Essential Science Fiction Novels - Volume 7. Karel Čapek

hear.

      These have now slowly been unfurled,

      But still to a reluctant world.

      “Prophets will yet arise to teach

      Truths which the schoolmen fail to reach,

      Which priestly doctrine still would hide.

      And worldly votaries deride,

      And statesmen fain would set aside.”

      I MAKE no apology for this preface. It may be unusual but then the book it deals with is unusual. There is but one object in “Gloriana.” It is to speak of evils which do exist, to study facts which it is a crime to neglect, to sketch an artificial position—the creation of laws false to Nature— unparalleled for injustice and hardship.

      Many critics, like the rest of humanity, are apt to be unfair. They take up a book, and when they find that it does not accord with their sentiments, they attempt to wreck it by ridicule and petty, spiteful criticism. They forget to ask themselves, “Why is this book written?” They altogether omit to go to the root of the Author’s purpose; and the result is, that false testimony is often borne against principles which, though drastic, are pure, which, though sharp as the surgeon’s knife, are yet humane; for it is genuine sympathy with humanity that arouses them.

      There is no romance worth reading, which has not the solid foundation of truth to support it; there is no excuse for the existence of romance, unless it fixes thought on that truth which underlies it. Gloriana may be a romance, a dream; but in the first instance, it is inextricably interwoven with truth, in the second instance, dreams the work of the brain are species of thought, and thought is an attribute of God. Therefore is it God’s creation.

      There may be some, who reading “Gloriana,” will feel shocked, and be apt to misjudge the author. There are others who will understand, appreciate, and sympathise. There are yet others, who hating truth, will receive it with gibes and sneers; there are many, who delighting in the evil which it fain would banish, will resent it as an unpardonable attempt against their liberties. An onslaught on public opinion is very like leading a Forlorn Hope. The leader knows full well that death lies in the breach, yet that leader knows also, that great results may spring from the death which is therefore readily sought and faced. “Gloriana” pleads woman’s cause, pleads for her freedom, for the just acknowledgment of her rights. It pleads that her equal humanity with man shall be recognised, and therefore that her claim to share what he has arrogated to himself, shall be considered. “Gloriana,” pleads that in woman’s degradation man shall no longer be debased, that in her elevation he shall be upraised and ennobled. The reader of its pages will observe the Author’s conviction, everywhere expressed, that Nature ordains the close companionship not division of the sexes, and that it is opposition to Nature which produces jealousy, intrigue, and unhealthy rivalry.

      “Gloriana” is written with no antagonism to man. Just the contrary. The Author’s best and truest friends, with few exceptions, have been and are men. But the Author will never recognise man’s glory and welfare in woman’s degradation.

      “And hark! a voice with accents clear

      Is raised, which all are forced to hear.

      ’Tis woman’s voice, for ages hushed,

      Pleading the cause of woman crushed;

      Pleading the cause of purity,

      Of freedom, honour, equity,

      Of all the lost and the forlorn,

      Of all for whom the Christ was born.”

      If, therefore, the following story should help men to be generous and just, should awaken the sluggards amongst women to a sense of their Position, and should thus lead to a rapid Revolution it will not have been written in vain.

      The Author.

      Maremna’s Dream.

      Introduction to Gloriana;

      Or, A Dream of the Revolution of 1900.

      A ROSE-RED sunset,

      Mingling its radiance with the purple heath,

      Flooding the silver lake with blushing light.

      Dyeing the ocean grey a crimson hue.

      Streaking the paling sky with rosy shafts;

      Clinging to Nature with a ling’ring kiss.

      Ere it shall vanish from a drowsy earth,

      To rouse in new-deck’d cloak of shining gold

      A waking world far o’er the ocean’s wave.

      Maremna sleeps,

      Close cushion’d in the heather’s warm embrace;

      The rose-red sunset plays around her form—

      A graceful, girlish figure, lithe and fair,

      Small, slim, yet firmly knit with Nature’s power—

      Unfetter’d Nature! which will not be bound

      By Fashion’s prison rules and cultur’d laws.

      Maremna sleeps.

      One rosy cheek lies pillow’d on her hand,

      And through her waving, wandering auburn curls

      The zephyr cupids frolic merrily,

      Tossing them to and fro upon her brow

      In sportive play. It is a brow of thought,

      Endow’d by God and Nature, though, alas!

      Held in paralysis by selfish laws

      Which strive to steal a fair inheritance.

      And bid the woman bow the knee to man.

      Maremna sleeps.

      The white lids veil the large grey, lustrous eyes,

      The auburn lashes sweep the sunlit cheeks,

      Yet are they wet, and cling to the soft skin

      Whereon the damp of tears is glazing fast.

      Maremna’s sleep is not the sleep of rest.

      For ever and anon the blood-red lips

      Unclose, and strive to speak, but yet remain

      Silent and speechless, tied by some dread force

      Which intervenes, denying to the brain

      That comfort which the power of speech doth bring.

      Who is Maremna?—

      A noble’s child, rear’d amidst Nature’s scenes,

      Her earliest friends I They guided her first steps,

      Speaking of God and His stupendous works

      Long ere Religion’s dogma intervened.

      Child of a chieftain o’er whose broad domains

      She roamed, a happy, free, unfetter’d waif,

      Loving the mountain crag and forest lone,

      The straths and corries, rugged glens and haunts

      Of the red deer and dove-like ptarmigan;

      Loving the language of the torrent’s roar,

      Or the rough river’s wild bespated rush;

      Loving the dark pine woods, amidst whose glades

      The timid roe hides from the gaze of man;

      Loving the great grey ocean’s varying face,

      Now calm, now rugged, rising into storm.

      Anon so peaceful, so serene, and still.

      When passion’s fury sinks beneath the wave.

      Maremna sleeps

      Amidst the scenes that rear’d her early years

      Yet is Maremna now no more a child,

      Nor guileless with the innocence