The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 22
We had arrived not long before the hour for entering the building designed for religious purposes. This, it may be remarked, was of considerable size and stately aspect, and stood in the centre of a large open space, planted with trees, some of which seemed coeval with the venerable edifice itself. The building consisted of two stories. The lower story was assigned to the use of the younger portion of the community. The upper story, divided into two almost equal portions, afforded places of assembly to the two great divisions of religious thought. Because they differed honestly on certain speculative subjects, it was not considered necessary that they should either hate or despise each other. On the contrary, the members of the one communion frequently resorted to the services of the other.
It thus came about that this building became, once a week at least, the gathering-point of almost the whole population of the district. Indeed, much of the social life of a neighborhood centred round these stated meetings of kinsmen and neighbors.
Imitating the example of the rest, I left my curricle at the station assigned on one side of the square, and accompanied Hulmar to the door, where Utis was awaiting my arrival. I was now presented to an astonishing number of kinsfolk. Every one, indeed, seemed to be the relative, more or less remote, of every one else. All these, I understood, and began to believe, were relatives by my mother's side. As for the Thiusens, they formed, I suppose, with their allied families, no inconsiderable fraction of the population of Maoria.
As we came forth from the religious service,—it appeared to be taken for granted that I, or he that I represented, was entitled to the privilege of admission with the elders,—I found Reva, who was not yet one of the privileged, waiting for us at the door. Beside her stood Eured and Esna, the son and daughter of my host.
"We have come to present you to some of your cousins," said Reva. "We have promised to bring you."
Such a summons was, of course, not to be resisted. I walking beside Reva, the children led the way to one of the numerous class-rooms in the lower part of the building. Eured first presented me to a number of boy-cousins of about his own age; Esna next, in another room, to my girl-cousins. I then followed Reva.
In an apartment, of which all I recollect is, that it was very pretty and very cheerful,—my attention at the time was better occupied than in examining its details,—in this apartment I was led in upon a cluster of about twenty of my fair cousins. Their ages ranged from fifteen, or so, to about twenty. Each might have been selected as a distinct type of lovely maidenhood. There were blue eyes, dark eyes, hazel and gray eyes. There was hair blond and curly, hair dark and wavy, with various intermediate shades, but all hanging unconfined, after the manner of the unpledged viora.
Even as we approached the open door, there was already audible the hum of animated conversation. Girls, in all periods, will talk, it seems, though not always in such pleasantly modulated tones as those that now reached my ear. There was a sudden hush upon our entrance, and twenty pairs of bright eyes were centred upon my person. There was neither shyness nor boldness in the look, but merely an expression of friendly interest that seemed to say, "We have been expecting you, and are glad to see you."
"You see, girls," said Reva, assuming an air of mock proprietorship that I could have wished, though I could not say exactly why, just a little less self-possessed,—
"this is our cousin Ismar. They have been dying to see you," said she, turning to me with a laugh. "Now, I hope they will not be disappointed."
At this there was a general laugh, and all came forward to offer the hand of cousinship. I could have wished it had been permissible to offer a cousinly kiss. The inducement and the temptation were great. But, duly instructed by Utis, I refrained.
"What Reva says is true," said a tall, stately girl, as she gave me her hand. "Though not exactly dying, we did very much wish to see you. I am your first cousin, Semna Diotha."
"I am your third cousin. Udene Vadarna," next said, with a slight lisp, a pretty blonde of fifteen, and so on through all the rest. It was a pleasant sensation to be the centre of a bevy of lovely cousins, each anxious to say something pleasant and kind. It was a state of things to which I had no objection. But Reva too soon put an end to it by saying,—
"I promised Ialma to bring you back soon. She, too, has some introductions to make."
Though not without some natural curiosity in regard to my remaining cousins, it was with no slight regret that I turned to follow my fair guide. We had not proceeded far along the corridor, when we could hear the renewal of the animated conversation we had interrupted by our entrance.
"We were all very curious to see you," observed Reva, as we went on. You are the first cousin we have seen from so far. We are busy, just now, making arrangements for celebrating the hundredth birthday of our great-grandmother, yours too, Semna Diotha."
"May not I, too, take part in the celebration?" said I, moved less, I am afraid, by consideration for my revered ancestress, than by admiration for her lovely descendants.
"Of course," replied Reva. There is to be a gathering of her descendants from all quarters. Your mother and sister have promised to be here in time for Ialma's wedding, which is a few days earlier."
This unexpected announcement afforded me so much food for reflection, that I walked along in silence till we were met by Ialma. Reva then excused herself, on the ground that her presence was expected in the place where we had left our cousins.
I need say little of my presentation to my remaining relatives. It would have puzzled me, however, to determine whether the palm of beauty was due to the girlish grace of the vioran of the unconfined and silken tresses, or to the more self-poised and perfected beauty of the zeruun with the braided locks. The first, perhaps, excited more interest; the latter, more admiration. As for my male cousins between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, they were, with few exceptions, absent as zerdars. Of other young men, however,—and fine young fellows they were,—there was a number fully compensating for the absent sons of the soil.
"We take our mid-day meal in common to-day," said Utis, when I had been surrendered to him by Ialma. Under his guidance I approached an extensive building on the farther side of the esplanade.
It was of marble, and apparently of considerable antiquity. In style it differed in many particulars from the other public buildings of the place. Around the outside, and surrounding the inner quadrangular space, were spacious colonnades, supported by slender pillars, whose capitals were conventionalized forms, suggested by ears of ripened maize with half-pendent husk. This edifice, so well preserved externally, was the gift of a former son of the place, who, some twelve hundred years before, had thus adorned his native village. He had thus effectually perpetuated his memory, and left an enduring object of legitimate pride to the bearers of his name during fifty generations.
"We cannot boast of so ancient a town-hall as can be shown in many other villages," said Utis, as we paused a moment to survey it. "But it is considered a fine specimen of the then prevailing style."
The upper story contained extensive apartments for public meetings, committee-rooms, and a large library. In the lower was a spacious dining-hall, with magnificent panelled ceiling and walls. Numerous pieces of statuary were disposed in appropriate positions throughout the hall, and paintings of great merit adorned the walls. Each was the masterpiece of a native artist. Each had considered the artistic labor of a lifetime well bestowed if its crowning result could achieve the honor of being thought worthy to grace the walls of the public hall, there to meet the gaze of cultivated appreciation, or kindle, perchance, the spark of slumbering genius.
When we entered, most of the space was occupied by numerous round tables, similar to that with which I had become familiar in the home of Utis. By a special mechanism, however, each of these tables, with its cebin, could be made to sink till the upper surface of the table formed the bottom of a shallow recess. These recesses being filled with closely fitting covers, there was left an unencumbered hall of magnificent proportions. Such was the apartment in which the entire community now sat down to dine.