Herland [33]
we expected.
What they were doing with us was like--like--well, say like Napoleon extracting military information from a few illiterate peasants. They knew just what to ask, and just what use to make of it; they had mechanical appliances for disseminating information almost equal to ours at home; and by the time we were led forth to lecture, our audiences had thoroughly mastered a well- arranged digest of all we had previously given to our teachers, and were prepared with such notes and questions as might have intimidated a university professor.
They were not audiences of girls, either. It was some time before we were allowed to meet the young women.
"Do you mind telling what you intend to do with us?" Terry burst forth one day, facing the calm and friendly Moadine with that funny half-blustering air of his. At first he used to storm and flourish quite a good deal, but nothing seemed to amuse them more; they would gather around and watch him as if it was an exhibition, politely, but with evident interest. So he learned to check himself, and was almost reasonable in his bearing--but not quite.
She announced smoothly and evenly: "Not in the least. I thought it was quite plain. We are trying to learn of you all we can, and to teach you what you are willing to learn of our country."
"Is that all?" he insisted.
She smiled a quiet enigmatic smile. "That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Mainly on yourselves," she replied.
"Why do you keep us shut up so closely?"
"Because we do not feel quite safe in allowing you at large where there are so many young women."
Terry was really pleased at that. He had thought as much, inwardly; but he pushed the question. "Why should you be afraid? We are gentlemen."
She smiled that little smile again, and asked: "Are `gentlemen' always safe?"
"You surely do not think that any of us," he said it with a good deal of emphasis on the "us," "would hurt your young girls?"
"Oh no," she said quickly, in real surprise. "The danger is quite the other way. They might hurt you. If, by any accident, you did harm any one of us, you would have to face a million mothers."
He looked so amazed and outraged that Jeff and I laughed outright, but she went on gently.
"I do not think you quite understand yet. You are but men, three men, in a country where the whole population are mothers-- or are going to be. Motherhood means to us something which I cannot yet discover in any of the countries of which you tell us. You have spoken"--she turned to Jeff, "of Human Brotherhood as a great idea among you, but even that I judge is far from a practical expression?"
Jeff nodded rather sadly. "Very far--" he said.
"Here we have Human Motherhood--in full working use," she went on. "Nothing else except the literal sisterhood of our origin, and the far higher and deeper union of our social growth.
"The children in this country are the one center and focus of all our thoughts. Every step of our advance is always considered in its effect on them--on the race. You see, we are MOTHERS," she repeated, as if in that she had said it all.
"I don't see how that fact--which is shared by all women-- constitutes any risk to us," Terry persisted. "You mean they would defend their children from attack. Of course. Any mothers would. But we are not savages, my dear lady; we are not going to hurt any mother's child."
They looked at one another and shook their heads a little, but Zava turned to Jeff and urged him to make us see--said he seemed to understand more fully than we did. And he tried.
I can see it now, or at least much more of it, but it has taken me a long time, and a good deal of honest intellectual effort.
What they call Motherhood was like this:
They began with a really high degree of social development, something like that of Ancient Egypt or Greece. Then they suffered the loss of everything masculine, and supposed at first
What they were doing with us was like--like--well, say like Napoleon extracting military information from a few illiterate peasants. They knew just what to ask, and just what use to make of it; they had mechanical appliances for disseminating information almost equal to ours at home; and by the time we were led forth to lecture, our audiences had thoroughly mastered a well- arranged digest of all we had previously given to our teachers, and were prepared with such notes and questions as might have intimidated a university professor.
They were not audiences of girls, either. It was some time before we were allowed to meet the young women.
"Do you mind telling what you intend to do with us?" Terry burst forth one day, facing the calm and friendly Moadine with that funny half-blustering air of his. At first he used to storm and flourish quite a good deal, but nothing seemed to amuse them more; they would gather around and watch him as if it was an exhibition, politely, but with evident interest. So he learned to check himself, and was almost reasonable in his bearing--but not quite.
She announced smoothly and evenly: "Not in the least. I thought it was quite plain. We are trying to learn of you all we can, and to teach you what you are willing to learn of our country."
"Is that all?" he insisted.
She smiled a quiet enigmatic smile. "That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Mainly on yourselves," she replied.
"Why do you keep us shut up so closely?"
"Because we do not feel quite safe in allowing you at large where there are so many young women."
Terry was really pleased at that. He had thought as much, inwardly; but he pushed the question. "Why should you be afraid? We are gentlemen."
She smiled that little smile again, and asked: "Are `gentlemen' always safe?"
"You surely do not think that any of us," he said it with a good deal of emphasis on the "us," "would hurt your young girls?"
"Oh no," she said quickly, in real surprise. "The danger is quite the other way. They might hurt you. If, by any accident, you did harm any one of us, you would have to face a million mothers."
He looked so amazed and outraged that Jeff and I laughed outright, but she went on gently.
"I do not think you quite understand yet. You are but men, three men, in a country where the whole population are mothers-- or are going to be. Motherhood means to us something which I cannot yet discover in any of the countries of which you tell us. You have spoken"--she turned to Jeff, "of Human Brotherhood as a great idea among you, but even that I judge is far from a practical expression?"
Jeff nodded rather sadly. "Very far--" he said.
"Here we have Human Motherhood--in full working use," she went on. "Nothing else except the literal sisterhood of our origin, and the far higher and deeper union of our social growth.
"The children in this country are the one center and focus of all our thoughts. Every step of our advance is always considered in its effect on them--on the race. You see, we are MOTHERS," she repeated, as if in that she had said it all.
"I don't see how that fact--which is shared by all women-- constitutes any risk to us," Terry persisted. "You mean they would defend their children from attack. Of course. Any mothers would. But we are not savages, my dear lady; we are not going to hurt any mother's child."
They looked at one another and shook their heads a little, but Zava turned to Jeff and urged him to make us see--said he seemed to understand more fully than we did. And he tried.
I can see it now, or at least much more of it, but it has taken me a long time, and a good deal of honest intellectual effort.
What they call Motherhood was like this:
They began with a really high degree of social development, something like that of Ancient Egypt or Greece. Then they suffered the loss of everything masculine, and supposed at first