Part 1, Chapter 13

On my return to college, after the close of vacation, I devoted myself exclusively to history. It began with their first President; and from the evidence of history itself, I knew that the Nation was enjoying a high state of culture when its history began.

When I returned to college after vacation, I devoted myself entirely to studying history. Their history began with their first President. From the historical record itself, I knew the Nation had already reached a high level of culture when its history began.

No record of a more primitive race was to be found in all the Library, assiduously as I searched for it. I read with absorbing interest their progress toward perfect enlightenment, their laborious searchings into science that had resulted in such marvelous achievements. But earnestly as I sought for it, and anxiously as I longed for it, I found and heard no mention of a race of men. From the most intimate intercourse with the people of Mizora, I could discover no attempt at concealment in anything, yet the inquiry would crowd itself upon me. "Where are the men?" And as constantly would I be forced to the conclusion that Mizora was either a land of mystery beyond the scope of the wildest and weirdest fancy, or else they were utterly oblivious of such a race. And the last conclusion was most improbable of all.

I searched the entire Library diligently, but found no record of a more primitive race. I read with absorbing interest about their progress toward perfect enlightenment. I read about their painstaking scientific research, which had led to such marvelous achievements. But though I searched earnestly and longed anxiously to find it, I found and heard no mention of a race of men. In my close dealings with the people of Mizora, I could find no sign that they were hiding anything. Yet the question would press itself upon me. "Where are the men?" Again and again, I was forced to one conclusion. Either Mizora was a land of mystery beyond the wildest and weirdest imagination, or its people knew nothing of such a race. And the latter conclusion was the most improbable of all.

Man, in my country, was a necessity of government, law, and protection. His importance, (as I viewed it from inherited ideas) was incalculable. It could not be possible that he had no existence in a country so eminently adapted to his desires and ability.

In my country, men were necessary for government, law, and protection. Their importance, as I saw it from inherited ideas, was immeasurable. It could not be possible that men did not exist in a country so well suited to their desires and abilities.

The expression, "domestic misery," that the Preceptress made use of one day in conversation with me, haunted my imagination with a persistent suspicion of mystery. It had a familiar sound to me. It intimated knowledge of a world I knew so well; where ill-nature, malice, spite, envy, deceit, falsehood and dishonesty, made life a continual anxiety.

One day, the Preceptress used the expression "domestic misery" in conversation with me. It haunted me, leaving me with a persistent sense of mystery. It sounded familiar. It suggested knowledge of a world I knew so well, where ill temper, malice, spite, envy, deceit, lies, and dishonesty made life a constant anxiety.

Locks, bolts and bars shut out the thief who coveted your jewels; but no bolts nor bars, however ingeniously constructed or strongly made, could keep out the thief who coveted your character. One little word from a pretended friend might consummate the sorrow of your whole life, and be witnessed by the perpetrator without a pang—nay, even with exultation.

Locks, bolts, and bars kept out the thief who wanted your jewels. But no bolts or bars, however cleverly designed or strongly made, could keep out the thief who wanted to steal your reputation. One little word from a false friend could bring you a lifetime of sorrow. That person could watch your suffering without a pang of remorse, or even with delight.

There were other miseries I thought of that were common in my country. There were those we love. Some who are woven into our lives and affections by the kinship of blood; who grow up weak and vacillating, and are won away, sometimes through vice, to estrangement. Our hearts ache not the less painfully that they have ceased to be worthy of a throb; or that they have been weak enough to become estranged, to benefit some selfish alien.

I thought of other miseries that were common in my country. There were the people we love. Some are bound to our lives and affections by blood. They grow up weak and indecisive, and are drawn away from us, sometimes through vice. Our hearts ache no less painfully because they have stopped being worthy of our love. Nor do our hearts ache less because they were weak enough to turn away from us for the benefit of some selfish outsider.

There were other sorrows in that world that I had come from, that brought anguish alike to the innocent and the guilty. It was the sorrow of premature death. Diseases of all kinds made lives wretched; or tore them asunder with death. How many hearts have ached with cankering pain to see those who are vitally dear, wasting away slowly, but surely, with unrelievable suffering; and to know that life but prolongs their misery, and death relieves it only with inconsolable grief for the living.

There were other sorrows in the world I had come from that caused anguish to the innocent and guilty alike. One was the sorrow of premature death. Diseases of all kinds made lives miserable or brought them to an end. How many hearts have ached with deep, lasting pain at seeing loved ones waste away slowly but surely, suffering without relief? They know that life only prolongs their loved ones’ misery, while death relieves it but leaves the living inconsolable with grief.

Who has looked into a pair of youthful eyes, so lovely that imagination could not invent for them another charm, and saw the misty film of death gather over them, while your heart ached with regret as bitter as it was unavailing. The soft snows of winter have fallen—a veil of purity—over the new made graves of innocence and youth, and its wild winds have been the saddest requiem. The dews of summer have wept with your tears, and its zephyrs have sighed over the mouldering loveliness of youth.

Who has looked into young eyes so lovely that imagination could not make them more beautiful? Who has watched the misty film of death gather over them, while their heart ached with bitter, useless regret? Soft winter snow has fallen like a veil of purity over the fresh graves of the innocent and young. Winter’s wild winds have been the saddest funeral song. Summer’s dew has wept with your tears, and its gentle breezes have sighed over the decaying beauty of youth.

I had known no skill in my world that could snatch from death its unlawful prey of youth. But here, in this land so eminently blessed, no one regarded death as a dreaded invader of their household.

In my world, I had known of no skill that could save young people from death's unjust grasp. But here, in this richly blessed land, no one feared death as an invader of their home.

"We cannot die until we get old," said Wauna, naively.

"We can't die until we get old," Wauna said innocently.

And looking upon their bounding animal spirits, their strong supple frames, and the rich, red blood of perfect health, mantling their cheeks with its unsurpassable bloom, one would think that disease must have strong grasp indeed that could destroy them.

Their boundless energy, strong, supple bodies, and cheeks glowing with the rich red blood of perfect health were striking. Seeing them, one would think that a disease would have to be extraordinarily powerful to kill them.

But these were not all the sorrows that my own country knew. Crimes, with which we had no personal connection, shocked us with their horrible details. They crept, like noxious vapors, into the moral atmosphere of the pure and good; tainting the weak, and annoying the strong.

But these were not the only sorrows my country knew. Crimes we had no personal connection to shocked us with their horrible details. Like poisonous fumes, they crept into the moral atmosphere of the pure and good. They corrupted the weak and troubled the strong.

There were other sorrows in my country that were more deplorable still. It was the fate of those who sought to relieve the sufferings of the many by an enforced government reform. Misguided, imprudent and fanatical they might be, but their aim at least was noble. The wrongs and sufferings of the helpless and oppressed had goaded them to action for their relief.

There were even more tragic sorrows in my country. They concerned the fate of those who sought to relieve widespread suffering by forcing government reform. They may have been misguided, reckless, and fanatical, but at least their goal was noble. The injustice and suffering endured by the helpless and oppressed had driven them to act to bring relief.

But, alas! The pale and haggard faces of thousands of those patriot souls faded and wasted in torturing slowness in dungeons of rayless gloom. Or their emaciated and rheumatic frames toiled in speechless agony amid the horrors of Siberia's mines.

But alas, thousands of those patriots slowly wasted away in agony, their faces pale and gaunt in dark dungeons. Or, emaciated and crippled by rheumatism, they labored in silent agony amid the horrors of Siberia's mines.

In this land they would have been recognized as aspiring natures, spreading their wings for a nobler flight, seeking a higher and grander life. The smile of beauty would have urged them on. Hands innumerable would have given them a cordial and encouraging grasp. But in the land they had sought to benefit and failed, they suffered in silence and darkness, and died forgotten or cursed.

In this land, they would have been recognized as ambitious souls, spreading their wings for a nobler flight. They were seeking a higher and grander life. The smiles of beautiful people would have urged them on. Countless hands would have warmly gripped theirs in encouragement. But in the land they had tried and failed to help, they suffered in silence and darkness. They died forgotten or cursed.

My heart and my brain ached with memory, and the thought again occurred: "Could the Preceptress ever have known such a race of people?"

My heart and mind ached with memories. Again I wondered: "Could the Preceptress ever have known such a race of people?"

I looked at her fair, calm brow, where not a wrinkle marred the serene expression of intellect, although I had been told that more than a hundred years had touched with increasing wisdom its broad surface. The smile that dwelt in her eyes, like the mystic sprite in the fountain, had not a suspicion of sadness in them. A nature so lofty as hers, where every feeling had a generous and noble existence and aim, could not have known without anguish the race of people I knew so well. Their sorrows would have tinged her life with a continual sadness.

I looked at her fair, calm forehead. Not a wrinkle marred its serene, thoughtful expression. Yet I had been told that more than a hundred years had brought increasing wisdom to that broad forehead. The smile in her eyes, like a mysterious spirit in a fountain, held no hint of sadness. She had a noble nature, and all her feelings were generous and noble in both character and purpose. She could not have known the race of people I knew so well without feeling anguish. Their sorrows would have filled her life with continual sadness.

The words of Wauna had awakened a new thought. I knew that their mental life was far above mine, and that in all the relations of life, both business and social, they exhibited a refinement never attained by my people. I had supposed these qualities to be an endowment of nature, and not a development sought and labored for by themselves. But my conversation with Wauna had given me a different impression, and the thought of a future for my own country took possession of me.

Wauna’s words had awakened a new thought in me. I knew their intellectual life was far above mine. In all areas of life, both business and social, they showed a refinement my people had never achieved. I had assumed these qualities were gifts of nature, not something they had worked to develop. But my conversation with Wauna gave me a different impression. I became absorbed in thoughts of a future for my own country.

"Could it ever emerge from its horrors, and rise through gradual but earnest endeavor to such perfection? Could a higher civilization crowd its sufferings out of existence and, in time, memory?"

"Could it ever escape its horrors and gradually reach such perfection through sincere effort? Could a higher civilization wipe out its suffering and, eventually, even the memory of it?"

I had never thought of my country having a claim upon me other than what I owed to my relatives and society. But in Mizora, where the very atmosphere seemed to feed one's brain with grander and nobler ideas of life and humanity, my nature had drank the inspiration of good deeds and impulses, and had given the desire to work for something beside myself and my own kindred. I resolved that if I should ever again behold my native country, I would seek the good of all its people along with that of my nearest and dearest of kin. But how to do it was a matter I could not arrange. I felt reluctant to ask either Wauna or her mother. The guileless frankness of Wauna's nature was an impassable barrier to the confidence of crimes and wretchedness. One glance of horror from her dark, sweet eyes, would have chilled me into painful silence and sorrowful regret.

I had never thought I owed my country anything beyond what I owed my relatives and society. But in Mizora, the very air seemed to fill the mind with grander and nobler ideas about life and humanity. I had taken in the inspiration to do good and act on good impulses. I wanted to work for something beyond myself and my own family. I resolved that if I ever saw my native country again, I would seek the good of all its people as well as my closest and dearest relatives. But I could not work out how to do it. I was reluctant to ask either Wauna or her mother. Wauna was so innocent and frank that I could not bring myself to tell her about crime and misery. One horrified look from her sweet, dark eyes would have left me painfully silent and full of regret.

The mystery that had ever surrounded these lovely and noble blonde women had driven me into an unnatural reserve in regard to my own people and country. I had always perceived the utter absence of my allusion to the masculine gender, and conceiving that it must be occasioned by some more than ordinary circumstances, I refrained from intruding my curiosity.

The mystery that had always surrounded these lovely and noble blonde women made me unusually reluctant to discuss my own people and country. I had always noticed that I never mentioned men. I believed there must be some extraordinary reason for this, so I held back my curiosity.

That the singular absence of men was connected with nothing criminal or ignoble on their part I felt certain; but that it was associated with something weird and mysterious I had now become convinced. My efforts to discover their whereabouts had been earnest and untiring. I had visited a number of their large cities, and had enjoyed the hospitality of many private homes. I had examined every nook and corner of private and public buildings, (for in Mizora nothing ever has locks) and in no place had I ever discovered a trace or suggestion of man.

I felt certain that the strange absence of men had nothing to do with any crime or dishonorable act on their part. But I had become convinced that their absence was connected to something weird and mysterious. I had searched earnestly and tirelessly to discover where they were. I had visited several of Mizora’s large cities and enjoyed the hospitality of many private homes. I had examined every nook and corner of private and public buildings (nothing in Mizora is ever locked). But nowhere had I found any trace or sign of a man.

Women and girls were everywhere. Their fair faces and golden heads greeted me in every town and city. Sometimes a pair of unusually dark blue eyes, like the color of a velvet-leaved pansy, looked out from an exquisitely tinted face framed in flossy golden hair, startling me with its unnatural loveliness, and then I would wonder anew:

Women and girls were everywhere. Their fair faces and golden hair greeted me in every town and city. Sometimes I saw unusually dark blue eyes, the color of a velvety pansy. They looked out from a beautifully colored face framed by soft golden hair. Their unnatural beauty startled me, and I would wonder again:

"Why is such a paradise for man so entirely devoid of him?"

"Why are there no men at all in a place that is such a paradise for them?"

I even endeavored to discover from the conversation of young girls some allusion to the male sex. But listen as attentively and discreetly as I could, not one allusion did I hear made to the mysteriously absent beings. I was astonished that young girls, with cheeks like the downy bloom of a ripe peach, should chatter and laugh merrily over every conversational topic but that of the lords of society. The older and the wiser among women might acquire a depreciating idea of their worth, but innocent and inexperienced girlhood was apt to surround that name with a halo of romance and fancied nobility that the reality did not always possess. What, then, was my amazement to find them indifferent and wholly neglectful of that (to me) very important class of beings.

I even tried to hear whether young girls mentioned men in their conversations. But however carefully and discreetly I listened, I never heard them mention those mysteriously absent beings. I was astonished that young girls, with cheeks like the soft bloom of a ripe peach, could chatter and laugh merrily about everything except the lords of society. Older, wiser women might come to think less of men. But innocent, inexperienced girls were likely to surround the very name with romance and imagined nobility that real men did not always possess. How amazed I was, then, to find them indifferent to and completely unconcerned with a group of beings I considered so important.

Conjecture at last exhausted itself, and curiosity became indifferent. Mizora, as a nation, or an individual representative, was incapable of dishonor. Whatever their secret I should make no farther effort to discover it. Their hospitality had been generous and unreserved. Their influence upon my character—morally—had been an incalculable benefit. I had enjoyed being among them. The rhythm of happiness that swept like a strain of sweet music through all their daily life, touched a chord in my own nature that responded.

At last, I ran out of guesses, and my curiosity faded. Mizora was incapable of dishonor, whether as a nation or through any individual representative. Whatever their secret, I would make no further effort to discover it. Their hospitality had been generous and open. Their influence on my moral character had been an immeasurable benefit. I had enjoyed being among them. A rhythm of happiness ran through all their daily life like a strain of sweet music. It touched a chord in my own nature, and I responded to it.

And when I contrasted the prosperity of Mizora—a prosperity that reached every citizen in its vast territory—with the varied phases of life that are found in my own land, it urged me to inquire if there could be hope for such happiness within its borders.

Mizora’s prosperity reached every citizen across its vast territory. When I compared it with the varied ways people lived in my own land, I wondered whether such happiness was possible there.

To the Preceptress, whose sympathies I knew were broad as the lap of nature, I at last went with my desire and perplexities. A sketch of my country's condition was the inevitable prelude. I gave it without once alluding to the presence of Man. She listened quietly and attentively. Her own land lay like a charming picture before her. I spoke of its peaceful happiness, its perfected refinement, its universal wealth, and paramount to all its other blessings, its complete ignorance of social ills. With them, love did not confine itself to families, but encircled the Nation in one embrace. How dismal, in contrast, was the land that had given me birth.

At last, I went to the Preceptress with my wish and my confusion. I knew her compassion was as broad as nature itself. First, I had to describe the condition of my country. I did so without once mentioning the presence of Man. She listened quietly and attentively. Her own land lay before her like a beautiful picture. I spoke of its peaceful happiness, its refined culture, and its wealth shared by all. Above all its other blessings, I praised its complete freedom from social ills. There, love was not limited to families. It embraced the whole Nation. How bleak my homeland seemed by comparison.

"But one eminent distinction exists among us as a people," I added in conclusion. "We are not all of one race."

"But there is one important difference among us as a people," I added in conclusion. "We are not all of one race."

I paused and looked at the Preceptress. She appeared lost in reverie. Her expression was one of solicitude and approached nearer to actual pain than anything I had ever noticed upon it before. She looked up and caught my eye regarding her. Then she quietly asked:

I paused and looked at the Preceptress. She seemed lost in thought. She looked worried, and closer to actual pain than I had ever seen her look before. She looked up and caught me watching her. Then she quietly asked:

"Are there men in your country?"

"Are there men in your country?"