to
one subject and give me little information even on that one. You know
I am a new-comer here and eager to learn all I can. Then there’s the
doctor. I take more pleasure conversing with him than with you, for he
seems to know more, or, at any rate, to be more able to tell me things
I want to know about the earth. If the doctor were not here and you were
the only one to judge from, I should be obliged to think the people of
the earth a very curious race. Your companion, however, appears to be a
man of considerable sense.”
Mona sang all this in her easy, natural way, being perfectly free from
any intention of wounding my feelings, but the more innocent I believed
her the more incapable I saw she was of entering into my feelings.
I began to realize how, in loving everybody, she missed a certain
enjoyment derived from a more selfish order of love. It then occurred
to me that a world full of such people as Mona must have rather a
monotonous time from our point of view, and I asked her if she could
tell me about her race in general respecting the subject of our
conversation.
“Certainly,” she replied, “I can tell you something from my own
recollections, but more from our traditions.”
“Well, were the men of the moon all sensible, or were they all like me?”
“Oh, I see you have a little sense as soon as you begin to talk in a new
direction. In answer to your question, let me say that the stress you
have put on our personal relations is something entirely new to me,
and I do not see any use or advantage in it. This must be my excuse for
speaking so plainly. I should not have spoken so had I not known, in
spite of what I have said, that you had too much sense to be offended.”
“I thank you,” I said. “Do not apologize for your words. I have taken
them as a needed rebuke for my haste in appropriating you to myself.
But I believe, Mona, that the time will come when you will know the
happiness of loving one person so much that your love for all others
will not be thought of in comparison. Happy will he be who, in that day,
is able to prove the capacity of your great heart.”
“Then, in that day,” she responded, “shall I prove myself to be the
degenerate daughter of a noble race. No, my friend, we were not made of
such stuff. We loved everybody, without question and without limit. We
could do nothing else, and to love one more than another was therefore
impossible.”
“Let me ask if everyone was worthy of being loved?”
“Why, as to that, we were all alike. What do you think of me?”
“You know what I think of you, Mona; or, if you do not, I will tell
you.”
“Yes; you needn’t tell me again. What I wanted to say is, that I am no
better than the rest of my people were.”
“What a world it must have been then,” I exclaimed, “and how fortunate
that the earth did not discover it earlier. With such an example before
us we should have been utterly discouraged.”
When Mona had left me at the close of this conversation, I proceeded to
take stock of my sensations. I had certainly been seeing a new phase of
Mona’s character. Could I make such vigorous language consistent with my
former conception of her? I answered yes to this question after studying
it awhile, for I concluded that she was only just in giving me a lesson
that I deserved. Her innocence was only the more evident, and that was
the ground on which I built my faith in her. But now came the inquiry
whether my love could withstand such a shock as it had received. I was
no longer blind to the truth. Mona had no stronger affection for me than
for her other friends, and it began to be doubtful if she ever would
have, considering her peculiar education in affairs of the heart. If I
continued to love her, it must be with the full knowledge that I had not
as yet gained the slightest success in my effort to secure her for my
own exclusive possession. My exuberant passion had received a serious
shock, for I had been plainly told that it was making me appear
ridiculous. Then, when there seemed to be danger that my love must grow
cold under such treatment, I began to argue Mona’s cause to myself, and
I bade myself take comfort once more in the old thoughts. She was young
and careless, besides being entirely new to our manner of wooing, and
I had been too hasty in my approaches and no doubt tired her with my
continuous solicitations. But then, on the other hand, I continued, the
case seemed much more hopeless than before after such a plain rebuff,
and if I had any self-respect I could not continue to pay my court where
my honest love was made a matter of jest.
These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, and I cannot tell to what
rash resolve they would have led me had not the music of Mona’s laughing
voice just then come floating in from another room. As usual, this was
more than I could resist, and its immediate effect now was to drive
out reason and to enthrone love once more. All my doubt and uncertainty
vanished in a twinkling, my self-respect hid itself in a dark corner
of my memory, and as I instinctively started to find the fair singer I
realized again, with a feeling too strong for argument, that I was still
very much in love.