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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:35 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1157-0.txt b/1157-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..06e7e7b --- /dev/null +++ b/1157-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3953 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1157 *** + +DAMAGED GOODS + +The Great Play “Les Avaries” of Eugene Brieux + +Novelized with the approval of the author + +by Upton Sinclair + + + +THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX’S PLAY, “LES AVARIES,” OR, TO GIVE IT +ITS ENGLISH TITLE, “DAMAGED GOODS,” HAS INITIATED A MOVEMENT IN THIS +COUNTRY WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.--New York Times + + + ++++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten script from M. +Brieux.+++ + + + + +PREFACE + +My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as closely as +possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I have tried, as it +were, to take the play to pieces, and build a novel out of the same +material. I have not felt at liberty to embellish M. Brieux’s ideas, and +I have used his dialogue word for word wherever possible. Unless I have +mis-read the author, his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to +place a number of most important facts before the minds of the public, +and to drive them home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able +to assist him, this bit of literary carpentering will be worth while. I +have to thank M. Brieux for his kind permission to make the attempt, and +for the cordial spirit which he has manifested. + +Upton Sinclair + + + + +PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + +DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee on +March 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before members of +the Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed by public press and +pulpit as the greatest contribution ever made by the Stage to the cause +of humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the producer, who had the courage to +present the play, with the aid of his co-workers, in the face of most +savage criticism from the ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a +repetition of the performance. + +Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before the +general public, it was arranged that the highest officials in the United +States should pass judgment upon the manner in which the play teaches +its vital lesson. A special guest performance for members of the +Cabinet, members of both houses of Congress, members of the United +States Supreme Court, representatives of the Diplomatic corps and others +prominent in national life was given in Washington, D.C. + +Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April 6, +1913), the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with the most +distinguished audience ever assembled in America, including exclusively +the foremost men and women of the Capital. The most noted clergymen of +Washington were among the spectators. + +The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous endorsement +of the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett and his co-workers +were presenting it. + +This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York performances +until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision on the part of Mr. +Bennett to offer the play in every city in America where citizens feel +that the ultimate welfare of the community is dependent upon a higher +standard of morality and clearer understanding of the laws of health. + + +The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, said: + +The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; with all +the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all the earnestness +and power of a vital truth. + +In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a great +social evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. Dr. Donald C. +Macleod, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, mounted the rostrum +usually occupied by the leader of the orchestra, and announced that the +nature of the performance, the sacredness of the play, and the character +of the audience gave to the play the significance of a tremendous sermon +in behalf of mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that +a divine blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont +Avenue Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow +their heads in a prayer for the proper reception of the message to be +presented from the stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the Bernard Shaw preface +to the play, and asked that there be no applause during the performance, +a suggestion which was rigidly followed, thus adding greatly to the +effectiveness and the seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + +The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is +reflected in such comments as the following expressions voiced after the +performance: + +RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION--If I could preach +from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as convincing, as +far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance of DAMAGED GOODS must +be, I would consider that I had achieved the triumph of my life. + +COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH--I was deeply impressed by what I saw, and +I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, a matinee one +day for father and son and the next day for mother and daughter. + +REV. EARLE WILFLEY--I am confirmed in the opinion that we must take up +our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems brought to the +fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these diseases are increasing is +enough to make us get busy on a campaign against them. + +SURGEON GENERAL BLUE--It was a most striking and telling lesson. For +years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It is high time +that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding them and crusaded +against them in a proper manner. + +MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS--The play was a powerful presentation of a very +important question and was handled in a most admirable manner. The +drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and is bound to do +considerable good in conveying information of a very serious nature. + +MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU--There can be no doubt but that the performance +will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the good for which it +was created. Fortunately, we do not have the prudery in South America +that you of the north possess, and have open minds to consider these +serious questions. + +JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT--I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS will +have considerable effect in educating the people of the nature of the +danger that surrounds them. + +SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA--There can be no denial of the fact that it is +time to look at the serious problems presented in the play with an open +mind. + + +Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as “incomparably the greatest +writer France has produced since Moliere,” and perhaps no writer ever +wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of the race. To quote from +an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the INDEPENDENT: + +Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured by laws +and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble is caused +by ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment and franker +recognition of existing conditions. All this may be needed, but still we +may well doubt its effectiveness as a remedy. The drunken Helot argument +is not a strong one, and those who lead a vicious life know more about +its risks than any teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also +urges the requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many +clergymen now insist upon and which doubtless will be made compulsory +before long in many of our States. + +Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will +be criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. The +conditions of society and the moral standards of France are so different +from those of America that his point of view and his proposals for +reform will not meet with general acceptance, but it is encouraging to +find a dramatist who realizes the importance of being earnest and who +uses his art in defense of virtue instead of its destruction. + + +Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in the play +and the belief in the highest seriousness of its purpose: + +There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the glamour, in +the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, and suggestions the +threat to life lies. + +This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such clean, +artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could possibly be +impressed in no other manner. + +Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There is no +sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of the theme. +The doctor appears in his ideal function, as the modern high-priest of +truth. Around him writhe the victims of ignorance and the criminals +of conventional cruelty. Kind, stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet +human-hearted, he towers over all, as the master. + +This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the world of +ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a mistaken modesty +has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is the physician. + +The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is that it is +the decentest play that has been in New York for a year. It is so decent +that it is religious.--HEARST’S MAGAZINE. + + +The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of the veil +of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject of the penalty +of sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on this hidden danger, that +fathers and mothers, young men and young women, may know the terrible +price that must be paid, not only by the generation that violates the +law, but by the generations to come. It is a serious question just how +the education of men and women, especially young men and young women, in +the vital matters of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is +sure, however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often been +followed in the past--not to carry it on at all but to ignore it.--THE +OUTLOOK. + + +It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of “thesis drama,”--an +argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, cumulative, between science +and common sense, on one side, and love, of various types, on the other. +It is what Mr. Bernard Shaw has called a “drama of discussion”; it +has the splendid movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved--and +undiluted--by Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many +audiences at the Fulton Theater were astonished at the play’s showing +of sheer strength as acted drama. Possibly it might not interest the +general public; probably it would be inadvisable to present it to them. +But no thinking person, with the most casual interest in current social +evils, could listen to the version of Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, +and their associates, without being gripped by the power of Brieux’s +message.--THE DIAL. + + +It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of this +play, which is one of France’s most valuable contributions to the drama. +Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over ten years ago. Antoine +produced it at his theater and Paris immediately censored it, but soon +thought better of it and removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 +it was played in Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was +thronged with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last +spring and eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have welcomed it. +--THE INDEPENDENT. + + +A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth Church, +Brooklyn. + +23 Monroe Street Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + +Mr. Richard Bennett, New York City, N.Y. My Dear Mr. Bennett: + +During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I have +experienced many exciting hours under the influence of reformer, orator +and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I do not know that I +have ever passed through a more thrilling, terrible, and yet hopeful +experience than last evening, while I listened to your interpretation of +Eugene Brieux’ “DAMAGED GOODS.” + +I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It is not +too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the people of our +country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, this conspiracy of +silence is ended. No young man who sees “Damaged Goods” will ever be the +same again. If I wanted to build around an innocent boy buttresses of +fire and granite, and lend him triple armour against temptation and the +assaults of evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. +That which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to +accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a work for +which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of gratitude. + +I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases and +Heredity in connection with your great reform. + +With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, Faithfully yours, + +Newell Dwight Hillis + + + + +CHAPTER I + +It was four o’clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the door +and came down the steps to the street. The first faint streaks of dawn +were in the sky, and he noticed this with annoyance, because he knew +that his hair was in disarray and his whole aspect disorderly; yet he +dared not take a cab, because he feared to attract attention at home. +When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no +one had seen him leave the house, then started down the street, his eyes +upon the sidewalk before him. + +George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men in this +world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase means. The fumes +of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober now, quite free from +excitement. He saw what he had done, and it seemed to him something +black and disgusting. + +Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had to +traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid was +up, before the baker’s boy called with the rolls; otherwise, what +explanation could he give?--he who had always been such a moral man, who +had been pointed out by mothers as an example to their sons. + +George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she could +know about his night’s adventure. He thought again and again, with a +pang of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be possible that a man who was +engaged, whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon +to possess the love of a beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could +have been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into +such a low action? + +He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying +to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them. +He had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a +thing in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted +the invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law +school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led “fast” + lives--but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend’s rooms for a +lark without harm! + +He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had +come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that +she was all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when +first he had noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun +to go to his head--he was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot +drink wine at all. He had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on +the way he had lost his head. + +Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he +who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them, +because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long +time to persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her +married friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take +off his shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck +George particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was, +he had not forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the +dangers of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, “This +girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such +a thing.” + +But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He +was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in the bitter +words about “Time’s moving finger having writ.” His mind, seeking some +explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that +night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a +decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He +had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her up when he +became engaged; but now for a while he felt that he would have to break +his resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat in +the working-class portion of Paris. + +It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as his +father--that of notary--that he had made the acquaintance of the young +working girl. It may not be easy to believe, but Lizette had really been +a decent girl. She had a family to take care of, and was in need. There +was a grandmother in poor health, a father not much better, and three +little brothers; so Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and +he felt quite virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of +these unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered +proper to take such things if one paid for them. + +All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They adored +him, and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had not been so +foolish as to give them his true name). + +Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control +her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she +deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her +relatives also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never +trusted out alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his +little “family,” so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. +He interested her in church affairs--mass and vespers were her regular +occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother +went with her to the services. The simple people were proud to see their +name engraved upon the brass plate of the pew. + +The reason for all these precautions was George’s terror of disease. +He had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men +encounter in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George’s +heart; he had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, +for one, would protect himself. + +That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; +such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably +ever occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do +such a thing. The French have a phrase, “l’homme moyen sensuel”--the +average sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble +idealisms, no particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude +was a purely selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same +time to keep out of trouble. + +He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed +upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, +he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the +amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to +keep regular hours, preparing for his law examinations. But all the +time he was longing for adventures. And, of course, this could not go +on forever, for the motive of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the +sexual urge in a full-blooded young man. + +The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been +for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George +was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted +mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the +mother broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had +been that his son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense +suffering he had been able to think about the matter, and had named the +girl whom he wished George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some +interest to learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother +told him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches. + +He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. “It +doesn’t please you?” asked his mother, with a tone disappointment. + +“Why no, mother,” he answered. “It’s not that. It just surprises me.” + +“But why?” asked the mother. “Henriette is a lovely girl and a good +girl.” + +“Yes, I know,” said George; “but then she is my cousin, and--” He +blushed a little with embarrassment. “I had never thought of her in that +way.” + +Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son’s. “Yes, George,” she said +tenderly. “I know. You are such a good boy.” + +Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good boy; +but his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea of the +truth about the majority of men. She would never have got over the shock +if he had told her about himself, and so he had to pretend to be just +what she thought him. + +“Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “have you never felt the least +bit in love?” + +“Why no--I don’t think so,” George stammered, becoming conscious of a +sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + +“Because,” said his mother, “it is really time that you were settled in +life. Your father said that we should have seen to it before, and now it +is my duty to see to it. It is not good for you to live alone so long.” + +“But, mother, I have YOU,” said George generously. + +“Some day the Lord may take me away,” was the reply. “I am getting +old. And, George, dear--” Here suddenly her voice began to tremble with +feeling--“I would like to see my baby grandchildren before I go. You +cannot imagine what it would mean to me.” + +Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so she went +on to the more worldly aspects of the matter. Henriette’s father was +well-to-do, and he would give her a good dowry. She was a charming and +accomplished girl. Everybody would consider him most fortunate if the +match could be arranged. Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame +Dupont had spoken, and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a +great deal of property and would surely help the young couple. + +George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, even if +he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a course? He could +not explain that he already had a family--with stepchildren, so to +speak, who adored him. And what could he say to his mother’s obsession, +to which she came back again and again--her longing to see her +grandchildren before she died? Madame Dupont waited only long enough for +George to stammer out a few protestations, and then in the next breath +to take them back; after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. +The family lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement +were worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately afterwards +George learned of an opportunity to purchase the practice of a notary, +who was ready to retire from business in two months’ time. Henriette’s +father consented to advance a portion of her dowry for this purpose. + +Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his father, and +this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did not attempt to +deny, either to himself of to any one else. George was a cautious young +man, who came of a frugal and saving stock. He had always been taught +that it was his primary duty to make certain of a reasonable amount of +comfort. From his earliest days, he had been taught to regard material +success as the greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed +of engaging himself to a girl without money. But when he had the good +fortune to meet one who possessed desirable personal qualities in +addition to money, he was not in the least barred from appreciating +those qualities. They were, so to speak, the sauce which went with the +meat, and it seemed to him that in this case the sauce was of the very +best. + +George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a +good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty +laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its +deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round +world; he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune +of possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat +sentimental turn--easily influenced by women and sensitive to their +charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had +learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed, +was to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + +In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his +relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement +was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as +he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had +kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When +he walked arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he +had walked just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare +the words of the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he +had taken Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the +excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately he +decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he +persuaded an aunt of Henriette’s to go with her as a chaperon. George +took his bride-to-be to the same little inn where he had lunch before. + +Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful +and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and +did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to +tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident +which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found +himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. +There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which +made it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so +sensible. Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not +have afforded to marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been +expected to lead a continent life. And he had really loved Lizette; she +was really a good girl. Yet, if Henriette had got any idea of it, she +would have been horrified and indignant--she might even have broken off +the engagement. + +And then, too, there was Henriette’s father, a personage of great +dignity and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French Parliament, +from a district in the provinces. He was a man of upright life, and a +man who made a great deal of that upright life--keeping it on a pedestal +where everyone might observe it. It was impossible to imagine M. Loches +in an undignified or compromising situation--such as the younger man +found himself facing in the matter of Lizette. + +The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George became. +Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to break with +the girl, and be “good” until the time of his marriage. Dear little +soft-eyed Lizette--he did not dare to face her personally; he could +never bear to say good-by, he felt. Instead, he went to the father, +who as a man could be expected to understand the situation. George was +embarrassed and not a little nervous about it; for although he had never +misrepresented his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely +free from the possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, Lizette’s +father behaved decently, and was duly grateful for the moderate sum of +money which George handed him in parting. He promised to break the news +gently to Lizette, and George went away with his mind made up that he +would never see her again. + +This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous in +doing it. But the truth was that he had grown used to intimacy with a +woman, and was restless without it. And that, he told himself, was why +he yielded to the shameful temptation the night of that fatal supper +party. + +He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that he had +been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that he had proved +himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. So keen was his +feeling that it was several days before he could bring himself to see +Henriette again; and when he went, it was with a mind filled with a +brand-new set of resolutions. It was the last time that he would ever +fall into error. He would be a new man from then on. He thanked God +that there was no chance of his sin being known, that he might have an +opportunity to prove his new determination. + +So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of +them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with +Henriette’s mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance. +George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he +was really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always +been as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and +sweetness had awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life +had been full of blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of +ideas as to what the blunders of a tender and generous young man like +George might be. So she only loved him the more for his humility, and +was flattered to have such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such +moods of exaltation. When he told her that all men were bad, and that +no man was worthy of such a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and +wiped away tears from her eyes. + +It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the +real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new +resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really +mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his +past. + +It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young +girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with +unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young +man could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the +importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter, +he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He +made haste to shy off from the subject of his “badness” and to turn the +conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + +“If I am going to be so good,” he said, “don’t forget that you will have +to be good also!” + +“I will try,” said Henriette, who was still serious. + +“You will have to try hard,” he persisted. “You will find that you have +a very jealous husband.” + +“Will I?” said Henriette, beaming with happiness--for when a woman is +very much in love she doesn’t in the least object to the man’s being +jealous. + +“Yes, indeed,” smiled George. “I’ll always be watching you.” + +“Watching me?” echoed the girl with a surprised look. + +And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be +no need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it +at such a time. That was one of the ideas which he had brought with him +from his world of evil. + +The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious +husband; nothing could ever change that fact, for there was something in +his own conscience which he could not get out, and which would make it +impossible for him to be at ease as a married man. It was the memory of +something which had happened earlier in his life before he met Lizette. +There had been one earlier experience, with the wife of his dearest +friend. She had been much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an +interest in George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years +the intrigue continued, and George considered it a good solution of a +young man’s problem. There had been no danger of contamination, for he +knew that his friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a jealous +man who watched his wife, and did not permit her to contract those new +relations which are always dangerous. As for George, he helped in this +worthy work, keeping the woman in terror of some disease. He told her +that almost all men were infected, for he hoped by this means to keep +her from deceiving him. + +I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want anyone +to think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to point out that +people feel differently about these matters in France. In judging the +unfortunate young man, we must judge him by the customs of his own +country, and not by ours. In France, they are accustomed to what is +called the MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. The young girl is not permitted to go +about and make her own friends and decide which one of them she prefers +for her husband; on the contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training +often is of a religious nature, and her marriage is a matter of +business, to be considered and decided by her parents and those of the +young man. Now, whatever we may think right, it is humanly certain that +where marriages are made in that way, the need of men and women for +sympathy and for passionate interest will often lead to the forming of +irregular relationships after marriage. It is not possible to present +statistics as to the number of such irregular relationships in Parisian +society; but in the books which he read and in the plays which he saw, +George found everything to encourage him to think that it was a romantic +and delightful thing to keep up a secret intrigue with the wife of his +best friend. + +It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling the +truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it is not +customary to tell this about men, either in real life or in novels. +There is a great deal of concealment in the world about matters of sex; +and in such matters the truth-telling man is apt to suffer in reputation +in comparison with the truth-concealing one. + +Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. It had +happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and this had so +affected the guilty pair that they had felt their relationship was no +longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse her grief alone, and +George had been so deeply affected that he had avoided affairs and +entanglements with women until his meeting with Lizette. + +All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a deeper +impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it was now working +in his mind and marring his happiness. Here was a girl who loved him +with a noble and unselfish and whole-hearted love--and yet he would +never be able to trust her as she deserved, but would always have +suspicions lurking in the back of his mind. He would be unable to have +his friends intimate in his home, because of the memory of what he had +once done to a friend. It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it +is that Nature often finds ways of punishing us, without our even being +aware of it. + +That was all for the future, however. At present, George was happy. He +put his black sin behind him, feeling that he had obtained absolution +by his confession to Henriette. Day by day, as he realized his good +fortune, his round face beamed with more and yet more joy. + +He went for a little trip to Henriette’s home in the country. It was +a simple village, and they took walks in the country, and stopped to +refresh themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of M. Loches’ tenants. +Here was a rosy and buxom peasant woman, with a nursing child in her +arms. She was destined a couple of years later to be the foster-mother +of Henriette’s little girl and to play an important part in her life. +But the pair had no idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud +and happy mother, and Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to +childish delight. Then suddenly she looked up and saw that George was +watching her, and as she read his thoughts a beautiful blush suffused +her cheeks. + +As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in a kind +of ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; he had found +its supreme happiness, which was love. He was really getting quite mad +about Henriette, he told himself. He could hardly believe that the day +was coming when he would be able to clasp her in his arms. + +But in the blue sky of George’s happiness there was one little cloud of +storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so small that at first +he paid no attention to it at all. + +He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated it with +salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or two, when this +had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He remembered suddenly he +had heard about the symptoms of an unmentionable, dreadful disease, and +a vague terror took possession of him. + +For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, it was +absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the thought would +not be put away, and finally he went to a school friend, who was a man +of the world, and got him to talk on the subject. Of course, George had +to be careful, so that his friend should not suspect that he had any +special purpose in mind. + +The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; but one +was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. There were other +diseases which fellows got, which nearly every fellow had, and to which +none of them paid any attention. But one seldom met anyone who had the +red plague that George dreaded. + +“And yet,” he added, “according to the books, it isn’t so uncommon. +I suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap naturally wouldn’t +tell, when he knew it would damn him for life.” + +George had a sick sensation inside of him. “Is it as bad as that?” he +asked. + +“Of course,” said the other, “Should you want to have anything to do +with a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with him or +travel with him? You wouldn’t even want to shake hands with him!” + +“No, I suppose not,” said George, feebly. + +“I remember,” continued the other, “an old fellow who used to live out +in the country near me. He was not so very old, either, but he looked +it. He had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. People said he had +locomotor ataxia, but that really meant syphilis. We boys used to poke +all kinds of fun at him because one windy day his hat and his wig were +blown off together, and we discovered that he was as bald as an egg. +We used to make jokes about his automobile, as we called it. It had a +little handle in front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to +push, instead of an engine.” + +“How horrible!” remarked George with genuine feeling. + +“I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after,” continued the +friend, quite carelessly. “He could not steer any more, and also he lost +his voice. When you met him he would look at you as it he thought he was +talking, but all he could say was ‘Ga-ga-ga’.” + +George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told himself +over and over again that he was a fool, but still he could not get the +hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself brooding over it all day +and lying awake at night, haunted by images of himself in a wheel-chair, +and without any hair on his head. He realized that the sensible thing +would be for him to go to a doctor and make certain about his condition; +but he could not bring himself to face the ordeal--he was ashamed to +admit to a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + +He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy face. He +had less appetite, and his moods of depression became so frequent that +he could not hide then even from Henriette. She asked him once or twice +if there were not something the matter with him, and he laughed--a +forced and hurried laugh--and told her that he had sat up too late the +night before, worrying over the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a +cruel thing it was that a man who stood in the very gateway of such +a garden of delight should be tormented and made miserable by this +loathsome idea! + +The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George purchased +a medical book, dealing with the subject of the disease. Then, indeed, +he opened up a chamber of horrors; he made up his mind an abiding place +of ghastly images. In the book there were pictures of things so awful +that he turned white, and trembled like a leaf, and had to close the +volume and hide it in the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish +the pictures from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the +description of the first symptom of the disease, which seemed to +correspond exactly with his own. So at last he made up his mind he must +ascertain definitely the truth about his condition. + +He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard somewhere +a story about a young fellow who had fallen into the hands of a quack, +and been ruined forever. So he decided that he would consult only the +best authority. + +He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a +bookstore, and found that the author of one of these books was +practicing in Paris as a specialist. Two or three days elapsed before he +was able to get up the courage to call on this doctor. And oh, the shame +and horror of sitting in his waiting-room with the other people, none of +whom dared to look each other in the eyes! They must all be afflicted, +George thought, and he glanced at them furtively, looking for the +various symptoms of which he had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like +himself--merely victims of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of +dread pulled from off their backs? + +And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the doctor, +signaling to him. His turn had come! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every +appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock coat +he wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. Confused and +nervous as George was, he got a vague impression of the physician’s +richly furnished office, with its bronzes, marbles and tapestries. + +The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair before +his desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the perspiration +from his forehead, stammered out a few words, explaining his errand. Of +course, he said, it could not be true, but it was a man’s duty not +to take any chances in such a matter. “I have not been a man of loose +life,” he added; “I have not taken so many chances as other men.” + +The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance was all +that was necessary. Instead of discussing such questions, he would make +an examination. “We do not say positively in these cases until we have +made a blood test. That is the one way to avoid the possibility of +mistake.” + +A drop of blood was squeezed out of George’s finger on to a little glass +plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and the victim sat +alone in the office, deriving no enjoyment from the works of art which +surrounded him, but feeling like a prisoner who sits in the dock with +his life at stake while the jury deliberates. + +The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in his +office-chair. + +“Well, doctor?” asked George. He was trembling with terror. + +“Well,” was the reply, “there is no doubt whatever.” + +George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. “No doubt +whatever? In what sense?” + +“In the bad sense,” said the other. + +He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how George +turned page with terror. “Come,” he said, after a silence, “you must +have known the truth pretty well.” + +“No, no, sir!” exclaimed George. + +“Well,” said the other, “you have syphilis.” + +George was utterly stunned. “My God!” he exclaimed. + +The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and observed his +condition. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. Out of every seven men you meet +upon the street, in society, or at the theater, there is at least one +who has been in your condition. One out of seven--fifteen per cent!” + +George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. “I know +what I am going to do.” + +“And I know also,” said the doctor, with a smile. “There is your +prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have it put +up.” + +George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, “No, sir.” + +“Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does.” + +“No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know what I +am going to do.” + +Said the doctor: “Five times out of ten, in the chair where you are +sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each one believes +himself more unhappy than all the others; but after thinking it over, +and listening to me, they understand that this disease is a companion +with whom one can live. Just as in every household, one gets along at +the cost of mutual concessions, that’s all. Come, sir, I tell you again, +there is nothing about it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly +natural, perfectly common; it is an accident which can happen to any +one. It is a great mistake that people speak if this as the ‘French +Disease,’ for there is none which is more universal. Under the picture +of this disease, addressing myself to those who follow the oldest +profession in the world, I would write the famous phrase: ‘Here is your +master. It is, it was, or it must be.’” + +George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of his +coat, stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. “But, sir,” he +exclaimed, “I should have been spared!” + +“Why?” inquired the other. “Because you are a man of position, because +you are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of art in my +room. Do you imagine that such things have been presented to me by +chimney-sweeps?” + +“But, Doctor,” cried George, with a moan, “I have never been a +libertine. There was never any one, you understand me, never any one +could have been more careful in his pleasures. If I were to tell you +that in all my life I have only had two mistresses, what would you +answer to that?” + +“I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to bring +you to me.” + +“No, sir!” cried George. “It could not have been either of those women.” + He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, and then about +Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how much he adored her. He +could really use such a word--he loved her most tenderly. She was so +good--and he had thought himself so lucky! + +As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. “I had +everything,” he exclaimed, “everything a man needed! All who knew me +envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me off to that +miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My future is ruined, my whole +existence poisoned! What is to become of me? Everybody will avoid me--I +shall be a pariah, a leper!” + +He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, “Come, now! Would +it not be better that I should take myself out of the way? At least, I +should not suffer any more. You see that there could not be any one +more unhappy than myself--not any one, I tell you, sir, not any one!” + Completely overcome, he began to weep in his handkerchief. + +The doctor got up, and went to him. “You must be a man,” he said, “and +not cry like a child.” + +“But sir,” cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, +“if I had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with +chorus girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had +deserved it.” + +The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, “No, no! You would not say it. +However, it is of no matter--go on.” + +“I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I +had deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And +now, when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting +things, the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned--” + +“What is all this you are telling me?” asked the doctor, laughing. + +“Oh, I know, I know!” cried the other, and repeated what his friend +had told him about the man in a wheel-chair. “And they used to call me +handsome Raoul! That was my name--handsome Raoul!” + +“Now, my dear sir,” said the doctor, cheerfully, “wipe your eyes one +last time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and +hear me dry-eyed.” + +George obeyed mechanically. “But I give you fair warning,” he said, “you +are wasting your time.” + +“I tell you--” began the other. + +“I know exactly what you are going to tell me!” cried George. + +“Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here--run +along.” + +“Since I am here,” said the patient submissively, “I will hear you.” + +“Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the +perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you.” + +“Of course, it is your duty to tell me that.” + +“I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in +Paris, alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just +saying--wheel-chairs. One doesn’t see so many of them.” + +“No, that’s true,” said George. + +“And besides,” added the doctor, “a good many people who ride in them +are not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why +you should be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred +thousand. The disease is serious, nothing more.” + +“You admit that it is a serious disease?” argued George. + +“Yes.” + +“One of the most serious?” + +“Yes, but you have the good fortune--” + +“The GOOD fortune?” + +“Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected +with one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control.” + +“Yes, yes,” exclaimed George, “but the remedies are worse than the +disease.” + +“You deceive yourself,” replied the other. + +“You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?” + +“You can be.” + +“And that I am not condemned?” + +“I swear it to you.” + +“You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was +told--” + +The doctor laughed, contemptuously. “You were told, you were told! I’ll +wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls.” + +“Yes, naturally,” said George. “But I don’t see what they have to do +with it.” + +“Instead of teaching you such things,” was the reply, “it would have +been a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause +of diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the +contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the +most important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every +newspaper.” + +This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned +a little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way +subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the +name of this vile disease. + +“And yet,” pursued the doctor, “you publish romances about adultery!” + +“Yes,” said George, “that’s what the readers want.” + +“They don’t want the truth about venereal diseases,” exclaimed the +other. “If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that +adultery was romantic and interesting.” + +He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. +There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take +her as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive +you. “Take that from me,” added the doctor, “and teach it to your son, +when you have one.” + +George’s attention was caught by this last sentence. + +“You mean that I shall be able to have children?” he cried. + +“Certainly,” was the reply. + +“Healthy children?” + +“I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long +time, conscientiously, you have little to fear.” + +“That’s certain?” + +“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” + +George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. “Why, then,” + he exclaimed, “I shall be able to marry!” + +“You will be able to marry,” was the reply. + +“You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would +not expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?” + +“In three or four years,” said the doctor. + +“What!” cried George in consternation. “In three or four years? Not +before?” + +“Not before.” + +“How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just +now--” + +Said the doctor: “The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, +yourself--but you will be dangerous to others.” + +“But,” the young man cried, in despair, “I am to be married a month from +now.” + +“That is impossible.” + +“But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have +been published! I have given my word!” + +“Well, you are a great one!” the doctor laughed. “Just now you were +looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month.” + +“But, Doctor, it is necessary!” + +“But I forbid it.” + +“As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I +could be cured, naturally I didn’t want to commit suicide. And as soon +as I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular +life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married.” + +“No,” said the doctor. + +“Yes, yes!” persisted George, with blind obstinacy. “Why, Doctor, if I +didn’t marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something +you don’t understand. I, for my part--it is not that I am anxious to be +married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette’s little +brothers adored me. But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother +is crazy about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of +chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has the +family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a regular dragoon +for his principles--severe, violent. He never makes a joke of serious +things, and I tell you it would cost me dear, terribly dear. And, +besides, I have given my word.” + +“You must take back your word.” + +“You still insist?” exclaimed George, in despair. “But then, suppose +that it were possible, how could I take back my signature which I put at +the bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to pay in two months for +the attorney’s practice I have purchased!” + +“Sir,” said the doctor, “all these things--” + +“You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I should +never have disposed of my wife’s dowry until after the honeymoon!” + +“Sir,” said the doctor, again, “all these considerations are foreign to +me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, and I can only +tell you this: If you marry before three or four years, you will be a +criminal.” + +George broke out with a wild exclamation. “No sir, you are not merely a +physician! You are also a confessor! You are not merely a scientist; and +it is not enough for you that you observe me as you would some lifeless +thing in your laboratory, and say, ‘You have this; science says that; +now go along with you.’ All my existence depends upon you. It is +your duty to listen to me, because when you know everything you will +understand me, and you will find some way to cure me within a month.” + +“But,” protested the doctor, “I wear myself out telling you that such +means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as much as any +one can be certain, in less than three or four years.” + +George was almost beside himself. “I tell you you must find some means! +Listen to me, sir--if I don’t get married I don’t get the dowry! And +will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have signed?” + +“Oh,” said the doctor, dryly, “if that is the question, it is very +simple--I will give you a plan to get out of the affair. You will go +and get acquainted with some rich man; you will do everything you can to +gain his confidence; and when you have succeeded, you will plunder him.” + +George shook his head. “I am not in any mood for joking.” + +“I am not joking,” replied his adviser. “Rob that man, assassinate him +even--that would be no worse crime than you would commit in taking a +young girl in good health in order to get a portion of her dowry, +when at the same time you would have to expose her to the frightful +consequences of the disease which you would give her.” + +“Frightful consequences?” echoed George. + +“Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful.” + +“But, sir, you were saying to me just now--” + +“Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, suppressed a +little by our remedies, the disease remains mysterious, menacing, and +in its sum, sufficiently grave. So it would be an infamy to expose your +fiancee in order to avoid an inconvenience, however great that might +be.” + +But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that this +misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best attention? + +Said the other: “I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not absolutely +certain, it is probable. And there is another truth which I wish to +tell you now: our remedies are not infallible. In a certain number of +cases--a very small number, scarcely five per cent--they have remained +without effect. You might be one of those exceptions, your wife might be +one. What then?” + +“I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should have to +expect the worst catastrophes.” + +George sat in a state of complete despair. + +“Tell me what to do, then,” he said. + +“I can tell you only one thing: don’t marry. You have a most serious +blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one will ever come to +claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless creditor will come all +at once, presenting a brutal demand for immediate payment. Come now--you +are a business man. Marriage is a contract; to marry without saying +anything--that means to enter into a bargain by means of passive +dissimulation. That’s the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it +ought to come under the law.” + +George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could think +of nothing to say to it. + +“What shall I do?” he asked. + +The other answered, “Go to your father-in-law and tell him frankly the +truth.” + +“But,” cried the young man, wildly, “there will be no question then of +three or four years’ delay. He will refuse his consent altogether.” + +“If that is the case,” said the doctor, “don’t tell him anything.” + +“But I have to give him a reason, or I don’t know what he will do. He +is the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, and again my +fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From everything I have said +to you, you may perhaps think I am a mercenary man. It is true that I +want to get along in the world, that is only natural. But Henriette has +such qualities; she is so much better than I, that I love her, really, +as people love in novels. My greatest grief--it is not to give up the +practice I have bought--although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow to +me; my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only see +her, if you only knew her--then you would understand. I have her picture +here--” + +The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph to the +doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with embarrassment. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am ridiculous. That happens to me, +sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place--I love her so!” His voice +broke. + +“My dear boy,” said the doctor, feelingly, “that is exactly why you +ought not to marry her.” + +“But,” he cried, “if I back out without saying anything they will guess +the truth, and I shall be dishonored.” + +“One is not dishonored because one is ill.” + +“But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, yesterday--I +should have laughed at anyone who had got into such a plight; I should +have avoided him, I should have despised him!” And suddenly George +broke down again. “Oh!” he cried, “if I were the only one to suffer; but +she--she is in love with me. I swear it to you! She is so good; and she +will be so unhappy!” + +The doctor answered, “She would be unhappier later on.” + +“It will be a scandal!” George exclaimed. + +“You will avoid one far greater,” the other replied. + +Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his seat. He +took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and laid them quietly +upon the doctor’s desk--paying the fee in cash, so that he would not +have to give his name and address. He took up his gloves, his cane and +his hat, and rose. + +“I will think it over,” he said. “I thank you, Doctor. I will come back +next week as you have told me. That is--probably I will.” + +He was about to leave. + +The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. “No,” he +said, “I shan’t see you next week, and you won’t even think it over. You +came here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice of me, with the +intention of paying no heed to it, unless it conformed to your wishes. +A superficial honesty has driven you to take that chance in order to +satisfy your conscience. You wanted to have somebody upon whom you could +put off, bye and bye, the consequences of an act whose culpability you +understand! No, don’t protest! Many of those who come here think and act +as you think, and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against +my will has generally been the source of such calamities that now I am +always afraid of not having been persuasive enough, and it even seems to +me that I am a little to blame for these misfortunes. I should have been +able to prevent them; they would not have happened if those who are the +authors of them knew what I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to +me, sir, that you are going to break off that marriage!” + +George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. “I cannot swear +to you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again that I will think it +over.” + +“That WHAT over?” + +“What you have told me.” + +“What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new objections; and +I have answered those which you have presented to me; therefore, your +mind ought to be made up.” + +Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he had +made inquiry about these matters before he had come to the doctor. But +he said that he was not al all certain that he had this disease. The +doctor declared it, and perhaps it was true, but the most learned +physicians were sometimes deceived. + +He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. “Dr. +Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is no longer +contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. Today you produce +new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I want to do what’s right, +but surely I have the right to think it over. And when I think it +over, I realize that all the evils with which you threaten me are only +probable evils. In spite of your desire to terrify me, you have been +forced to admit that possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome +consequence for my wife.” + +The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, “Go on. +I will answer you afterwards.” + +And George blundered ahead in his desperation. “Your remedies are +powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you speak to +befall me, I would have to be among the rare exceptions--also my +wife would have to be among the number of those rare exceptions. If a +mathematician were to apply the law of chance to these facts, the result +of his operation would show but slight chance of a catastrophe, as +compared with the absolute certainty of a series of misfortunes, +sufferings, troubles, tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which +the breaking of my engagement would cause. So I say that the +mathematician--who is, even more than you, a man of science, a man of +a more infallible science--the mathematician would conclude that wisdom +was not with you doctors, but with me.” + +“You believe it, sir!” exclaimed the other. “But you deceive yourself.” + And he continued, driving home his point with a finger which seemed to +George to pierce his very soul. “Twenty cases identical with your own +have been patiently observed, from the beginning to the end. Nineteen +times the woman was infected by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen +times out of twenty! You believe that the disease is without danger, and +you take to yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the +chance of your being one of those exceptions, for whom our remedies +are without effect. Very well; it is necessary that you should know the +disease which your wife, without being consulted, will run a chance of +contracting. Take that book, sir; it is the work of my teacher. Read it +yourself. Here, I have marked the passage.” + +He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to take it. + +“You do not wish to read it?” the other continued. “Listen to me.” + And in a voice trembling with passion, he read: “‘I have watched the +spectacle of an unfortunate young woman, turned into a veritable monster +by means of a syphilitic infection. Her face, or rather let me say +what was left of her face, was nothing but a flat surface seamed with +scars.’” + +George covered his face, exclaiming, “Enough, sir! Have mercy!” + +But the other cried, “No, no! I will go to the very end. I have a +duty to perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility of your +nerves.” + +He went on reading: “‘Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the ridge +of the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.’” But then at the young man’s +protests, his resolution failed him. “Come,” he said, “I will stop. I am +sorry for you--you who accept for another person, for the woman you say +you love, the chance of a disease which you cannot even endure to hear +described. Now, from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who +am speaking, it is the book. ‘From a miserable scoundrel who was not +afraid to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary eruption.’ All +that was established later on--‘and who, moreover, had thought it best +not to let his wife be treated for fear of awakening her suspicions!’” + +The doctor closed the book with a bang. “What that man has done, sir, is +what you want to do.” + +George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the doctor in +the eye. “I should deserve all those epithets and still more brutal ones +if I should marry, knowing that my marriage would cause such horrors. +But that I do not believe. You and your teachers--you are specialists, +and consequently you are driven to attribute everything to the disease +you make the subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional +case, holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be +talked about enough.” + +“I have heard that argument before,” said the doctor, with an effort at +patience. + +“Let me go on, I beg you,” pleaded George. “You have told me that out of +every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have told me that there are +one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and going, alert, and apparently +well.” + +“It is true,” said the doctor, “that there are one hundred thousand +who are actually at this moment not visibly under the influence of the +disease. But many thousands have passed into our hospitals, victims of +the most frightful ravages that our poor bodies can support. These--you +do not see them, and they do not count for you. But again, if it +concerned no one but yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I +declare to you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, +is that you have not the right to expose a human creature to such +chances--rare, as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. What +have you to answer to that?” + +“Nothing,” stammered George, brought to his knees at last. “You are +right about that. I don’t know what to think.” + +“And in forbidding you marriage,” continued the doctor, “is it the same +as if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told you that you +could never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out to you every hope; but +I demand of you a delay of three or four years, because it will take me +that time to find out if you are among the number of those unfortunate +ones whom I pity with all my heart, for whom the disease is without +mercy; because during that time you will be dangerous to your wife and +to your children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you.” + +Here the doctor’s voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving +eloquence. “Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young for such +things not to move you; you are not insensible to duty. It is impossible +that I shan’t be able to find a way to your heart, that I shan’t be +able to make you obey me. My emotion in speaking to you proves that I +appreciate your suffering, that I suffer with you. It is in the name of +my sincerity that I implore you. You have admitted it--that you have not +the right to expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your +wife that you strike; you may attack in her your own children. I exclude +you for a moment from my thought--you and her. It is in the name of +these innocents that I implore you; it is the future, it is the race +that I defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out of the twenty households +of which I spoke, only fifteen had children; these fifteen had +twenty-eight. Do you know how many out of these twenty-eight survived? +Three, sir! Three out of twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a +murderer of children. Herod reigns in France, and over all the earth, +and begins each year his massacre of the innocents; and if it be not +blasphemy against the sacredness of life, I say that the most happy are +those who have disappeared. Visit our children’s hospitals! We know too +well the child of syphilitic parents; the type is classical; the doctors +can pick it out anywhere. Those little old creatures who have the +appearance of having already lived, and who have kept the stigmata of +all out infirmities, of all our decay. They are the victims of fathers +who have married, being ignorant of what you know--things which I should +like to go and cry out in the public places.” + +The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: “I have told +you all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the pros and +cons; sum up the possible misfortunes and the certain miseries. But +disregard yourself, and consider that there are in one side of the +scales the misfortunes of others, and in the other your own. Take care +that you are just.” + +George was at last overcome. “Very well,” he said, “I give way. I +won’t get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a delay of six +months. More than that, I cannot do.” + +The doctor exclaimed, “I need three years--I need four years!” + +“No, Doctor!” persisted George. “You can cure me in less time than +that.” + +The other answered, “No! No! No!” + +George caught him by the hand, imploringly. “Yes! Science in all +powerful!” + +“Science is not God,” was the reply. “There are no longer any miracles.” + +“If only you wanted to do it!” cried the young man, hysterically. “You +are a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some new plan with +me; give me double the dose, ten times the does; make me suffer. I give +myself up to you; I will endure everything--I swear it! There ought to +be some way to cure me within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I +can’t answer for myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my +wife, in the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for +them!” + +The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. “Enough, sir!” he +cried. “Enough!” + +But nothing could stop the wretched man. “On my knees!” he cried. “I +put myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only you would do it! I would +bless you; I would adore you, as one adores a god! All my gratitude, all +my life--half my fortune! For mercy’s sake, Doctor, do something; invent +something; make some discovery--have pity!” + +The doctor answered gravely, “Do you wish me to do more for you than for +the others?” + +George answered, unblushingly, ‘answered, unblushingly, “Yes!” He was +beside himself with terror and distress. + +The other’s reply was delivered in a solemn tone. “Understand, sir, +for every one of out patients we do all that we can, whether it be the +greatest personage, or the last comer to out hospital clinic. We have no +secrets in reserve for those who are more fortunate, or less fortunate +than the others, and who are in a hurry to be cured.” + +George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and then +suddenly bowed his head. “Good-by, Doctor,” he answered. + +“Au revoir, sir,” the other corrected--with what proved to be prophetic +understanding. For George was destined to see him again--even though he +had made up his mind to the contrary! + + + +CHAPTER III + +George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to make; but +there was never very much doubt what his decision would be. One the one +hand was the definite certainty that if he took the doctor’s advice, he +would wreck his business prospects, and perhaps also lose the woman he +loved. On the other hand were vague and uncertain possibilities which it +was difficult for him to make real to himself. It was all very well to +wait a while to be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four +years--that was simply preposterous! + +He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this time who +would not be so particular, who would be willing to take some trouble +to cure him quickly. He began to notice the advertisements which +were scattered over the pages of the newspapers he read. There were +apparently plenty of doctors in Paris who could cure him, who were +willing to guarantee to cure him. After much hesitation, he picked out +one whose advertisement sounded the most convincing. + +The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not +encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. +The doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with +anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was +evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter +with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, +he could cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great +discoveries made--new methods which had not reached the bulk of the +profession. He laughed at the idea of three or four years. That was +the way with those specialists! When one got forty francs for a +consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out the case. There were +tricks in the medical trade, as in all others. A doctor had to live; +when he had a big name, he had to live expensively. + +The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the +shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would +surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six +months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there +was no need for him to worry himself--things would come out all right. +So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his +shoulders. + +He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter +settled. “Henriette,” he said, “I have to tell you something very +important--something rather painful. I hope you won’t let it disturb you +too much.” + +She was gazing at him in alarm. “What is it?” + +“Why,” he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had +begun the matter so precipitately, “for some time I’ve not been feeling +quite well. I’ve been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?” + +“Why no!” exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + +“Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a +possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it might +be--I might possibly have lung trouble.” + +“George!” cried the girl in horror. + +He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be +all right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he +thought--to be so much worried! + +“George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have +been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so +much--” + +“I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is +necessary. I shall be all right--the doctor assured me there was no +doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is +the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am +perfectly well.” + +Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + +“I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to +you.” + +“But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!” + +“We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being +married to a consumptive.” + +The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a +consumptive; she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was +willing to take her chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But +George insisted--he was sure that he ought not to marry for six months. + +“Did the doctor advise that?” asked Henriette. + +“No,” he replied, “but I made up my mind after talking to him that I +must do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to forgive me, and to +believe that I know best.” + +George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had to give +way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue persisting. + +George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped this +would settle the matter without further discussion. But in this he was +disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence with long arguments +and protestations from Henriette’s father and from his own mother. +It seemed such a singular whim. Everybody persisted in diagnosing his +symptoms, in questioning him about what the doctor had said, who the +doctor was, how he had come to consult him--all of which, of course, was +very embarrassing to George, who could not see why they had to make such +a fuss. He took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he could +imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house--and it was +all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look of dismay on +his poor mother’s face. After all, however, he told himself that he +was not deceiving her, for the disease he had was quite as serious as +tuberculosis. + +It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that could be +done about it; the marriage had been put off for six months, and in the +meantime he and Henriette had to control their impatience and make the +best of their situation. Six months was a long time; but what if it had +been three or four years, as the other doctor had demanded? That would +have been a veritable sentence of death. + +George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and careful in +his habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor prescribed +for him; and day by day he watched, and to his great relief saw the +troublesome symptoms gradually disappearing. He began to take heart, +and to look forward to life with his former buoyancy. He had had a bad +scare, but now everything was going to be all right. + +Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was cured. He +really was cured, so far as he could see. He was sorry, now, that he +had asked for so long a delay from Henriette; but the new date for the +wedding had been announced, and it would be awkward to change it again. +George told himself that he was being “extra careful,” and he was repaid +for the inconvenience by the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. +He was relieved that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent +any more tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. +Sometimes he had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had had to +do; but he told himself that it was for Henriette’s sake. She loved him +as much as he loved her. She would have suffered needless agonies had +she known the truth; she would never have got over it--so it would have +been a crime to tell her. + +He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he had +thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any physical harm +that the dread disease might do to him. How could he possibly persuade +himself to give her up, when he knew that the separation would break her +heart and ruin her whole life? No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was +his duty to use his own best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly +as possible. After that he would be true to her, he would take no more +chances of a loathsome disease. + +The secret he was hiding made him feel humble--made him unusually gentle +in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, and she +was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his sufferings were +because of his love for her, and the delay which he had imposed out of +his excess of conscientiousness. So she loved him more and more, and +never was there a happier bride than Henriette Loches, when at last the +great day arrived. + +They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned to live +in the home which had belonged to George’s father. The investment in +the notary’s practice had proven a good one, and so life held out every +promise for the young couple. They were divinely happy. + +After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings that +she was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that the cup of his +earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped far into the background +of his thoughts, like an evil dream which he had forgotten. He put away +the medicines in the bottom of his trunk and dismissed the whole matter +from his mind. Henriette was well--a very picture of health, as every +one agreed. The doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he +declared, and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy +as she attended her daughter-in-law. + +Henriette went for the summer to her father’s place in the provinces, +which she and George had visited before their marriage. They drove out +one day to the farm where they had stopped. The farmer’s wife had a +week-old baby, the sight of which made Henriette’s heart leap with +delight. He was such a very healthy baby that George conceived the idea +that this would be the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette +herself should not be able to do it. + +They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As George paced +the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his evil dreams came back +to him. He remembered all the dreadful monstrosities of which he had +read--infants that were born of syphilitic parents. His heart stood +still when the nurse came into the room to tell him the tidings. + +But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a fool, +he told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed at the +wonderful little mite of life which was the fruit of his love. It was a +perfect child, the doctor said--a little small, to be sure, but that was +a defect which would soon be remedied. George kneeled by the bedside and +kissed the hand of his wife, and went out of the room feeling as if he +had escaped from a tomb. + +All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about the house +again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the baby did not gain +quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and it was decided that the +country air would be better for her. So George and his mother paid a +visit to the farm in the country, and arranged that the country woman +should put her own child to nurse elsewhere and should become the +foster-mother of little Gervaise. + +George paid a good price for the service, far more than would have been +necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted with the idea of +taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of her district. George came +home and told his wife about this and had a merry time as he pictured +the woman boasting about it to the travelers who stopped at her door. +“Yes, ma’am, a great piece of luck I’ve got, ma’am. I’ve got the +daughter of the daughter of our deputy--at your service ma’am. My! +But she is as fat as out little calf--and so clever! She understands +everything. A great piece of luck for me, ma’am. She’s the daughter +of the daughter of our deputy!” Henriette was vastly entertained, +discovering in her husband a new talent, that of an actor. + +As for George’s mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from staying in +the country with the child. She went twice a week, to make sure that all +went well. Henriette and she lived with the child’s picture before them; +they spent their time sewing on caps and underwear--all covered with +laces and frills and pink and blue ribbons. Every day, when George +came home from his work, he found some new article completed, and was +ravished by the scent of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky +man he was! + +You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole city +of Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his early sins. +There was, for instance, the deception he had practiced upon his friend, +away back in the early days. Now he had friends of his own, and he could +not keep these friends from visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the +fear that some one of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even +in the midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was +hanging upon his every word, trembling with delight when she heard his +latchkey in the door--still he could not drive away the horrible thought +that perhaps all this might be deception. + +There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend of +Henriette’s before her marriage; he had even been in love with her at +one time. And now he came sometimes to the house--once or twice when +George was away! What did that mean? George wondered. He brooded over +it all day, but dared not drop any hint to Henriette. But he took to +setting little traps to catch her; for instance, he would call her up on +the telephone, disguising his voice. “Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame +Dupont?” And when she answered, “It is I, sir,” all unsuspecting, he +would inquire, “Is George there?” + +“No, sir,” she replied. “Who is this speaking?” + +He answered, “It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?” He wanted to +see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, “Very well, Gustave. +How are you?”--in a tone which would betray too great intimacy! + +But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound like +Gustave’s. She asked in bewilderment, “What?” and then again, “What?” + +So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, had to +burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he came home and +teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on his side. Henriette +had guessed the real meaning of his joke! She did not really mind--she +took his jealousy as a sign of love, and was pleased with it. It is +not until a third party come upon the scene that jealousy begins to be +annoying. + +So she had a merry time teasing George. “You are a great fellow! +You have no idea how well I understand you--and after only a year of +marriage!” + +“You know me?” said the husband, curiously. (It is always so fascinating +when anybody thinks she know us better than we know ourselves!) “Tell +me, what do you think about me?” + +“You are restless,” said Henriette. “You are suspicious. You pass your +time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise schemes to get them +out.” + +“Oh, you think that, do you?” said George, pleased to be talked about. + +“I am not annoyed,” she answered. “You have always been that way--and I +know that it’s because at bottom you are timid and disposed to suffer. +And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for not having confidence in a +wife’s intimate friends--lady-killer that you are!” + +George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, so he +laughed gayly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said--“upon my word I +don’t. But it is a trick I would not advise everybody to try.” + +There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George’s having things +to conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the six months’ delay +in the marriage--about which Henriette would never stop talking. She +begrudged the time, because she had got the idea that little Gervaise +was six months younger than she otherwise would have been. “That shows +your timidity again,” she would say. “The idea of your having imagined +yourself a consumptive!” + +Poor George had to defend himself. “I didn’t tell you half the truth, +because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had the beginning of +chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly whenever I took a breath, a +deep breath--look, like this. Yes--I felt--here and there, on each side +of the chest, a heaviness--a difficulty--” + +“The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!” + exclaimed Henriette. “And making our baby six months younger than she +ought to be!” + +“But,” laughed George, “that means that we shall have her so much the +longer! She will get married six months later!” + +“Oh, dear me,” responded the other, “let us not talk about such things! +I am already worried, thinking she will get married some day.” + +“For my part,” said George, “I see myself mounting with her on my arm +the staircase of the Madeleine.” + +“Why the Madeleine?” exclaimed his wife. “Such a very magnificent +church!” + +“I don’t know--I see her under her white veil, and myself all dressed +up, and with an order.” + +“With an order!” laughed Henriette. “What do you expect to do to win an +order?” + +“I don’t know that--but I see myself with it. Explain it as you will, I +see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I were there--the +Swiss guard with his white stockings and the halbard, and the little +milliner’s assistants and the scullion lined up staring.” + +“It is far off--all that,” said Henriette. “I don’t like to talk of it. +I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up--but then I change my +mind and think I don’t. I know your mother doesn’t. Do you know, I don’t +believe she ever thinks about anything but her little Gervaise.” + +“I believe you,” said the father. “The child can certainly boast of +having a grandmother who loves her.” + +“Also, I adore your mother,” declared Henriette. “She makes me forget my +misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so good!” + +“We are all like that in our family,” put in George. + +“Really,” laughed the wife. “Well, anyhow--the last time that we went +down in the country with her--you had gone out, I don’t know where you +had gone--” + +“To see the sixteenth-century chest,” suggested the other. + +“Oh, yes,” laughed Henriette; “your famous chest!” (You must excuse this +little family chatter of theirs--they were so much in love with each +other!) + +“Don’t let’s talk about that,” objected George. “You were saying--?” + +“You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think--” + +“Or at the wine merchant’s! Go on, go on.” + +“Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was all +alone with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the baby--all +sorts of nonsense, pretty little words--stupid, if you like, but tender. +I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I wanted to weep.” + +“Perhaps she called her ‘my dear little Savior’?” + +“Exactly! Did you hear her?” + +“No--but that is what she used to call me when I was little.” + +“It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized her, and +laughed!” + +“Oh, yes!” + +“And then another time, when I went into her room--mother’s room--she +didn’t hear me because the door was open, but I saw her. She was in +ecstasy before the little boots which the baby wore at baptism--you +know?” + +“Yes, yes.” + +“Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!” + +“And what did you say then?” + +“Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the threshold a +great kiss to the dear grandmother!” + +Henriette sat for a moment in thought. “It didn’t take her very long,” + she remarked, “today when she got the letter from the nurse. I imagine +she caught the eight-fifty-nine train!” + +“Any yet,” laughed George, “it was really nothing at all.” + +“Oh no,” said his wife. “Yet after all, perhaps she was right--and +perhaps I ought to have gone with her.” + +“How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are +told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply +playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I’ll bet +you something. What would you like to bet? You don’t want to? Come, I’ll +bet you a lovely necklace--you know, with a big pearl.” + +“No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I +should be too much afraid of winning.” + +“Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as +you love her--my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her +EXACT age?” + +Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + +“Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and +eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. +Then we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” + Then, too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase +again. + +“If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk +now,” said Henriette. + +He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and +pay some calls?” + +Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + +“Run along, little wife,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do in the +meantime. You won’t be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in +my papers. Bye-bye.” + +“Bye-bye,” said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so +kisses before she went away to dress. + +Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big +armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. +Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to +be, since the letter had come from the baby’s nurse? Madame Dupont had +gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph +at once--but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + +George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for +a moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put +his geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But +then suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced +about, and started up with an exclamation, “Mother!” + +Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was +thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her +countenance. + +“What’s the matter?” he cried. “We didn’t get any telegram from you; we +were not expecting you till tomorrow.” + +Still his mother did not speak. + +“Henriette was just going out,” he exclaimed nervously; “I had better +call her.” + +“No!” said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. “I did +not want Henriette to be here when I arrived.” + +“But what’s the matter?” cried George. + +Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read something +terrible in the mother’s manner, and he found himself trembling +violently. + +“I have brought back the child and the nurse,” said Madame Dupont. + +“What! Is the little one sick?” + +“Yes.” + +“What’s the matter with her?” + +“Nothing dangerous--for the moment, at least.” + +“We must send and get the doctor!” cried George. + +“I have just come from the doctor’s,” was the reply. “He said it was +necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up on the +bottle.” + +Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to ask +the next question. Try as he would, he could not keep his voice from +weakening. “Well, now, what is her trouble?” + +The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At last she +said, faintly, “I don’t know.” + +“You didn’t ask?” + +“I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went.” + +“Ah!” whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them spoke. +“Why?” he inquired at last. + +“Because--he--the nurse’s doctor--had frightened me so--” + +“Truly?” + +“Yes. It is a disease--” again she stopped. + +George cried, in a voice of agony, “and then?” + +“Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be +satisfied with our ordinary doctor.” + +“And what did he answer?” + +“He said that if we had the means it would really be better to consult a +specialist.” + +George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she +was not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. +“And--where did he send you?” + +His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. “Here,” + she said. + +And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself +from tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first +consulted about his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases! + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was all George could do to control his voice. “You--you went to see +him?” he stammered. + +“Yes,” said his mother. “You know him?” + +“No, no,” he answered. “Or--that is--I have met him, I think. I don’t +know.” And then to himself, “My God!” + +There was a silence. “He is coming to talk to you,” said the mother, at +last. + +George was hardly able to speak. “Then he is very much disturbed?” + +“No, but he wants to talk to you.” + +“To me?” + +“Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, ‘Madame, it is impossible +for me to continue to attend this child unless I have had this very day +a conversation with the father.’ So I said ‘Very well,’ and he said he +would come at once.” + +George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “My poor little +daughter!” he whispered to himself. + +“Yes,” said the mother, her voice breaking, “she is, indeed, a poor +little daughter!” + +A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? Hearing +the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were all a-quiver +with the strain she had been under. A servant came in and spoke to her, +and she said to George, “It is the doctor. If you need me, I shall be in +the next room.” + +Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an +executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and he +stood for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost overcome +with emotion. Then he said, “Good-day, doctor.” As the man stared at +him, surprised and puzzled, he added, “You don’t recognize me?” + +The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him to break +out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. “You!” he exclaimed. “It is +you!” + +At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, “You +got married, and you have a child! After all that I told you! You are a +wretch!” + +“Sir,” cried George, “let me explain to you!” + +“Not a word!” exclaimed the other. “There can be no explanation for what +you have done.” + +A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. Finally, +stretching out his arms, he pleaded, “You will take care of my little +daughter all the same, will you not?” + +The other turned away with disgust. “Imbecile!” he said. + +George did not hear the word. “I was able to wait only six months,” he +murmured. + +The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, “That is enough, +sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong even to let you see +my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I have nothing +to do here but with the present and with the future--with the infant and +with the nurse.” + +“She isn’t in danger?” cried George. + +“The nurse is in danger of being contaminated.” + +But George had not been thinking about the nurse. “I mean my child,” he +said. + +“Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing.” + +George waited; after a while he began, “You were saying about the nurse. +Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better than I.” + +“As you wish,” was the reply. + +The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible distress. +“I have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so that my wife--so that +no one will know. If my wife learned that it is I who am the cause--! It +is for her that I implore you! She--she isn’t to blame.” + +Said the doctor: “I will do everything in my power that she may be kept +ignorant of the true nature of the disease.” + +“Oh, how I thank you!” murmured George. “How I thank you!” + +“Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will consent to +lie.” + +“And my mother?” + +“Your mother knows the truth.” + +“But--” + +“I pray you, sir--we have enough to talk about, and very serious +matters.” + +So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered and +greeted the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to keep the +signs of grief and terror from her face. She signed to the doctor to +take a seat, and then seated herself by a little table near him. + +“Madame Dupont,” he began, “I have prescribed a course of treatment for +the child. I hope to be able to improve its condition, and to prevent +any new developments. But my duty and yours does not stop there; if +there is still time, it is necessary to protect the health of the +nurse.” + +“Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?” said she. + +“The woman must stop nursing the child.” + +“You mean we have to change the nurse?” + +“Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, either by +that nurse or by any other nurse.” + +“But why, sir?” + +“Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave her +milk.” + +“But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle--our little one--she will +die!” + +And suddenly George burst out into sobs. “Oh, my poor little daughter! +My God, my God!” + +Said the doctor, “If the feeding is well attended to, with sterilized +milk--” + +“That can do very well for healthy infants,” broke in Madame Dupont. +“But at the age of three months one cannot take from the breast a baby +like ours, frail and ill. More than any other such an infant has need of +a nurse--is that not true?” + +“Yes,” the doctor admitted, “that is true. But--” + +“In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of the +nurse, you understand perfectly well that my choice is made.” + +Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose head was +buried in his arms. “Madame,” he said, “your love for that baby has just +caused you to utter something ferocious! It is not for you to choose. It +is not for you to choose. I forbid the nursing. The health of that woman +does not belong to you.” + +“No,” cried the grandmother, wildly, “nor does the health of out child +belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope is in giving +it more care than any other child; and you would wish that I put it +upon a mode of nourishment which the doctors condemn, even for vigorous +infants! You expect that I will let myself be taken in like that? I +answer you: she shall have the milk which she needs, my poor little one! +If there was a single thing that one could do to save her--I should be +a criminal to neglect it!” And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious +scorn, “The nurse! The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty--we +shall take care of her, repay her. But our child before all! No sir, +no! Everything that can be done to save our baby I shall do, let it cost +what it will. To do what you say--you don’t realize it--it would be as +if I should kill the child!” In the end the agonized woman burst into +tears. “Oh, my poor little angel! My little savior!” + +George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these last +words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with his foot, he +tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent physical pain. “Oh, +oh, oh!” he cried. “My little child! My little child!” And then, in a +horrified whisper to himself, “I am a wretch! A criminal!” + +“Madame,” said the doctor, “you must calm yourself; you must both calm +yourselves. You will not help out the situation by lamentations. You +must learn to take it with calmness.” + +Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort recovered +her self-control. “You are right, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “I ask +your pardon; but if you only knew what that child means to me! I lost +one at that age. I am an old woman, I am a widow--I had hardly hoped to +live long enough to be a grandmother. But, as you say--we must be calm.” + She turned to the young man, “Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor way to +show our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us talk, +Doctor, and seriously--coldly. But I declare to you that nothing will +ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when I know that it might +kill her. That is all I can say.” + +The doctor replied: “This isn’t the first time that I find myself in +the present situation. Madame, I declare to you that always--ALWAYS, +you understand--persons who have rejected my advice have had reason to +repent it cruelly.” + +“The only thing of which I should repent--” began the other. + +“You simply do not know,” interrupted the doctor, “what such a nurse is +capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness--legitimate +bitterness, you understand--joined to the rapacity, the cupidity, the +mischief-making impulse--might inspire these people to do. For them the +BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an enemy; and when they find themselves +in position to avenge their inferiority, they are ferocious.” + +“But what could the woman do?” + +“What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against you.” + +“But she is much too stupid to have that idea.” + +“Others will put it into her mind.” + +“She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses.” + +“And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and stupidity? +Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance.” + +“Why, surely,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “such a thing was never heard +of! Do you mean that?” + +“I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there has +been certainty, the parents have lost their case.” + +“But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like ours--not +when it is a question of saving the life of a poor little innocent!” + +“Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented.” + +Here George broke in. “I can give you the dates of the decisions.” He +rose from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be useful. “I have +the books,” he said, and took one from the case and brought it to the +doctor. + +“All of that is no use--” interposed the mother. + +But the doctor said to George, “You will be able to convince yourself. +The parents have been forced once or twice to pay the nurse a regular +income, and at other times they have had to pay her an indemnity, of +which the figure has varied between three and eight thousand francs.” + +Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. “Never fear, sir! If there +should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We shall be able to pay +and choose the best--and he would demand, without doubt, which of the +two, the nurse or the child, has given the disease to the other.” + +The doctor was staring at her in horror. “Do you not perceive that would +be a monstrous thing to do?” + +“Oh, I would not have to say it,” was the reply. “The lawyer would see +to it--is not that his profession? My point is this: by one means or +another he would make us win our case.” + +“And the scandal that would result,” replied the other. “Have you +thought of that?” + +Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. “Doctor, +permit me to give you a little information. In cases of this sort, the +names are never printed.” + +“Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings.” + +“That’s true.” + +“And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to print the +judgment?” + +“What won’t they stoop to,” exclaimed Madame Dupont--“those filthy +journals!” + +“Ah,” said the other, “and see what a scandal? What a shame it would be +to you!” + +“The doctor is right, mother,” exclaimed the young man. + +But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. “We will prevent the woman from +taking any steps; we will give her what she demands from us.” + +“But then,” said the other, “you will give yourselves up to the risk of +blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up for over twelve +years.” + +“If you will permit me, Doctor,” said George, timidly, “she could be +made to sign a receipt.” + +“For payment in full?” asked the doctor, scornfully. + +“Even so.” + +“And then,” added his mother, “she would be more than delighted to go +back to her country with a full purse. She would be able to buy a little +house and a bit of ground--in that country one doesn’t need so much in +order to live.” + +At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse entered. She +was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly bursting with health. +When she spoke one got the impression that her voice was more than she +could contain. It did not belong in a drawing-room, but under the open +sky of her country home. “Sir,” she said, addressing the doctor, “the +baby is awake.” + +“I will go and see her,” was the reply; and then to Madame Dupont, “We +will take up this conversation later on.” + +“Certainly,” said the mother. “Will you have need of the nurse?” + +“No, Madame,” the doctor answered. + +“Nurse,” said the mother, “sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I wish to +speak to you.” As the doctor went out, she took her son to one side and +whispered to him, “I know the way to arrange everything. If we let +her know what is the matter, and if she accepts, the doctor will have +nothing more to say. Isn’t that so?” + +“Obviously,” replied the son. + +“I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs when +she goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the child.” + +“Two thousand francs?” said the other. “Is that enough?” + +“I will see,” was the reply. “If she hesitates, I will go further. Let +me attend to it.” + +George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the nurse. “You +know,” she said, “that our child is a little sick?” + +The other looked at her in surprise. “Why no, ma’am!” + +“Yes,” said the grandmother. + +“But, ma’am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always kept +her proper.” + +“I am not saying anything to the contrary,” said Madame Dupont, “but the +child is sick, the doctors have said it.” + +The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting ready +to scold her. “Humph,” she said, “that’s a fine thing--the doctors! If +they couldn’t always find something wrong you’d say they didn’t know +their business.” + +“But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that our +child has some little pimples.” + +“Ah, ma’am,” said the nurse, “that’s the heat--it’s nothing but the heat +of the blood breaking out. You don’t need to bother yourself; I tell you +it’s only the child’s blood. It’s not my fault; I swear to you that she +had not lacked anything, and that I have always kept her proper.” + +“I am not reproaching you--” + +“What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She’s tiny--the +little one--she’s a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she’s a city child! +And she’s getting along all right, I tell you.” + +“No,” persisted Madame Dupont, “I tell you--she has got a cold in her +head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat.” + +“Well,” cried the nurse, angrily, “if she has, it’s because the doctor +scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A +cold in the head? Yes, that’s true; but if she has caught cold, I can’t +say when, I don’t know anything about it--nothing, nothing at all. I +have always kept her well covered; she’s always had as much as three +covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; +you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!” + +“But once more I tell you,” cried Madame Dupont, “we are not putting any +blame on you.” + +“Yes,” cried the woman, more vehemently. “I know what that kind of talk +means. It’s no use--when you’re a poor country woman.” + +“What are you imagining now?” demanded the other. + +“Oh, that’s all right. It’s no use when you’re a poor country woman.” + +“I repeat to you once more,” cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty +controlling her impatience, “we have nothing whatever to blame you for.” + +But the nurse began to weep. “If I had known that anything like this was +coming to me--” + +“We have nothing to blame you for,” declared the other. “We only wish to +warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child.” + +The woman pouted. “A cold in the head!” she exclaimed. “Well, if I catch +it, it won’t be the first time. I know how to blow my nose.” + +“But you might also get the pimples.” + +At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac +rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, +we ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? +Pimples--what difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t +have a white complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in +the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream +on our muzzles! No offense, ma’am--but I say if you’re looking for an +excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that.” + +“Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?” + +“Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head. + +“But speak!” + +“It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.” + +“I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!” + +“Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.” + +“But then--explain yourself.” + +“No, I don’t want to say it.” + +“But you must; I wish it.” + +“Well--” + +“Go ahead.” + +“I’m only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, +for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George +here has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a +month, if I came to Paris.” And then, turning upon the other, she went +on--“But, sir, isn’t it only natural? Don’t I have to put my own child +away somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? +We’re nothing but poor country people, we are.” + +“You are making a mistake, nurse,” broke in George. “It is nothing at +all of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far from wanting +to reproach you, that, on the contrary, I think she had not promised +enough, and I want to make you, for my part, another promise. When you +go away, when baby is old enough to be weaned, by way of thanking you, +we wish to give you--” + +Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, “We wish to give you,--over and above +your wages, you understand--we wish to give you five hundred francs, and +perhaps a thousand, if the little one is altogether in good health. You +understand?” + +The nurse stared at her, stupefied. “You will give me five hundred +francs--for myself?” She sought to comprehend the words. “But that was +not agreed, you don’t have to do that at all.” + +“No,” admitted Madame Dupont. + +“But then,” whispered the nurse, half to herself, “that’s not natural.” + +“Yes,” the other hurried on, “it is because the baby will have need of +extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will have to give +it medicines; your task will be a little more delicate, a little more +difficult.” + +“Oh, yes; then it’s so that I will be sure to take care of her? I +understand.” + +“Then it’s agreed?” exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + +“Yes ma’am,” said the nurse. + +“And you won’t come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one +another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you +could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of +care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the +nursing. That’s all right, is it? + +“But, my lady,” cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, “you spoke +just now of a thousand francs.” + +“Very well, then, a thousand francs.” + +George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing +her to one side. “It would be a mistake,” he whispered, “if we did not +make her sign an agreement to all that.” + +His mother turned to the nurse. “In order that there may be no +misunderstanding about the sum--you see how it is, I had forgotten +already that I had spoken of a thousand francs--we will draw up a little +paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us.” + +“Very good, ma’am,” said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so +important a transaction. “Why, it’s just as you do when you rent a +house!” + +“Here comes the doctor,” said the other. “Come, nurse, it is agreed?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. But all the same, as she went out she +hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at George +and his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, and she meant to +find out if she could. + +The doctor seated himself in George’s office chair, as if to write +a prescription. “The child’s condition remains the same,” he said; +“nothing disturbing.” + +“Doctor,” said Madame Dupont, gravely, “from now on, you will be able +to devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without any scruple. +During your absence we have arranged matters nicely. The nurse has been +informed about the situation, and she does not mind. She has agreed to +accept an indemnity, and the amount has been stated.” + +But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he +might. He replied: “The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably +contract in feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such +consequences might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as +death. So I say that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay +the damage.” + +“But,” exclaimed the other, “she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, +and she has the right--” + +“I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health. +And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her +husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain +that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life +of the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised. +Such things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a +bargain of this sort isn’t possible. If the evil has not been done, you +must do everything to avoid it.” + +“Sir,” protested the mother, wildly, “you do not defend our interests!” + +“Madame,” was the reply, “I defend those who are weakest.” + +“If we had called in our own physician, who knows us,” she protested, +“he would have taken sides with us.” + +The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. “I doubt it,” he said, +“but there is still time to call him.” + +George broke in with a cry of distress. “Sir, I implore you!” + +And the mother in turn cried. “Don’t abandon us, sir! You ought to make +allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to +me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us! +Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest--it is not she who is the +weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so +emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and +cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir--I pray you!” + +“I pity her,” said the doctor, “I would like to save her--and I will do +everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, +with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and +robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as +that.” + +Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. “Very Well!” she +exclaimed. “I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!” + +Said the doctor in a solemn voice: “There is already some one here who +regrets that he did not listen to me.” + +“Yes,” moaned George, “to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of +us.” + +But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. “Very well!” she cried. “If +it is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for +it in this life, and all the punishments in the life to come--I accept +it all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is +frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I +believe in eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to +lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up--I will do everything to +save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the +worse for me!” + +The doctor answered: “That responsibility is one which I cannot let +you take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I +refuse it.” + +“What will you do?” + +“I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, +completely--something which you have not done, I feel sure.” + +“What?” cried Madame Dupont, wildly. “You, a doctor, called into a +family which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you +its most terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries--you would betray +them?” + +“It is not a betrayal,” replied the man, sternly. “It is something which +the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a +family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either +I give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped.” + +“You threaten! You threaten!” cried the woman, almost frantic. “You +abuse the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you +whose attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe +in you, and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death +of the child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of +the child--that also means her death!” + +She flung up her hands like a mad creature. “And yet there is no other +means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice +myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it--if only +you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones--if only I might +serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should infect +me--this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it--with what +joys, with what delights--however disgusting, however frightful it +might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without fear, +without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to the +child the milk which would preserve its life!” + +She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her +and flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and +tears with hers. + +The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control +his distress. “Oh, the poor people!” he murmured to himself. “The poor, +poor people!” + +The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong +character, got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, +“Come, sir, tell us what we have to do.” + +“You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in +order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not +exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, +in truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything--I +swear it to you--that your baby may recover as quickly as possible its +perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave +you until tomorrow.” + +“Thank you, Doctor, thank you,” said Madame Dupont, faintly. + +The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not +bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was +gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she +repelled him--without violence, but firmly. + +Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. “Forgive me!” he +said, in a broken voice. “Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each +other?” + +His mother answered: “God has punished you for your debauch by striking +at your child.” + +But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that. +“Impossible!” he said. “There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or +unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your God!” + +“Yes,” said his mother, sadly, “you believe in nothing.” + +“I believe in no such God as that,” he answered. + +A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the +nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there +for some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. “Madame,” she +said, “I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at +once, and have only the five hundred francs.” + +Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. “What is that you are +saying? You want to return to your home?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. + +“But,” cried George, “only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it.” + +“What has happened since then?” demanded Madame Dupont. + +“I have thought it over.” + +“Thought it over?” + +“Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband.” + +“In the last ten minutes?” exclaimed George. + +“There must be something else,” his mother added. “Evidently there must +be something else.” + +“No!” insisted the nurse. + +“But I say yes!” + +“Well, I’m afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me.” + +“You had better wait and try it.” + +“I would rather go back at once to my home.” + +“Come, now,” cried Madame Dupont, “tell us why?” + +“I have told you. I have thought it over.” + +“Thought what over?” + +“Well, I have thought.” + +“Oh,” cried the mother, “what a stupid reply! ‘I have thought it over! I +have thought it over!’ Thought WHAT over, I want to know!” + +“Well, everything.” + +“Don’t you know how to tell us what?” + +“I tell you, everything.” + +“Why,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “you are an imbecile!” + +George stepped between his mother and the nurse. “Let me talk to her,” + he said. + +The woman came back to her old formula: “I know that we’re only poor +country people.” + +“Listen to me, nurse,” said the young man. “Only a little while ago you +were afraid that we would send you away. You were satisfied with the +wages which my mother had fixed. In addition to those wages we had +promised you a good sum when you returned to your home. Now you tell +us that you want to go away. You see? All at once. There must be some +reason; let us understand it. There must certainly be a reason. Has +anybody done anything to you?” + +“No, sir,” said the woman, dropping her eyes. + +“Well, then?” + +“I have thought it over.” + +George burst out, “Don’t go on repeating always the same thing--‘I have +thought it over!’ That’s not telling us anything.” Controlling himself, +he added, gently, “Come, tell me why you want to go away?” + +There was a silence. “Well?” he demanded. + +“I tell you, I have thought--” + +George exclaimed in despair, “It’s as if one were talking to a block of +wood!” + +His mother took up the conversation again. “You must realize, you have +not the right to go away.” + +The woman answered, “I WANT to go.” + +“But I will not let you leave us.” + +“No,” interrupted George angrily, “let her go; we cannot fasten her +here.” + +“Very well, then,” cried the exasperated mother, “since you want to go, +go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you are as stupid +as the animals on your farm!” + +“I don’t say that I am not,” answered the woman. + +“I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will pay +your railroad fare for yourself.” + +The other drew back with a look of anger. “Oho!” she cried. “We’ll see +about that!” + +“Yes, we’ll see about it!” cried George. “And you will get out of here +at once. Take yourself off--I will have no more to do with you. Good +evening.” + +“No, George,” protested his mother, “don’t lose control of yourself.” + And then, with a great effort at calmness, “That cannot be serious, +nurse! Answer me.” + +“I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my five +hundred francs.” + +“WHAT?” cried George, in consternation. + +“What’s that you are telling me?” exclaimed Madame Dupont. + +“Five hundred francs?” repeated her son. + +“What five hundred francs?” echoed the mother. + +“The five hundred francs you promised me,” said the nurse. + +“We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?” + +“Yes.” + +“When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied with +you! That was our promise.” + +“No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now I am +leaving, and I want them.” + +Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. “In the first place,” she +said, “kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do you +understand?” + +The woman answered, “You have nothing to do but give me my money, and I +will say nothing more.” + +George went almost beside himself with rage at this. “Oh, it’s like +that?” he shouted. “Very well; I’ll show you!” And he sprang to the door +and opened it. + +But the nurse never budged. “Give me my five hundred francs!” she said. + +George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. “You clear +out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!” + +The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. “Come now, +you--you can talk to me a little more politely, eh?” + +“Will you go?” shouted George, completely beside himself. “Will you go, +or must I go out and look for a policeman?” + +“A policeman!” demanded the woman. “For what?” + +“To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief.” + +“A thief? I? What do you mean?” + +“I mean that you are demanding money which doesn’t belong to you.” + +“More than that,” broke in Madame Dupont, “you are destroying that poor +little baby! You are a wicked woman!” + +“I will put you out myself!” shouted George, and seized her by the arm +again. + +“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” retorted the nurse. “Then you really want +me to tell you why I am going away?” + +“Yes, tell me!” cried he. + +His mother added, “Yes, yes!” + +She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and +seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been +about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. +She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, +shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried +loudly, “Very well! I’m going away because I don’t want to catch a +filthy disease here!” + +“HUSH!” cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched +as if she would choke her. + +“Be silent!” cried George, wild with terror. + +But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, “Oh, you need not +be troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world +knows it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They +heard every word your doctor said!” + +“Shut up!” screamed George. + +Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. “Hold your tongue!” she +hissed. + +But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her +rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, +“Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat--that you will never +be able to raise it--that it’s rotten because it’s father has a filthy +disease he got from a woman of the street!” + +She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from +Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall +forward upon the floor, convulsed. + +“My God!” cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but +she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, +of the most profound terror. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, like a +maniac. “Don’t touch me!” + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter-in-law. +Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be brought to +listen to any one. She rushed into the other room, and when the older +woman followed her, shrieked out to be left alone. Afterwards, she fled +to her own room and barred herself in, and George and his mother waited +distractedly for hours until she should give some sign. + +Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard about +the door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit of insanity +might attempt some harm to her child. + +The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of +her outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she had +recovered her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also she wanted +her wages and her railroad fare home. She wanted them at once, and she +would not leave until she got them. George and his mother, in the midst +of all their anguish of mind, had to go through a disgusting scene with +this coarse and angry woman. + +They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused to +accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so much paper, +and might be some trick that they were playing on her. She kept +repeating her old formula, “I am nothing but a poor country woman.” Nor +would she be contented with the promise that she would receive the money +the next day. She seemed to be afraid that if she left the house she +would be surrendering her claim. So at last the distracted George to +sally forth and obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + +The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in full for +all claims and they strove to persuade themselves that this made them +safe; but in their hearts they had no real conviction of safety. What +was the woman’s signature, or her pledged word, against the cupidity of +her husband and relatives. Always she would have the dreadful secret +to hold over them, and so they would live under the shadow of possible +blackmail. + +Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was white, +her eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a voice choked with +sobs. She wished to return at once to her father’s home, and to take +little Gervaise with her. Madame Dupont cried out in horror at this +proposition, and argued and pleaded and wept--but all to no purpose. The +girl was immovable. She would not stay under her husband’s roof, and she +would take her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse +her. + +The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no difference. +Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at once. + +So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the hideous +story. Never before in her life had she discussed such subjects with +any one, but now in her agitation she told her father all. As George had +declared to the doctor, Monsieur Loches was a person of violent temper; +at this revelation, at the sight of his daughter’s agony, he was almost +beside himself. His face turned purple, the veins stood out on his +forehead; a trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill +George--there was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be +permitted to live. + +The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a calming +effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, she did not want +George to be killed. She clung to her father, beseeching him to promise +her that he would not do such a thing; and all that day and evening she +watched him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. + +There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and which +helped to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own sufferings. +The infant must be fed and cared for--the unhappy victim of other +people’s sins, whose life was now imperiled. A dry nurse must be found +at once, a nurse competent to take every precaution and give the +child every chance. This nurse must be informed of the nature of the +trouble--another matter which required a great deal of anxious thought. + +That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the child’s +welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of it. It was +impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could not endure to +see her, but the poor grandmother would come and sit for hours in the +nursery, watching the child and the nurse, in silent agony. + +This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at home, +suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. Truly, in +these days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand-fold in agonized and +impotent regret. He looked back upon the course of his life, and traced +one by one the acts which had led him and those he loved into this +nightmare of torment. He would have been willing to give his life if he +could have undone those acts. But avenging nature offered him no such +easy deliverance as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the +Jehovah of the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern +times has availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of +the fathers shall be visited upon the children. + +George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He poured +out all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him just once, to +give him a chance to plead his defense. It was not much of a defense, to +be sure; it was only that he had done no worse than the others did--only +that he was a wretched victim of ignorance. But he loved her, he had +proven that he loved her, and he pleaded that for the sake of their +child she would forgive him. + +When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose advice +he had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to intercede for +him--which the doctor, of course, refused to do. It was an extra-medical +matter, he said, and George was absurd to expect him to meddle in it. + +But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been interceding--he +had gone farther in pleading George’s cause than he was willing to have +George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid him a visit--his purpose being +to ask the doctor to continue attendance upon the infant, and also +to give Henriette a certificate which she could use in her suit for a +divorce from her husband. + +So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question between +the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, but refused the +second. In the first place, he said, there was a rule of professional +secrecy which would prevent him. And when the father-in-law requested +to know if the rule of professional secrecy compelled him to protect +a criminal against honest people, the doctor answered that even if +his ethics permitted it, he would still refuse the request. “I would +reproach myself forever,” he said, “if I had aided you to obtain such a +divorce.” + +“Then,” cried the old man, vehemently, “because you profess such and +such theories, because the exercise of your profession makes you the +constant witness of such miseries--therefore it is necessary that my +daughter should continue to bear that man’s name all her life!” + +The doctor answered, gently, “Sir, I understand and respect your grief. +But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide about these +matters now.” + +“You are mistaken,” declared the other, controlling himself with an +effort. “I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I have +discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. Surely, sir, you +cannot desire that my daughter should continue to live with a man who +has struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a blow.” + +“If I refuse your request,” the doctor answered, “it is in the interest +of your daughter.” Then, seeing the other’s excitement returning, he +continued, “In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, I know that you will +probably be abusing me before five minutes has passed. But that will not +trouble me. I have seen many cases. And since I have made the mistake +of letting myself be trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you +the reason for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may +prove in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis.” + +“Precisely,” said the other. + +“And have you not reflected upon this--that at the same time you will be +publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to the contagion? +With such an admission, an admission officially registered in the public +records, do you believe that she will find it easy to re-marry later +on?” + +“She will never re-marry,” said the father. + +“She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the same +thing five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you you will +not obtain that divorce, because I will most certainly refuse you the +necessary certificate.” + +“Then,” cried the other, “I will find other means of establishing +proofs. I will have the child examined by another doctor!” + +The other answered. “Then you do not find that that poor little one has +been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of its life? Your +granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish to add to that a +certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will follow her all her life?” + +Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. “You mean that if the victims +seek to defend themselves, they will be struck the harder! You mean that +the law gives me no weapon against a man who, knowing his condition, +takes a young girl, sound, trusting, innocent, and befouls her with the +result of his debauches--makes her the mother of a poor little creature, +whose future is such that those who love her the most do not know +whether they ought to pray for her life, or for her immediate +deliverance? Sir,” he continued, in his orator’s voice, “that man has +inflicted upon the woman he has married a supreme insult. He has made +her the victim of the most odious assault. He has degraded her--he has +brought her, so to speak, into contact with the woman of the streets. He +has created between her and that common woman I know not what mysterious +relationship. It is the poisoned blood of the prostitute which poisons +my daughter and her child; that abject creature, she lives, she lives in +us! She belongs to our family--he has given her a seat at our hearth! He +has soiled the imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he +has soiled her body. He has united forever in her soul the idea of +love which she has placed so high, with I know not what horrors of the +hospitals. He has tainted her in her dignity and her modesty, in her +love as well as in her baby. He has struck her down with physical and +moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with vileness. And yet the law is +such, the customs of society are such, that the woman cannot separate +herself from that man save by the aid of legal proceedings whose scandal +will fall upon herself and upon her child!” + +Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, and +now he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + +“Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I learned the +truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty to find that +monster and to put a bullet into his head, as one does to a mad dog. I +don’t know what weakness, what cowardice, has held me back, and decided +me to appeal to the law. Since the law will not protect me, I will seek +justice for myself. Perhaps his death will be a good warning for the +others!” + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no affair +of his and that he would not try to interfere. But he remarked, quietly: +“You will be tried for your life.” + +“I shall be acquitted!” cried the other. + +“Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You will make +the scandal greater, the miseries greater--that is all. And how do you +know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you will find yourself +confronting another court, a higher and more severe one? How do you +know but that your daughter, seized at last by pity for the man you have +killed, will not demand to know by what right you have acted so, by what +right you have made an orphan of her child? How can you know but that +her child also may some day demand an accounting of you?” + +Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of crushed +despair. “Tell me then,” he said, in a faint voice, “what ought I to +do?” + +“Forgive!” + +For a while the doctor sat looking at him. “Sir,” he said, at last, +“tell me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have the right to +be inflexible. But are you really so certain that it was not your duty, +once upon a time, to save your daughter from the possibility of such +misfortune?” + +“What?” cried the other. “My duty? What do you mean?” + +“I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you certainly +took precautions to inform yourself about the financial condition of +your future son-in-law. You demanded that he should prove to you that +his stocks and bonds were actual value, listed on the exchange. Also, +you obtained some information about his character. In fact, you forgot +only one point, the most important of all--that was, to inquire if he +was in good health. You never did that.” + +The father-in-law’s voice had become faint. “No,” he said. + +“But why not?” + +“Because that is not the custom.” + +“Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father of a +family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take as much +precaution as a business concern which accepts an employee.” + +“You are right,” was the reply, “there should be a law.” The man spoke +as a deputy, having authority in these matters. + +But the doctor cried, “No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We have +too many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice that people +should know a little better what syphilis is. The custom would establish +itself very quickly for a suitor to add to all the other documents +which he presents, a certificate of a doctor, as proof that he could +be received into a family without bringing a pestilence with him. That +would be very simple. Once let the custom be established, then the +suitor would go to the doctor for a certificate of health, just as he +goes to the priest for a certificate that he has confessed; and by that +means you would prevent a great deal of suffering in the world. Or let +me put it another way, sir. Nowadays, before you conclude a marriage, +you get the lawyers of the two families together. It would be of at +least equal importance to get their two doctors together. You see, sir, +your inquiry concerning your son-in-law was far from complete. So your +daughter may fairly ask you, why you, being a man, being a father who +ought to know these things, did not take as much care of her health as +you took of her fortune. So it is, sir, that I say to you, forgive!” + +But Monsieur Loches said again, “Never!” + +And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. “Come, sir,” he +began, finally, “since it is necessary to employ the last argument, I +will do so. To be so severe and so pitiless--are you yourself without +sin?” + +The other answered, “I have never had a shameful disease.” + +“I do not ask you that,” interrupted the doctor. “I ask you if you have +never exposed yourself to the chance of having it.” And then, reading +the other’s face, he went on, in a tone of quiet certainty. “Yes, you +have exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was not virtue that you had; it +was good fortune. That is one of the things which exasperate me the +most--that term ‘shameful disease’ which you have just used. Like all +other diseases, that is one of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful +to be unfortunate--even if one has deserved it.” The doctor paused, +and then with some excitement he went on: “Come, sir, come, we must +understand each other. Among men the most exacting, among those who with +their middle-class prudery dare not pronounce the name of syphilis, +or who make the most terrifying faces, the most disgusted, when they +consent to speak of it--who regard the syphilitic as sinners--I should +wish to know how many there are who have never exposed themselves to a +similar misadventure. They and they alone have the right to speak. How +many are there? Among a thousand men, are there four? Very well, then. +Excepting those four, between all the rest and the syphilitic there is +nothing but the difference of chance.” + +There came into the doctor’s voice at this moment a note of intense +feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to him every day. +“I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving of sympathy, because +they are suffering. If they have committed a fault, they have at least +the plea that they are expiating it. No, sir, let me hear no more of +that hypocrisy. Recall your own youth, sir. That which afflicts your +son-in-law, you have deserved it just as much as he--more than he, +perhaps. Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which +the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less fortunate +than himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that not so?” + +Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the feeling of +a thief before the bar. There was nothing that he could answer. “Sir,” + he stammered, “as you present this thing to me--” + +“But am I not right?” insisted the doctor. + +“Perhaps you are,” the other admitted. “But--I cannot say all that to my +daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband.” + +“You can give her other arguments,” was the answer. + +“What arguments, in God’s name?” + +“There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation would +be a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one in the world +who would be devoted enough to help her save her child. You will say to +her that out of the ruins of her first happiness she can build herself +another structure, far stronger. And, sir, you will add to that whatever +your good heart may suggest--and we will arrange so that the next child +of the pair shall be sound and vigorous.” + +Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise that +George himself had manifested. “Is that possible?” he asked. + +The doctor cried: “Yes, yes, yes--a thousand times yes! There is a +phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would wish to post +upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious mistress, who only +demands that one should recognize her power. She is terrible for +those who think her insignificant, and gentle with those who know how +dangerous she is. You know that kind of mistress--who is only vexed when +she is neglected. You may tell this to your daughter--you will restore +her to the arms of her husband, from whom she has no longer anything +to fear, and I will guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two +years from now.” + +Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his resolution. + +“Doctor,” he said, “I do not know that I can ever go so far as +forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, and +that I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of some +time--I cannot venture to say how long--my poor child should make up her +mind to a reconciliation.” + +“Very good,” said the other. “But let me add this: If you have another +daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you committed when you +married off the first.” + +“But,” said the old man, “I did not know.” + +“Ah, surely!” cried the other. “You did not know! You are a father, and +you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed the responsibility +and the honor of making our laws--and you did not know! You are ignorant +about syphilis, just as you probably are ignorant about alcoholism and +tuberculosis.” + +“No,” exclaimed the other, quickly. + +“Very well,” said the doctor, “I will leave you out, if you wish. I am +talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don’t know how many +more, who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who call themselves +representatives of the people. They are not able to find a single hour +to discuss these three cruel gods, to which egotism and indifference +make every day such frightful human sacrifices. They have not sufficient +leisure to combat this ferocious trinity, which destroys every day +thousands of lives. Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the +manufacture of poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as +one has fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of +the little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, one +puts one’s conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of +the working-class, and publishing little pamphlets and sermons. +Imbeciles!...Tuberculosis! Everybody knows the true remedy, which would +be the paying of sufficient wages, and the tearing down of the filthy +tenements into which the laborers are packed--those who are the most +useful and the most unfortunate among our population! But needless to +say, no one wants that remedy, so we go round begging the workingmen not +to spit on the sidewalks. Wonderful! But syphilis--why do you not occupy +yourself with that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to +attend to all sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to +the public health?” + +“My dear Doctor,” responded Monsieur Loches, “you fall into the French +habit of considering the government as the cause of all evils. Show us +the way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a matter about which you +are informed, and we are ignorant, begin by telling us what measures you +believe to be necessary.” + +“Ah, ah!” exclaimed the other. “That’s fine, indeed! It was about +eighteen years ago that a project of that nature, worked out by the +Academy of Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, was sent to the +proper minister. We have not yet heard his reply.” + +“You really believe,” inquired Monsieur Loches, in some bewilderment, +“you believe that there are some measures--” + +“Sir,” broke in the doctor, “before we get though, you are going to +suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened today. +When I received your card I did not know that you were the father-in-law +of George Dupont. I say that you were a deputy, and I thought that you +wanted to get some information about these matters. There was a woman +patient waiting to see me, and I kept her in my waiting-room--saying to +myself, This is just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk +to.” + +The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: “Be reassured, I will +take care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that is apparent +to the eye. She is simply an illustration of the argument I have been +advancing--that our worst enemy is ignorance. Ignorance--you understand +me? Since I have got you here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have +managed to cure a little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is +a thing which drives me to distraction--we MUST do something about these +conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is very +seriously infected. I told her--well, wait; you shall see for yourself.” + +The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman whom +Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging on old age, +small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly dressed, and yet +with a suggestion of refinement about her. She stood near the door, +twisting her hands together nervously, and shrinking from the gaze of +the strange gentleman. The doctor began in an angry voice. “Did I not +tell you to come and see me once every eight days? Is that not true?” + +The woman answered, in a faint voice, “Yes, sir.” + +“Well,” he exclaimed, “and how long has it been since you were here?” + +“Three months, sir.” + +“Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under such +conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You discourage me, you +discourage me.” There was a pause. Then, seeing the woman’s suffering, +he began, in a gentler tone, “Come now, what is the reason that you +have not come? Didn’t you know that you have a serious disease--most +serious?” + +“Oh, yes, sir,” replied the woman, “I know that very well--since my +husband died of it.” + +The doctor’s voice bore once again its note of pity. “Your husband died +of it?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“He took no care of himself?” + +“No, sir.” + +“And was not that a warning to you?” + +“Doctor,” the woman replied, “I would ask nothing better than to come as +often as you told me, but the cost is too great.” + +“How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic.” + +“Yes, sir,” replied the woman, “but that’s during working hours, and +then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I +have to wait my turn, It is in the morning--sometimes I lose a whole +day--and then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. +It is things like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not +put it off any longer. Then, too, sir--” the woman stopped, hesitating. + +“Well,” demanded the doctor. + +“Oh, nothing, sir,” she stammered. “You have been too good to me +already.” + +“Go on,” commanded the other. “Tell me.” + +“Well,” murmured the woman, “I know I ought not to put on airs, but you +see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband’s misfortune, +we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always +managed to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to +stand around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell +all one’s miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it +perfectly well; I argue with myself--but all the same, it’s hard, sir; I +assure you, it is truly hard.” + +“Poor woman!” said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then +he asked: “It was your husband who brought you the disease?” + +“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Everything which happened to us came from +him. We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half +crazy. He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here +and there for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money.” + +“Why did he not undergo treatment?” + +“He didn’t know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we +hadn’t a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment.” + +“And then?” + +“Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine.” + +“How was that?” + +“Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn’t been a +resident six months, one has no right to free medicine.” + +“Is that true?” broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + +“Yes,” said the doctor, “that’s the rule.” + +“So you see,” said the woman, “it was not our fault.” + +“You never had children?” inquired the doctor. + +“I was never able to bring one to birth,” was the answer. “My husband +was taken just at the beginning of our marriage--it was while he +was serving in the army. You know, sir--there are women about the +garrisons--” She stopped, and there was a long silence. + +“Come,” said the doctor, “that’s all right. I will arrange it with you. +You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings.” + And as the poor creature started to express her gratitude, he slipped a +coin into her hand. “Come, come; take it,” he said gruffly. “You are not +going to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. +Hush!” And he pushed her out of the door. + +Then he turned to the deputy. “You heard her story, sir,” he said. “Her +husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who +compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons--you +heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and +look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our +soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other +social types. You don’t care very much about soldiers, perhaps--they +belong to the lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let +me show you what is going on among our college students--among the men +our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who prey +upon them! Perhaps, who knows--I can show you the very woman who was the +cause of all the misery in your own family!” + +And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and +took him by the hand. “Promise me, sir,” he said, earnestly, “that you +will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a +chance that I must not let go--the first time in my life that I ever got +hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and +let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to +remedy these frightful evils!” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was +wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the +things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his +friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful +story--or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his +mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the +use of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to +spend them for? + +All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was +reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a +separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to +depend upon her in every little thing--until now, when her companionship +was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. He would +come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would be his +mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when Henriette +was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that had +happened to him through the day! + +There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear +how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother +the news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no +complaints against the price, however high--only sometimes he +wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such +discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself. + +A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one +day in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as +familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was +only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized--it was the girl +who had been the cause of all his misery! + +He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and +she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, “Why, how do you do?” + +George had to face her. “How do you do?” he responded, weakly. + +She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much +welcome in his clasp. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she asked. +Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, “What’s the matter? +You don’t seem glad to see me.” + +The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her arm, as +if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George had +met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his +lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half +realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her. + +“Why did you never come to see me again?” she asked. + +George hesitated. “I--I--” he stammered--“I’ve been married since then.” + +She laughed. “Oh! So that’s it!” And then, as they came to a bench under +some trees, “Won’t you sit down a while?” There was allurement in her +glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he +had ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken +completely. + +She quickly saw that something was wrong. “You don’t seem very +cheerful,” she said. “What’s the matter?” + +And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you know what +you did to me?” + +“What I did to you?” Therese repeated wonderingly. + +“You must know!” he insisted. + +And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. “Why--” she +stammered. + +There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was +low and trembling. “You ruined my whole life,” he said--“not only mine, +but my family’s. How could you do it?” + +She strove to laugh it off. “A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!” + +For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he +repeated, “How could you do it?” + +“Some one did it to me first,” was the response. “A man!” + +“Yes,” said George, “but he didn’t know.” + +“How can you tell whether he knew or not?” + +“You knew?” he inquired, wonderingly. + +Therese hesitated. “Yes, I knew,” she said at last, defiantly. “I have +known for years.” + +“And I’m not the only man.” + +She laughed. “I guess not!” + +There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, “I don’t want to blame +you; there’s nothing to be gained by that; it’s done, and can’t +be undone. But sometimes I wonder about it. I should like to +understand--why did you do it?” + +“Why? That’s easy enough. I did it because I have to live.” + +“You live that way?” he exclaimed. + +“Why of course. What did you think?” + +“I thought you were a--a--” He hesitated. + +“You thought I was respectable,” laughed Therese. “Well, that’s just a +little game I was playing on you.” + +“But I didn’t give you any money!” he argued. + +“Not that time,” she said, “but I thought you would come back.” + +He sat gazing at her. “And you earn your living that way still?” he +asked. “When you know what’s the matter with you! When you know--” + +“What can I do? I have to live, don’t I?” + +“But don’t you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be some +way, some place--” + +“The reformatory, perhaps,” she sneered. “No, thanks! I’ll go there +when the police catch me, not before. I know some girls that have tried +that.” + +“But aren’t you afraid?” cried the man. “And the things that will happen +to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor--or read a book?” + +“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it all. If it comes to me, I’ll go over +the side of one of the bridges some dark night.” + +George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to him--to +meet this girl under such different circumstances! It was as if he were +watching a play from behind the scenes instead of in front. If only he +had had this new view in time--how different would have been his life! +And how terrible it was to think of the others who didn’t know--the +audience who were still sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, +interested in it! + +His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and the life +she lived. “Tell me a little about it,” he said. “How you came to be +doing this.” And he added, “Don’t think I want to preach; I’d really +like to understand.” + +“Oh, it’s a common story,” she said--“nothing especially romantic. +I came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had died, and I had no +friends, and I didn’t know what to do. I got a place as a nursemaid. +I was seventeen years old then, and I didn’t know anything. I believed +what I was told, and I believed my employer. His wife was ill in a +hospital, and he said he wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked +him, and I was sorry for him--and then the first thing I knew I had a +baby. And then the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a +fool, of course. If I had been in her place should have done just what +she did.” + +The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of things +about which she was no longer able to suffer. “So, there I was--on the +street,” she went on. “You have always had money, a comfortable home, +education, friends to help you--all that. You can’t imagine how it is +to be in the world without any of these things. I lived on my savings as +long as I could; then I had to leave my baby in a foundling’s home, and +I went out to do my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I +have no doubt.” + +Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt bitter +towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of which he was +a victim also. There was nothing to be gained by hating each other. +Just as the doctor said, what was needed was enlightenment. “Listen,” he +said, “why don’t you try to get cured?” + +“I haven’t got the price,” was the answer. + +“Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “I know a doctor--one of the really good +men. He has a free clinic, and I’ve no doubt he would take you in if I +asked him to.” + +“YOU ask him?” echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + +The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to playing +the role of the good Samaritan. “I--I need not tell him about us,” he +stammered. “I could just say that I met you. I have had such a wretched +time myself, I feel sorry for anybody that’s in the same plight. I +should like to help you if I could.” + +The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. “I have treated you +badly, I guess,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of myself.” + +George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the doctor’s +address. “Here it is,” he said, in a business-like way, because he felt +that otherwise he could become sentimental. He was half tempted to tell +the woman what had happened to him, and all about Henriette and the +sick child; but he realized that that would not do. So he rose and shook +hands with her and left. + +The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He decided +to tell him the truth--having already made so many mistakes trying +to conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat the woman, making the +condition that George promise not to see her again. + +The young man was rather shocked at this. “Doctor,” he exclaimed, “I +assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in mind would be utterly +impossible.” + +“I know,” said the other, “you think so. But I think, young man, that +I know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman have once +committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time +they spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and +forbearing to each other, the better for them both.” + +“But, Doctor,” cried George. “I love Henriette! I could not possibly +love anyone else. It would be horrible to me!” + +“Yes,” said the doctor. “But you are not living with Henriette. You are +wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next.” + +There was no need for anybody to tell George that. “What do you think?” + he asked abruptly. “Is there any hope for me?” + +“I think there is,” said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had +become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to +the Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing +Henriette, and talking to her about the child’s health and her own +future. He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the +young wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + +George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to +call at the physician’s office--he could read them in the faces of the +people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, the +doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman, +whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at +college. The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man +remembered how pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be, +thought George, that this old man was a victim of syphilis? + +But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the +consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he +stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. “Perhaps you +can’t understand,” he said, “just what it means to us--the hopes we had +of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! We +were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college--and +now just see!” + +“Don’t despair, sir,” said the doctor, “we’ll try to cure him.” And he +added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard, +“Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?” + +“How was I to know what he had?” cried the other. “He didn’t dare tell +me, sir--he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the +disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went +secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed him, and didn’t cure him. You +know how it is, sir.” + +“Yes, I know,” said the doctor. + +“Such things ought not to be permitted,” cried the old man. “What is +our government about that it allows such things to go on? Take the +conditions there at the college where my poor boy was ruined. At the +very gates of the building these women are waiting for the lads! Ought +they to be permitted to debauch young boys only fifteen years old? +Haven’t we got police enough to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, +sir!” + +“One would think so,” said the doctor, patiently. + +“But is it that the police don’t want to?” + +“No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest--they don’t know. +Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your son’s. And some +day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these conditions.” + +So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to think +about. How much he could have told them about what had happened to that +young fellow when only fifteen years old! It had not been altogether the +fault of the women who were lurking outside of the college gates; it was +a fact that the boy’s classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had +literally made his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + +It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all over +the world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak and foolish; +that a fellow was not a man unless he led a life of debauchery like the +rest. And what did they know about these dreadful diseases? They had the +most horrible superstitions--ideas of cures so loathsome that they could +not be set down in print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those +of savages in the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing +and jesting about one another’s condition. They might be afflicted with +diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects upon their +whole lives and upon their families--diseases which cause tens of +thousands of surgical operations upon women, and a large percentage of +blindness and idiocy in children--and you might hear them confidently +express the opinion that these diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + +And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped +down by a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superstition of +sex-prudery! George went out from the doctor’s office trembling with +excitement over this situation. Oh, why had not some one warned him in +time? Why didn’t the doctors and the teachers lift up their voices and +tell young men about these frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in +the highways and preach it himself--except that he dared not, because he +could not explain to the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden +topic. + +These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his mother--to +whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. He was moved to +mention to her the interview he had overheard in the doctor’s office. In +a sudden burst of grief he told her of his struggles and temptations; he +pleaded with her to go to Henriette once more--to tell her these things, +and try to make her realize that he alone was not to blame for them, +that they were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only +difference between her husband and other men was that he had had the +misfortune to be caught. + +There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. After +all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her father’s home, so far +as the physical side of things went; but she knew that all her friends +were gossiping and speculating about her separation from her husband, +and sooner or later she would have to make up her mind, either to +separate permanently from George or to return to him. There was not much +happiness for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom +deep in her heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the rest +of her life, and the home in which poor little Gervaise would be brought +up would not be a cheerful one. + +George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back to his +home. They might live separate lives for as long as Henriette wished. +They would have no more children until the doctor declared it was quite +safe; and in the meantime he would be humble and patient, and would try +his best to atone for the wrong that he had done her. + +To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She told the +girl some things which through bitter experience she had learned about +the nature and habits of men; things that should be told to every girl +before marriage, but which almost all of them are left to find out +afterwards, with terrible suffering and disillusionment. Whatever +George’s sins may have been, he was a man who had been chastened by +suffering, and would know how to value a woman’s love for the rest of +his life. Not all men knew that--not even those who had been fortunate +in escaping from the so-called “shameful disease.” + +Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this time +had had time to think things over, and had come to the conclusion +that the doctor was right. He had noted his son-in-law’s patience and +penitence, and had also made sure that in spite of everything Henriette +still loved him. The baby apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, +with his strong sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to +separate a child permanently from its father. So in the end he cast +the weight of his influence in favor of a reconciliation, and Henriette +returned to her husband, upon terms which the doctor laid down. + +The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not been +allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now thoroughly awake +to the importance of the duty he owed his daughter. In fact, he had +become somewhat of a “crank” upon the whole subject. He had attended +several of the doctor’s clinics, and had read books and pamphlets on the +subject of syphilis, and was now determined that there should be some +practical steps towards reform. + +At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average legislator, that +the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prostitution, and to +enforce them more strictly. He echoed the cry of the old man whom George +had heard in the doctor’s office: “Are there not enough police?” + +“We must go to the source,” he declared. “We must proceed against these +miserable women--veritable poisoners that they are!” + +He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor was quick +to answer his arguments. “Poisoners?” he said. “You forget that they +have first been poisoned. Every one of these women who communicates the +disease has first received it from some man.” + +Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. But the +doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had seen it tried so +many times--such a law could never be enforced. What must come first was +education, and by this means a modification of morals. People must cease +to treat syphilis as a mysterious evil, of which not even the name could +be pronounced. + +“But,” objected the other, “one cannot lay it bare to children in our +educational institutions!” + +“Why not?” asked the doctor. + +“Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent to +awaken.” + +The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. “You +believe that you are preventing these curiosities from awakening?” + he demanded. “I appeal to those--both men and women--who have passed +through colleges and boarding schools! Such curiosities cannot be +smothered, and they satisfy themselves as best they can, basely, +vilely. I tell you, sir, there is nothing immoral about the act which +perpetuates life by means of love. But we organize around it, so far as +concerns our children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. +The worthy citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical +comedies, where they listen to things which would make a monkey blush; +but it is forbidden to discuss seriously before the young that act +of love which people seem to think they should only know of through +blasphemies and profanations! Either that act is a thing of which +people can speak without blushing--or else, sir, it is a matter for +the innuendoes of the cabaret and the witticisms of the messroom! +Pornography is admitted, but science is not! I tell you, sir, that is +the thing which must be changed! We must elevate the soul of the young +man by taking these facts out of the realm of mystery and of slang. We +must awaken in him a pride in that creative power with which each one of +us is endowed. We must make him understand that he is a sort of temple +in which is prepared the future of the race, and we must teach him that +he must transmit, intact, the heritage entrusted to him--the precious +heritage which has been built out of the tears and miseries and +sufferings of an interminable line of ancestors!” + +So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove that the +prostitute was what she was, not because of innate vileness, but because +of economic conditions. It happened that the deputy came to one of the +clinics where he met Therese. The doctor brought her into his consulting +room, after telling her that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend +of the director of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for +a position on the stage to which she aspired. “Tell him all about +yourself,” he said, “how you live, and what you do, and what you would +like to do. You will get him interested in you.” + +So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a +matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been obliged +to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was surprised that +Monsieur Loches showed horror. “What could I do?” she demanded. “How +could I have taken care of it?” + +“Didn’t you ever miss it?” he asked. + +“Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It would have +died of hunger with me.” + +“Still,” he said, “it was your child--” + +“It was the father’s child, too, wasn’t it? Much attention he paid to +it! If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would have put it out +to nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty francs a month I could have +earned as a servant, could I have paid for a baby? That’s the situation +a girl faces--so long as I wanted to remain honest, it was impossible +for me to keep my child. You answer, perhaps, ‘You didn’t stay honest +anyway.’ That’s true. But then--when you are hungry, and a nice young +fellow offers you dinner, you’d have to be made of wood to refuse him. +Of course, if I had had a trade--but I didn’t have any. So I went on the +street--You know how it is.” + +“Tell us about it,” said the doctor. “This gentleman is from the +country.” + +“Is that so?” said the girl. “I never supposed there was anyone who +didn’t know about such things. Well, I took the part of a little +working-girl. A very simple dress--things I had made especially for +that--a little bundle in a black napkin carried in my hand--so I walked +along where the shops are. It’s tiresome, because to do it right, you +have to patter along fast. Then I stop before a shop, and nine times out +of ten, there you are! A funny thing is that the men--you’d imagine +they had agreed on the words to approach you with. They have only two +phrases; they never vary them. It’s either, ‘You are going fast, little +one.’ Or it’s, ‘Aren’t you afraid all alone?’ One thing or the other. +One knows pretty well what they mean. Isn’t it so?” The girl paused, +then went on. “Again, I would get myself up as a young widow. There, +too, one has to walk fast: I don’t know why that should be so, but it +is. After a minute or two of conversation, they generally find out that +I am not a young widow, but that doesn’t make any difference--they go on +just the same.” + +“Who are the men?” asked the deputy. “Clerks? Traveling salesmen?” + +“Not much,” she responded. “I keep a lookout for gentlemen--like +yourself.” + +“They SAY they are gentlemen,” he suggested. + +“Sometimes I can see it,” was the response. “Sometimes they wear orders. +It’s funny--if they have on a ribbon when you first notice them, they +follow you, and presto--the ribbon is gone! I always laugh over that. +I’ve watched them in the glass of the shop windows. They try to look +unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their +thumb--as one shells little peas, you know.” + +She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, “Well, +at last the police got after me, That’s a story that I’ve never been +able to understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty disease, and then I +was to be shut in prison for it! That was a little too much, it seems to +me.” + +“Well,” said the doctor, grimly, “you revenged yourself on them--from +what you have told me.” + +The other laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I had my innings.” She turned +to Monsieur Loches. “You want me to tell you that? Well, just on the +very day I learned that the police were after me, I was coming home +furious, naturally. It was on the Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the +place--and whom do you think I met? My old master--the one who got me +into trouble, you know. There it was, God’s own will! I said to myself, +‘Now, my good fellow, here’s the time where you pay me what you owe me, +and with interest, too!’ I put on a little smile--oh, it didn’t take +very long, you may be sure!” + +The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice +trembling with agitation: “When I had left him, I was seized with a +rage. A sort of madness got into my blood. I took on all the men who +offered themselves, for whatever they offered me, for nothing, if they +didn’t offer me anything. I took as many as I could, the youngest ones +and the handsomest ones. Just so! I only gave them back what they had +given to me. And since that time I haven’t really cared about anyone any +more. I just turned it all into a joke.” She paused, and then looking +at the deputy, and reading in his face the horror with which he was +regarding her, “Oh, I am not the only one!” she exclaimed. “There +are lots of other women who do the same. To be sure, it is not for +vengeance--it is because they must have something to eat. For even if +you have syphilis, you have to eat, don’t you? Eh?” + +She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a long +silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had heard enough +for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the woman, the cause of +all George Dupont’s misfortunes, and turning to Monsieur Loches, said: +“It was on purpose that I brought that wretched prostitute before +you. In her the whole story is summed up--not merely the story of your +son-in-law, but that of all the victims of the red plague. That woman +herself is a victim, and she is a symbol of the evil which we have +created and which falls upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to +her story, I only ask you, Monsieur Loches--when next you are proposing +new laws in the Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which +that poor woman has exposed to you!” + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1157 *** diff --git a/1157-h/1157-h.htm b/1157-h/1157-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6f8c51 --- /dev/null +++ b/1157-h/1157-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4884 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1157 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + DAMAGED GOODS + </h1> + <h2> + The Great Play “Les Avaries” of Eugene Brieux + </h2> + <h3> + Novelized with the approval of the author + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Upton Sinclair + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX’S PLAY, “LES AVARIES,” OR, TO GIVE IT ITS + ENGLISH TITLE, “DAMAGED GOODS,” HAS INITIATED A MOVEMENT IN THIS COUNTRY + WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.—New York Times + </p> + <p> + +++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten script from M. + Brieux.+++ + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as closely as + possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I have tried, as it were, + to take the play to pieces, and build a novel out of the same material. I + have not felt at liberty to embellish M. Brieux’s ideas, and I have used + his dialogue word for word wherever possible. Unless I have mis-read the + author, his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to place a number of + most important facts before the minds of the public, and to drive them + home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able to assist him, this + bit of literary carpentering will be worth while. I have to thank M. + Brieux for his kind permission to make the attempt, and for the cordial + spirit which he has manifested. + </p> + <p> + Upton Sinclair + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + </h2> + <p> + DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee on March + 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before members of the + Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed by public press and pulpit + as the greatest contribution ever made by the Stage to the cause of + humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the producer, who had the courage to + present the play, with the aid of his co-workers, in the face of most + savage criticism from the ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a + repetition of the performance. + </p> + <p> + Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before the general + public, it was arranged that the highest officials in the United States + should pass judgment upon the manner in which the play teaches its vital + lesson. A special guest performance for members of the Cabinet, members of + both houses of Congress, members of the United States Supreme Court, + representatives of the Diplomatic corps and others prominent in national + life was given in Washington, D.C. + </p> + <p> + Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April 6, 1913), + the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with the most + distinguished audience ever assembled in America, including exclusively + the foremost men and women of the Capital. The most noted clergymen of + Washington were among the spectators. + </p> + <p> + The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous endorsement of + the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett and his co-workers were + presenting it. + </p> + <p> + This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York performances + until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision on the part of Mr. + Bennett to offer the play in every city in America where citizens feel + that the ultimate welfare of the community is dependent upon a higher + standard of morality and clearer understanding of the laws of health. + </p> + <p> + The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, said: + </p> + <p> + The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; with all + the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all the earnestness and + power of a vital truth. + </p> + <p> + In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a great social + evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. Dr. Donald C. Macleod, + pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, mounted the rostrum usually + occupied by the leader of the orchestra, and announced that the nature of + the performance, the sacredness of the play, and the character of the + audience gave to the play the significance of a tremendous sermon in + behalf of mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that a divine + blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont Avenue + Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow their heads in + a prayer for the proper reception of the message to be presented from the + stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the Bernard Shaw preface to the play, and + asked that there be no applause during the performance, a suggestion which + was rigidly followed, thus adding greatly to the effectiveness and the + seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + </p> + <p> + The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is reflected + in such comments as the following expressions voiced after the + performance: + </p> + <p> + RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION—If I could preach + from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as convincing, as + far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance of DAMAGED GOODS must be, + I would consider that I had achieved the triumph of my life. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH—I was deeply impressed by what I saw, + and I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, a matinee one + day for father and son and the next day for mother and daughter. + </p> + <p> + REV. EARLE WILFLEY—I am confirmed in the opinion that we must take + up our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems brought to the + fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these diseases are increasing is + enough to make us get busy on a campaign against them. + </p> + <p> + SURGEON GENERAL BLUE—It was a most striking and telling lesson. For + years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It is high time + that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding them and crusaded + against them in a proper manner. + </p> + <p> + MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS—The play was a powerful presentation of a + very important question and was handled in a most admirable manner. The + drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and is bound to do + considerable good in conveying information of a very serious nature. + </p> + <p> + MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU—There can be no doubt but that the + performance will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the good for + which it was created. Fortunately, we do not have the prudery in South + America that you of the north possess, and have open minds to consider + these serious questions. + </p> + <p> + JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT—I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS will + have considerable effect in educating the people of the nature of the + danger that surrounds them. + </p> + <p> + SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA—There can be no denial of the fact that it + is time to look at the serious problems presented in the play with an open + mind. + </p> + <p> + Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as “incomparably the greatest + writer France has produced since Moliere,” and perhaps no writer ever + wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of the race. To quote from + an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the INDEPENDENT: + </p> + <p> + Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured by laws + and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble is caused by + ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment and franker + recognition of existing conditions. All this may be needed, but still we + may well doubt its effectiveness as a remedy. The drunken Helot argument + is not a strong one, and those who lead a vicious life know more about its + risks than any teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also urges the + requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many clergymen + now insist upon and which doubtless will be made compulsory before long in + many of our States. + </p> + <p> + Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will be + criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. The conditions + of society and the moral standards of France are so different from those + of America that his point of view and his proposals for reform will not + meet with general acceptance, but it is encouraging to find a dramatist + who realizes the importance of being earnest and who uses his art in + defense of virtue instead of its destruction. + </p> + <p> + Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in the play + and the belief in the highest seriousness of its purpose: + </p> + <p> + There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the glamour, in + the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, and suggestions the + threat to life lies. + </p> + <p> + This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such clean, + artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could possibly be + impressed in no other manner. + </p> + <p> + Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There is no + sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of the theme. The + doctor appears in his ideal function, as the modern high-priest of truth. + Around him writhe the victims of ignorance and the criminals of + conventional cruelty. Kind, stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet + human-hearted, he towers over all, as the master. + </p> + <p> + This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the world of + ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a mistaken modesty + has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is the physician. + </p> + <p> + The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is that it is + the decentest play that has been in New York for a year. It is so decent + that it is religious.—HEARST’S MAGAZINE. + </p> + <p> + The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of the veil + of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject of the penalty of + sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on this hidden danger, that + fathers and mothers, young men and young women, may know the terrible + price that must be paid, not only by the generation that violates the law, + but by the generations to come. It is a serious question just how the + education of men and women, especially young men and young women, in the + vital matters of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is sure, + however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often been + followed in the past—not to carry it on at all but to ignore it.—THE + OUTLOOK. + </p> + <p> + It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of “thesis drama,”—an + argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, cumulative, between science + and common sense, on one side, and love, of various types, on the other. + It is what Mr. Bernard Shaw has called a “drama of discussion”; it has the + splendid movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved—and undiluted—by + Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many audiences at the + Fulton Theater were astonished at the play’s showing of sheer strength as + acted drama. Possibly it might not interest the general public; probably + it would be inadvisable to present it to them. But no thinking person, + with the most casual interest in current social evils, could listen to the + version of Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, and their associates, without + being gripped by the power of Brieux’s message.—THE DIAL. + </p> + <p> + It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of this + play, which is one of France’s most valuable contributions to the drama. + Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over ten years ago. Antoine + produced it at his theater and Paris immediately censored it, but soon + thought better of it and removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 it was + played in Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was thronged + with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last spring and + eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have welcomed it. —THE + INDEPENDENT. + </p> + <p> + A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth Church, + Brooklyn. + </p> + <p> + 23 Monroe Street Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Richard Bennett, New York City, N.Y. My Dear Mr. Bennett: + </p> + <p> + During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I have + experienced many exciting hours under the influence of reformer, orator + and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I do not know that I have + ever passed through a more thrilling, terrible, and yet hopeful experience + than last evening, while I listened to your interpretation of Eugene + Brieux’ “DAMAGED GOODS.” + </p> + <p> + I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It is not + too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the people of our + country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, this conspiracy of + silence is ended. No young man who sees “Damaged Goods” will ever be the + same again. If I wanted to build around an innocent boy buttresses of fire + and granite, and lend him triple armour against temptation and the + assaults of evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. + That which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to + accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a work for + which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases and + Heredity in connection with your great reform. + </p> + <p> + With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, Faithfully yours, + </p> + <p> + Newell Dwight Hillis + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + It was four o’clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the door and + came down the steps to the street. The first faint streaks of dawn were in + the sky, and he noticed this with annoyance, because he knew that his hair + was in disarray and his whole aspect disorderly; yet he dared not take a + cab, because he feared to attract attention at home. When he reached the + sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no one had seen him leave + the house, then started down the street, his eyes upon the sidewalk before + him. + </p> + <p> + George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men in this + world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase means. The fumes + of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober now, quite free from + excitement. He saw what he had done, and it seemed to him something black + and disgusting. + </p> + <p> + Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had to + traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid was up, + before the baker’s boy called with the rolls; otherwise, what explanation + could he give?—he who had always been such a moral man, who had been + pointed out by mothers as an example to their sons. + </p> + <p> + George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she could + know about his night’s adventure. He thought again and again, with a pang + of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be possible that a man who was engaged, + whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon to possess + the love of a beautiful and noble girl—that such a man could have + been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into such a low + action? + </p> + <p> + He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying + to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them. He + had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a thing + in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted the + invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law + school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led “fast” + lives—but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend’s rooms for a + lark without harm! + </p> + <p> + He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had come + with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that she was + all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when first he had + noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun to go to his head—he + was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot drink wine at all. He had + offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on the way he had lost his + head. + </p> + <p> + Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he + who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them, + because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long time to + persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her married + friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take off his + shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck George + particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was, he had not + forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the dangers of + contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, “This girl must be + safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He was + suffering intensely—the emotion described by the poet in the bitter + words about “Time’s moving finger having writ.” His mind, seeking some + explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that + night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a + decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He + had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her up when he + became engaged; but now for a while he felt that he would have to break + his resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat in the + working-class portion of Paris. + </p> + <p> + It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as his father—that + of notary—that he had made the acquaintance of the young working + girl. It may not be easy to believe, but Lizette had really been a decent + girl. She had a family to take care of, and was in need. There was a + grandmother in poor health, a father not much better, and three little + brothers; so Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and he felt + quite virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of these + unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered proper to + take such things if one paid for them. + </p> + <p> + All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They adored him, + and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had not been so foolish + as to give them his true name). + </p> + <p> + Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control + her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she + deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her relatives + also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never trusted out + alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his little “family,” + so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. He interested her + in church affairs—mass and vespers were her regular occasions for + excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother went with her to + the services. The simple people were proud to see their name engraved upon + the brass plate of the pew. + </p> + <p> + The reason for all these precautions was George’s terror of disease. He + had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men encounter + in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George’s heart; he + had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, for one, + would protect himself. + </p> + <p> + That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; + such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably ever + occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do such a + thing. The French have a phrase, “l’homme moyen sensuel”—the average + sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble idealisms, no + particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude was a purely + selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same time to keep out + of trouble. + </p> + <p> + He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed upon + himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, he suffered + keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the amusements of his + friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to keep regular hours, + preparing for his law examinations. But all the time he was longing for + adventures. And, of course, this could not go on forever, for the motive + of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the sexual urge in a + full-blooded young man. + </p> + <p> + The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been + for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George + was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted + mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the mother + broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had been that his + son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense suffering he had + been able to think about the matter, and had named the girl whom he wished + George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some interest to learn who + this might be. He was surprised when his mother told him that it was his + cousin, Henriette Loches. + </p> + <p> + He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. “It + doesn’t please you?” asked his mother, with a tone disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Why no, mother,” he answered. “It’s not that. It just surprises me.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked the mother. “Henriette is a lovely girl and a good girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said George; “but then she is my cousin, and—” He + blushed a little with embarrassment. “I had never thought of her in that + way.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son’s. “Yes, George,” she said + tenderly. “I know. You are such a good boy.” + </p> + <p> + Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good boy; but + his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea of the truth + about the majority of men. She would never have got over the shock if he + had told her about himself, and so he had to pretend to be just what she + thought him. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “have you never felt the least + bit in love?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no—I don’t think so,” George stammered, becoming conscious of a + sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said his mother, “it is really time that you were settled in + life. Your father said that we should have seen to it before, and now it + is my duty to see to it. It is not good for you to live alone so long.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother, I have YOU,” said George generously. + </p> + <p> + “Some day the Lord may take me away,” was the reply. “I am getting old. + And, George, dear—” Here suddenly her voice began to tremble with + feeling—“I would like to see my baby grandchildren before I go. You + cannot imagine what it would mean to me.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so she went on + to the more worldly aspects of the matter. Henriette’s father was + well-to-do, and he would give her a good dowry. She was a charming and + accomplished girl. Everybody would consider him most fortunate if the + match could be arranged. Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame + Dupont had spoken, and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a great + deal of property and would surely help the young couple. + </p> + <p> + George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, even if + he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a course? He could + not explain that he already had a family—with stepchildren, so to + speak, who adored him. And what could he say to his mother’s obsession, to + which she came back again and again—her longing to see her + grandchildren before she died? Madame Dupont waited only long enough for + George to stammer out a few protestations, and then in the next breath to + take them back; after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. The + family lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement were + worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately afterwards George + learned of an opportunity to purchase the practice of a notary, who was + ready to retire from business in two months’ time. Henriette’s father + consented to advance a portion of her dowry for this purpose. + </p> + <p> + Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his father, and + this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did not attempt to deny, + either to himself of to any one else. George was a cautious young man, who + came of a frugal and saving stock. He had always been taught that it was + his primary duty to make certain of a reasonable amount of comfort. From + his earliest days, he had been taught to regard material success as the + greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed of engaging himself + to a girl without money. But when he had the good fortune to meet one who + possessed desirable personal qualities in addition to money, he was not in + the least barred from appreciating those qualities. They were, so to + speak, the sauce which went with the meat, and it seemed to him that in + this case the sauce was of the very best. + </p> + <p> + George—a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a + good-natured countenance—was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty + laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its + deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round world; + he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune of + possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat + sentimental turn—easily influenced by women and sensitive to their + charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had + learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed, was + to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + </p> + <p> + In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his + relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement + was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as he + placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had kissed + Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When he walked + arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he had walked + just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare the words of + the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he had taken Lizette + and her little family for a picnic upon one of the excursion steamers + which run down the River Seine. Immediately he decided that he would like + to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he persuaded an aunt of + Henriette’s to go with her as a chaperon. George took his bride-to-be to + the same little inn where he had lunch before. + </p> + <p> + Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful + and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and + did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to + tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident + which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found + himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. + There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which made + it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so sensible. + Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not have afforded to + marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been expected to lead a + continent life. And he had really loved Lizette; she was really a good + girl. Yet, if Henriette had got any idea of it, she would have been + horrified and indignant—she might even have broken off the + engagement. + </p> + <p> + And then, too, there was Henriette’s father, a personage of great dignity + and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French Parliament, from a + district in the provinces. He was a man of upright life, and a man who + made a great deal of that upright life—keeping it on a pedestal + where everyone might observe it. It was impossible to imagine M. Loches in + an undignified or compromising situation—such as the younger man + found himself facing in the matter of Lizette. + </p> + <p> + The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George became. + Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to break with the girl, + and be “good” until the time of his marriage. Dear little soft-eyed + Lizette—he did not dare to face her personally; he could never bear + to say good-by, he felt. Instead, he went to the father, who as a man + could be expected to understand the situation. George was embarrassed and + not a little nervous about it; for although he had never misrepresented + his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely free from the + possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, Lizette’s father behaved + decently, and was duly grateful for the moderate sum of money which George + handed him in parting. He promised to break the news gently to Lizette, + and George went away with his mind made up that he would never see her + again. + </p> + <p> + This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous in doing + it. But the truth was that he had grown used to intimacy with a woman, and + was restless without it. And that, he told himself, was why he yielded to + the shameful temptation the night of that fatal supper party. + </p> + <p> + He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that he had + been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that he had proved + himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. So keen was his feeling + that it was several days before he could bring himself to see Henriette + again; and when he went, it was with a mind filled with a brand-new set of + resolutions. It was the last time that he would ever fall into error. He + would be a new man from then on. He thanked God that there was no chance + of his sin being known, that he might have an opportunity to prove his new + determination. + </p> + <p> + So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of + them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with + Henriette’s mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance. + George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he was + really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always been as + good as he should have been; he said that her purity and sweetness had + awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life had been full of + blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of ideas as to what + the blunders of a tender and generous young man like George might be. So + she only loved him the more for his humility, and was flattered to have + such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such moods of exaltation. + When he told her that all men were bad, and that no man was worthy of such + a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and wiped away tears from her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the + real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new + resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really + mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his + past. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young + girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with + unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young man + could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the + importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter, + he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He made + haste to shy off from the subject of his “badness” and to turn the + conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + </p> + <p> + “If I am going to be so good,” he said, “don’t forget that you will have + to be good also!” + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” said Henriette, who was still serious. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to try hard,” he persisted. “You will find that you have a + very jealous husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I?” said Henriette, beaming with happiness—for when a woman is + very much in love she doesn’t in the least object to the man’s being + jealous. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” smiled George. “I’ll always be watching you.” + </p> + <p> + “Watching me?” echoed the girl with a surprised look. + </p> + <p> + And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be no + need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it at + such a time. That was one of the ideas which he had brought with him from + his world of evil. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious husband; + nothing could ever change that fact, for there was something in his own + conscience which he could not get out, and which would make it impossible + for him to be at ease as a married man. It was the memory of something + which had happened earlier in his life before he met Lizette. There had + been one earlier experience, with the wife of his dearest friend. She had + been much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an interest in + George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years the intrigue + continued, and George considered it a good solution of a young man’s + problem. There had been no danger of contamination, for he knew that his + friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a jealous man who watched his + wife, and did not permit her to contract those new relations which are + always dangerous. As for George, he helped in this worthy work, keeping + the woman in terror of some disease. He told her that almost all men were + infected, for he hoped by this means to keep her from deceiving him. + </p> + <p> + I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want anyone to + think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to point out that people + feel differently about these matters in France. In judging the unfortunate + young man, we must judge him by the customs of his own country, and not by + ours. In France, they are accustomed to what is called the MARIAGE DE + CONVENANCE. The young girl is not permitted to go about and make her own + friends and decide which one of them she prefers for her husband; on the + contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training often is of a religious + nature, and her marriage is a matter of business, to be considered and + decided by her parents and those of the young man. Now, whatever we may + think right, it is humanly certain that where marriages are made in that + way, the need of men and women for sympathy and for passionate interest + will often lead to the forming of irregular relationships after marriage. + It is not possible to present statistics as to the number of such + irregular relationships in Parisian society; but in the books which he + read and in the plays which he saw, George found everything to encourage + him to think that it was a romantic and delightful thing to keep up a + secret intrigue with the wife of his best friend. + </p> + <p> + It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling the + truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it is not + customary to tell this about men, either in real life or in novels. There + is a great deal of concealment in the world about matters of sex; and in + such matters the truth-telling man is apt to suffer in reputation in + comparison with the truth-concealing one. + </p> + <p> + Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. It had + happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and this had so + affected the guilty pair that they had felt their relationship was no + longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse her grief alone, and George + had been so deeply affected that he had avoided affairs and entanglements + with women until his meeting with Lizette. + </p> + <p> + All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a deeper + impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it was now working in + his mind and marring his happiness. Here was a girl who loved him with a + noble and unselfish and whole-hearted love—and yet he would never be + able to trust her as she deserved, but would always have suspicions + lurking in the back of his mind. He would be unable to have his friends + intimate in his home, because of the memory of what he had once done to a + friend. It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it is that Nature often + finds ways of punishing us, without our even being aware of it. + </p> + <p> + That was all for the future, however. At present, George was happy. He put + his black sin behind him, feeling that he had obtained absolution by his + confession to Henriette. Day by day, as he realized his good fortune, his + round face beamed with more and yet more joy. + </p> + <p> + He went for a little trip to Henriette’s home in the country. It was a + simple village, and they took walks in the country, and stopped to refresh + themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of M. Loches’ tenants. Here was + a rosy and buxom peasant woman, with a nursing child in her arms. She was + destined a couple of years later to be the foster-mother of Henriette’s + little girl and to play an important part in her life. But the pair had no + idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud and happy mother, and + Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to childish delight. Then + suddenly she looked up and saw that George was watching her, and as she + read his thoughts a beautiful blush suffused her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in a kind of + ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; he had found its + supreme happiness, which was love. He was really getting quite mad about + Henriette, he told himself. He could hardly believe that the day was + coming when he would be able to clasp her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + But in the blue sky of George’s happiness there was one little cloud of + storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so small that at first + he paid no attention to it at all. + </p> + <p> + He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated it with + salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or two, when this + had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He remembered suddenly he + had heard about the symptoms of an unmentionable, dreadful disease, and a + vague terror took possession of him. + </p> + <p> + For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, it was + absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the thought would + not be put away, and finally he went to a school friend, who was a man of + the world, and got him to talk on the subject. Of course, George had to be + careful, so that his friend should not suspect that he had any special + purpose in mind. + </p> + <p> + The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; but one + was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. There were other + diseases which fellows got, which nearly every fellow had, and to which + none of them paid any attention. But one seldom met anyone who had the red + plague that George dreaded. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” he added, “according to the books, it isn’t so uncommon. I + suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap naturally wouldn’t tell, + when he knew it would damn him for life.” + </p> + <p> + George had a sick sensation inside of him. “Is it as bad as that?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the other, “Should you want to have anything to do with + a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with him or travel with + him? You wouldn’t even want to shake hands with him!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I suppose not,” said George, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” continued the other, “an old fellow who used to live out in + the country near me. He was not so very old, either, but he looked it. He + had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. People said he had locomotor + ataxia, but that really meant syphilis. We boys used to poke all kinds of + fun at him because one windy day his hat and his wig were blown off + together, and we discovered that he was as bald as an egg. We used to make + jokes about his automobile, as we called it. It had a little handle in + front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to push, instead of + an engine.” + </p> + <p> + “How horrible!” remarked George with genuine feeling. + </p> + <p> + “I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after,” continued the + friend, quite carelessly. “He could not steer any more, and also he lost + his voice. When you met him he would look at you as it he thought he was + talking, but all he could say was ‘Ga-ga-ga’.” + </p> + <p> + George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told himself + over and over again that he was a fool, but still he could not get the + hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself brooding over it all day + and lying awake at night, haunted by images of himself in a wheel-chair, + and without any hair on his head. He realized that the sensible thing + would be for him to go to a doctor and make certain about his condition; + but he could not bring himself to face the ordeal—he was ashamed to + admit to a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + </p> + <p> + He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy face. He + had less appetite, and his moods of depression became so frequent that he + could not hide then even from Henriette. She asked him once or twice if + there were not something the matter with him, and he laughed—a + forced and hurried laugh—and told her that he had sat up too late + the night before, worrying over the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a + cruel thing it was that a man who stood in the very gateway of such a + garden of delight should be tormented and made miserable by this loathsome + idea! + </p> + <p> + The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George purchased a + medical book, dealing with the subject of the disease. Then, indeed, he + opened up a chamber of horrors; he made up his mind an abiding place of + ghastly images. In the book there were pictures of things so awful that he + turned white, and trembled like a leaf, and had to close the volume and + hide it in the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish the pictures + from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the description of the + first symptom of the disease, which seemed to correspond exactly with his + own. So at last he made up his mind he must ascertain definitely the truth + about his condition. + </p> + <p> + He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard somewhere a + story about a young fellow who had fallen into the hands of a quack, and + been ruined forever. So he decided that he would consult only the best + authority. + </p> + <p> + He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a bookstore, + and found that the author of one of these books was practicing in Paris as + a specialist. Two or three days elapsed before he was able to get up the + courage to call on this doctor. And oh, the shame and horror of sitting in + his waiting-room with the other people, none of whom dared to look each + other in the eyes! They must all be afflicted, George thought, and he + glanced at them furtively, looking for the various symptoms of which he + had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like himself—merely victims + of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of dread pulled from off their + backs? + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the doctor, + signaling to him. His turn had come! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every + appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock coat he + wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. Confused and nervous + as George was, he got a vague impression of the physician’s richly + furnished office, with its bronzes, marbles and tapestries. + </p> + <p> + The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair before his + desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the perspiration from + his forehead, stammered out a few words, explaining his errand. Of course, + he said, it could not be true, but it was a man’s duty not to take any + chances in such a matter. “I have not been a man of loose life,” he added; + “I have not taken so many chances as other men.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance was all + that was necessary. Instead of discussing such questions, he would make an + examination. “We do not say positively in these cases until we have made a + blood test. That is the one way to avoid the possibility of mistake.” + </p> + <p> + A drop of blood was squeezed out of George’s finger on to a little glass + plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and the victim sat alone + in the office, deriving no enjoyment from the works of art which + surrounded him, but feeling like a prisoner who sits in the dock with his + life at stake while the jury deliberates. + </p> + <p> + The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in his + office-chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor?” asked George. He was trembling with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” was the reply, “there is no doubt whatever.” + </p> + <p> + George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. “No doubt + whatever? In what sense?” + </p> + <p> + “In the bad sense,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how George + turned page with terror. “Come,” he said, after a silence, “you must have + known the truth pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, sir!” exclaimed George. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the other, “you have syphilis.” + </p> + <p> + George was utterly stunned. “My God!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and observed his + condition. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. Out of every seven men you meet + upon the street, in society, or at the theater, there is at least one who + has been in your condition. One out of seven—fifteen per cent!” + </p> + <p> + George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. “I know + what I am going to do.” + </p> + <p> + “And I know also,” said the doctor, with a smile. “There is your + prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have it put + up.” + </p> + <p> + George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does.” + </p> + <p> + “No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know what I am + going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “Five times out of ten, in the chair where you are + sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each one believes + himself more unhappy than all the others; but after thinking it over, and + listening to me, they understand that this disease is a companion with + whom one can live. Just as in every household, one gets along at the cost + of mutual concessions, that’s all. Come, sir, I tell you again, there is + nothing about it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly natural, + perfectly common; it is an accident which can happen to any one. It is a + great mistake that people speak if this as the ‘French Disease,’ for there + is none which is more universal. Under the picture of this disease, + addressing myself to those who follow the oldest profession in the world, + I would write the famous phrase: ‘Here is your master. It is, it was, or + it must be.’” + </p> + <p> + George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of his coat, + stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. “But, sir,” he + exclaimed, “I should have been spared!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” inquired the other. “Because you are a man of position, because you + are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of art in my room. Do you + imagine that such things have been presented to me by chimney-sweeps?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor,” cried George, with a moan, “I have never been a libertine. + There was never any one, you understand me, never any one could have been + more careful in his pleasures. If I were to tell you that in all my life I + have only had two mistresses, what would you answer to that?” + </p> + <p> + “I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to bring you + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” cried George. “It could not have been either of those women.” + He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, and then about + Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how much he adored her. He could + really use such a word—he loved her most tenderly. She was so good—and + he had thought himself so lucky! + </p> + <p> + As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. “I had + everything,” he exclaimed, “everything a man needed! All who knew me + envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me off to that + miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My future is ruined, my whole + existence poisoned! What is to become of me? Everybody will avoid me—I + shall be a pariah, a leper!” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, “Come, now! Would it + not be better that I should take myself out of the way? At least, I should + not suffer any more. You see that there could not be any one more unhappy + than myself—not any one, I tell you, sir, not any one!” Completely + overcome, he began to weep in his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + The doctor got up, and went to him. “You must be a man,” he said, “and not + cry like a child.” + </p> + <p> + “But sir,” cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, “if I + had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with chorus + girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had deserved + it.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, “No, no! You would not say it. + However, it is of no matter—go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I had + deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And now, + when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting things, + the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned—” + </p> + <p> + “What is all this you are telling me?” asked the doctor, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know, I know!” cried the other, and repeated what his friend had + told him about the man in a wheel-chair. “And they used to call me + handsome Raoul! That was my name—handsome Raoul!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear sir,” said the doctor, cheerfully, “wipe your eyes one last + time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and hear me + dry-eyed.” + </p> + <p> + George obeyed mechanically. “But I give you fair warning,” he said, “you + are wasting your time.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you—” began the other. + </p> + <p> + “I know exactly what you are going to tell me!” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here—run + along.” + </p> + <p> + “Since I am here,” said the patient submissively, “I will hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the + perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it is your duty to tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in Paris, + alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just saying—wheel-chairs. + One doesn’t see so many of them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s true,” said George. + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” added the doctor, “a good many people who ride in them are + not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why you should + be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred thousand. The + disease is serious, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “You admit that it is a serious disease?” argued George. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “One of the most serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you have the good fortune—” + </p> + <p> + “The GOOD fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected with + one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” exclaimed George, “but the remedies are worse than the + disease.” + </p> + <p> + “You deceive yourself,” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + “You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?” + </p> + <p> + “You can be.” + </p> + <p> + “And that I am not condemned?” + </p> + <p> + “I swear it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was told—” + </p> + <p> + The doctor laughed, contemptuously. “You were told, you were told! I’ll + wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, naturally,” said George. “But I don’t see what they have to do with + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Instead of teaching you such things,” was the reply, “it would have been + a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause of + diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the + contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the most + important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned a + little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way + subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the + name of this vile disease. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” pursued the doctor, “you publish romances about adultery!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said George, “that’s what the readers want.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t want the truth about venereal diseases,” exclaimed the other. + “If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that adultery was + romantic and interesting.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. + There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take her + as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive you. + “Take that from me,” added the doctor, “and teach it to your son, when you + have one.” + </p> + <p> + George’s attention was caught by this last sentence. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that I shall be able to have children?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Healthy children?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long + time, conscientiously, you have little to fear.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s certain?” + </p> + <p> + “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” + </p> + <p> + George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. “Why, then,” he + exclaimed, “I shall be able to marry!” + </p> + <p> + “You will be able to marry,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would not + expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “In three or four years,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried George in consternation. “In three or four years? Not + before?” + </p> + <p> + “Not before.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just + now—” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, yourself—but + you will be dangerous to others.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” the young man cried, in despair, “I am to be married a month from + now.” + </p> + <p> + “That is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have + been published! I have given my word!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are a great one!” the doctor laughed. “Just now you were + looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor, it is necessary!” + </p> + <p> + “But I forbid it.” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I + could be cured, naturally I didn’t want to commit suicide. And as soon as + I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular + life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” persisted George, with blind obstinacy. “Why, Doctor, if I + didn’t marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something you + don’t understand. I, for my part—it is not that I am anxious to be + married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette’s little + brothers adored me. But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother + is crazy about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of + chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has the + family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a regular dragoon + for his principles—severe, violent. He never makes a joke of serious + things, and I tell you it would cost me dear, terribly dear. And, besides, + I have given my word.” + </p> + <p> + “You must take back your word.” + </p> + <p> + “You still insist?” exclaimed George, in despair. “But then, suppose that + it were possible, how could I take back my signature which I put at the + bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to pay in two months for the + attorney’s practice I have purchased!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the doctor, “all these things—” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I should + never have disposed of my wife’s dowry until after the honeymoon!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the doctor, again, “all these considerations are foreign to + me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, and I can only tell you + this: If you marry before three or four years, you will be a criminal.” + </p> + <p> + George broke out with a wild exclamation. “No sir, you are not merely a + physician! You are also a confessor! You are not merely a scientist; and + it is not enough for you that you observe me as you would some lifeless + thing in your laboratory, and say, ‘You have this; science says that; now + go along with you.’ All my existence depends upon you. It is your duty to + listen to me, because when you know everything you will understand me, and + you will find some way to cure me within a month.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” protested the doctor, “I wear myself out telling you that such + means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as much as any + one can be certain, in less than three or four years.” + </p> + <p> + George was almost beside himself. “I tell you you must find some means! + Listen to me, sir—if I don’t get married I don’t get the dowry! And + will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have signed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the doctor, dryly, “if that is the question, it is very simple—I + will give you a plan to get out of the affair. You will go and get + acquainted with some rich man; you will do everything you can to gain his + confidence; and when you have succeeded, you will plunder him.” + </p> + <p> + George shook his head. “I am not in any mood for joking.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not joking,” replied his adviser. “Rob that man, assassinate him + even—that would be no worse crime than you would commit in taking a + young girl in good health in order to get a portion of her dowry, when at + the same time you would have to expose her to the frightful consequences + of the disease which you would give her.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightful consequences?” echoed George. + </p> + <p> + “Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, you were saying to me just now—” + </p> + <p> + “Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, suppressed a little + by our remedies, the disease remains mysterious, menacing, and in its sum, + sufficiently grave. So it would be an infamy to expose your fiancee in + order to avoid an inconvenience, however great that might be.” + </p> + <p> + But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that this + misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best attention? + </p> + <p> + Said the other: “I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not absolutely + certain, it is probable. And there is another truth which I wish to tell + you now: our remedies are not infallible. In a certain number of cases—a + very small number, scarcely five per cent—they have remained without + effect. You might be one of those exceptions, your wife might be one. What + then?” + </p> + <p> + “I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should have to + expect the worst catastrophes.” + </p> + <p> + George sat in a state of complete despair. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what to do, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you only one thing: don’t marry. You have a most serious + blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one will ever come to + claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless creditor will come all at + once, presenting a brutal demand for immediate payment. Come now—you + are a business man. Marriage is a contract; to marry without saying + anything—that means to enter into a bargain by means of passive + dissimulation. That’s the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it ought + to come under the law.” + </p> + <p> + George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could think of + nothing to say to it. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “Go to your father-in-law and tell him frankly the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” cried the young man, wildly, “there will be no question then of + three or four years’ delay. He will refuse his consent altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “If that is the case,” said the doctor, “don’t tell him anything.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have to give him a reason, or I don’t know what he will do. He is + the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, and again my + fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From everything I have said + to you, you may perhaps think I am a mercenary man. It is true that I want + to get along in the world, that is only natural. But Henriette has such + qualities; she is so much better than I, that I love her, really, as + people love in novels. My greatest grief—it is not to give up the + practice I have bought—although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow + to me; my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only see + her, if you only knew her—then you would understand. I have her + picture here—” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph to the + doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am ridiculous. That happens to me, + sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place—I love her so!” His voice + broke. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” said the doctor, feelingly, “that is exactly why you ought + not to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he cried, “if I back out without saying anything they will guess + the truth, and I shall be dishonored.” + </p> + <p> + “One is not dishonored because one is ill.” + </p> + <p> + “But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, yesterday—I + should have laughed at anyone who had got into such a plight; I should + have avoided him, I should have despised him!” And suddenly George broke + down again. “Oh!” he cried, “if I were the only one to suffer; but she—she + is in love with me. I swear it to you! She is so good; and she will be so + unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered, “She would be unhappier later on.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a scandal!” George exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “You will avoid one far greater,” the other replied. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his seat. He + took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and laid them quietly + upon the doctor’s desk—paying the fee in cash, so that he would not + have to give his name and address. He took up his gloves, his cane and his + hat, and rose. + </p> + <p> + “I will think it over,” he said. “I thank you, Doctor. I will come back + next week as you have told me. That is—probably I will.” + </p> + <p> + He was about to leave. + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. “No,” he said, + “I shan’t see you next week, and you won’t even think it over. You came + here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice of me, with the + intention of paying no heed to it, unless it conformed to your wishes. A + superficial honesty has driven you to take that chance in order to satisfy + your conscience. You wanted to have somebody upon whom you could put off, + bye and bye, the consequences of an act whose culpability you understand! + No, don’t protest! Many of those who come here think and act as you think, + and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against my will has + generally been the source of such calamities that now I am always afraid + of not having been persuasive enough, and it even seems to me that I am a + little to blame for these misfortunes. I should have been able to prevent + them; they would not have happened if those who are the authors of them + knew what I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to me, sir, that you + are going to break off that marriage!” + </p> + <p> + George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. “I cannot swear to + you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again that I will think it over.” + </p> + <p> + “That WHAT over?” + </p> + <p> + “What you have told me.” + </p> + <p> + “What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new objections; and I + have answered those which you have presented to me; therefore, your mind + ought to be made up.” + </p> + <p> + Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he had made + inquiry about these matters before he had come to the doctor. But he said + that he was not al all certain that he had this disease. The doctor + declared it, and perhaps it was true, but the most learned physicians were + sometimes deceived. + </p> + <p> + He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. “Dr. + Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is no longer + contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. Today you produce + new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I want to do what’s right, but + surely I have the right to think it over. And when I think it over, I + realize that all the evils with which you threaten me are only probable + evils. In spite of your desire to terrify me, you have been forced to + admit that possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome consequence + for my wife.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, “Go on. I + will answer you afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + And George blundered ahead in his desperation. “Your remedies are + powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you speak to befall + me, I would have to be among the rare exceptions—also my wife would + have to be among the number of those rare exceptions. If a mathematician + were to apply the law of chance to these facts, the result of his + operation would show but slight chance of a catastrophe, as compared with + the absolute certainty of a series of misfortunes, sufferings, troubles, + tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which the breaking of my engagement + would cause. So I say that the mathematician—who is, even more than + you, a man of science, a man of a more infallible science—the + mathematician would conclude that wisdom was not with you doctors, but + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe it, sir!” exclaimed the other. “But you deceive yourself.” + And he continued, driving home his point with a finger which seemed to + George to pierce his very soul. “Twenty cases identical with your own have + been patiently observed, from the beginning to the end. Nineteen times the + woman was infected by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen times out of + twenty! You believe that the disease is without danger, and you take to + yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the chance of your + being one of those exceptions, for whom our remedies are without effect. + Very well; it is necessary that you should know the disease which your + wife, without being consulted, will run a chance of contracting. Take that + book, sir; it is the work of my teacher. Read it yourself. Here, I have + marked the passage.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to take it. + </p> + <p> + “You do not wish to read it?” the other continued. “Listen to me.” And in + a voice trembling with passion, he read: “‘I have watched the spectacle of + an unfortunate young woman, turned into a veritable monster by means of a + syphilitic infection. Her face, or rather let me say what was left of her + face, was nothing but a flat surface seamed with scars.’” + </p> + <p> + George covered his face, exclaiming, “Enough, sir! Have mercy!” + </p> + <p> + But the other cried, “No, no! I will go to the very end. I have a duty to + perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility of your nerves.” + </p> + <p> + He went on reading: “‘Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the ridge of + the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.’” But then at the young man’s + protests, his resolution failed him. “Come,” he said, “I will stop. I am + sorry for you—you who accept for another person, for the woman you + say you love, the chance of a disease which you cannot even endure to hear + described. Now, from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who am + speaking, it is the book. ‘From a miserable scoundrel who was not afraid + to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary eruption.’ All that was + established later on—‘and who, moreover, had thought it best not to + let his wife be treated for fear of awakening her suspicions!’” + </p> + <p> + The doctor closed the book with a bang. “What that man has done, sir, is + what you want to do.” + </p> + <p> + George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the doctor in + the eye. “I should deserve all those epithets and still more brutal ones + if I should marry, knowing that my marriage would cause such horrors. But + that I do not believe. You and your teachers—you are specialists, + and consequently you are driven to attribute everything to the disease you + make the subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional case, + holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be talked + about enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that argument before,” said the doctor, with an effort at + patience. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go on, I beg you,” pleaded George. “You have told me that out of + every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have told me that there are + one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and going, alert, and apparently + well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said the doctor, “that there are one hundred thousand who + are actually at this moment not visibly under the influence of the + disease. But many thousands have passed into our hospitals, victims of the + most frightful ravages that our poor bodies can support. These—you + do not see them, and they do not count for you. But again, if it concerned + no one but yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I declare to + you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, is that you + have not the right to expose a human creature to such chances—rare, + as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. What have you to answer + to that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” stammered George, brought to his knees at last. “You are right + about that. I don’t know what to think.” + </p> + <p> + “And in forbidding you marriage,” continued the doctor, “is it the same as + if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told you that you could + never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out to you every hope; but I + demand of you a delay of three or four years, because it will take me that + time to find out if you are among the number of those unfortunate ones + whom I pity with all my heart, for whom the disease is without mercy; + because during that time you will be dangerous to your wife and to your + children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you.” + </p> + <p> + Here the doctor’s voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving eloquence. + “Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young for such things not + to move you; you are not insensible to duty. It is impossible that I + shan’t be able to find a way to your heart, that I shan’t be able to make + you obey me. My emotion in speaking to you proves that I appreciate your + suffering, that I suffer with you. It is in the name of my sincerity that + I implore you. You have admitted it—that you have not the right to + expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your wife that you + strike; you may attack in her your own children. I exclude you for a + moment from my thought—you and her. It is in the name of these + innocents that I implore you; it is the future, it is the race that I + defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out of the twenty households of which + I spoke, only fifteen had children; these fifteen had twenty-eight. Do you + know how many out of these twenty-eight survived? Three, sir! Three out of + twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a murderer of children. Herod + reigns in France, and over all the earth, and begins each year his + massacre of the innocents; and if it be not blasphemy against the + sacredness of life, I say that the most happy are those who have + disappeared. Visit our children’s hospitals! We know too well the child of + syphilitic parents; the type is classical; the doctors can pick it out + anywhere. Those little old creatures who have the appearance of having + already lived, and who have kept the stigmata of all out infirmities, of + all our decay. They are the victims of fathers who have married, being + ignorant of what you know—things which I should like to go and cry + out in the public places.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: “I have told you + all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the pros and cons; sum + up the possible misfortunes and the certain miseries. But disregard + yourself, and consider that there are in one side of the scales the + misfortunes of others, and in the other your own. Take care that you are + just.” + </p> + <p> + George was at last overcome. “Very well,” he said, “I give way. I won’t + get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a delay of six months. + More than that, I cannot do.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor exclaimed, “I need three years—I need four years!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Doctor!” persisted George. “You can cure me in less time than that.” + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “No! No! No!” + </p> + <p> + George caught him by the hand, imploringly. “Yes! Science in all + powerful!” + </p> + <p> + “Science is not God,” was the reply. “There are no longer any miracles.” + </p> + <p> + “If only you wanted to do it!” cried the young man, hysterically. “You are + a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some new plan with me; + give me double the dose, ten times the does; make me suffer. I give myself + up to you; I will endure everything—I swear it! There ought to be + some way to cure me within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I can’t + answer for myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my wife, in + the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for them!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. “Enough, sir!” he cried. + “Enough!” + </p> + <p> + But nothing could stop the wretched man. “On my knees!” he cried. “I put + myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only you would do it! I would bless + you; I would adore you, as one adores a god! All my gratitude, all my life—half + my fortune! For mercy’s sake, Doctor, do something; invent something; make + some discovery—have pity!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered gravely, “Do you wish me to do more for you than for + the others?” + </p> + <p> + George answered, unblushingly, ‘answered, unblushingly, “Yes!” He was + beside himself with terror and distress. + </p> + <p> + The other’s reply was delivered in a solemn tone. “Understand, sir, for + every one of out patients we do all that we can, whether it be the + greatest personage, or the last comer to out hospital clinic. We have no + secrets in reserve for those who are more fortunate, or less fortunate + than the others, and who are in a hurry to be cured.” + </p> + <p> + George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and then + suddenly bowed his head. “Good-by, Doctor,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Au revoir, sir,” the other corrected—with what proved to be + prophetic understanding. For George was destined to see him again—even + though he had made up his mind to the contrary! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to make; but + there was never very much doubt what his decision would be. One the one + hand was the definite certainty that if he took the doctor’s advice, he + would wreck his business prospects, and perhaps also lose the woman he + loved. On the other hand were vague and uncertain possibilities which it + was difficult for him to make real to himself. It was all very well to + wait a while to be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four + years—that was simply preposterous! + </p> + <p> + He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this time who + would not be so particular, who would be willing to take some trouble to + cure him quickly. He began to notice the advertisements which were + scattered over the pages of the newspapers he read. There were apparently + plenty of doctors in Paris who could cure him, who were willing to + guarantee to cure him. After much hesitation, he picked out one whose + advertisement sounded the most convincing. + </p> + <p> + The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not + encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. The + doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with + anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was + evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter + with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, he could + cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great discoveries made—new + methods which had not reached the bulk of the profession. He laughed at + the idea of three or four years. That was the way with those specialists! + When one got forty francs for a consultation, naturally, one was glad to + drag out the case. There were tricks in the medical trade, as in all + others. A doctor had to live; when he had a big name, he had to live + expensively. + </p> + <p> + The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the + shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would + surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six + months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there + was no need for him to worry himself—things would come out all + right. So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from + his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter settled. + “Henriette,” he said, “I have to tell you something very important—something + rather painful. I hope you won’t let it disturb you too much.” + </p> + <p> + She was gazing at him in alarm. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had + begun the matter so precipitately, “for some time I’ve not been feeling + quite well. I’ve been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no!” exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a + possibility—you understand it is nothing very serious—but it + might be—I might possibly have lung trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “George!” cried the girl in horror. + </p> + <p> + He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be all + right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he + thought—to be so much worried! + </p> + <p> + “George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have been + working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so much—” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is + necessary. I shall be all right—the doctor assured me there was no + doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is + the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am + perfectly well.” + </p> + <p> + Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!” + </p> + <p> + “We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being + married to a consumptive.” + </p> + <p> + The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a consumptive; + she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was willing to take her + chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But George insisted—he + was sure that he ought not to marry for six months. + </p> + <p> + “Did the doctor advise that?” asked Henriette. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “but I made up my mind after talking to him that I must + do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to forgive me, and to believe + that I know best.” + </p> + <p> + George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had to give + way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue persisting. + </p> + <p> + George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped this + would settle the matter without further discussion. But in this he was + disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence with long arguments + and protestations from Henriette’s father and from his own mother. It + seemed such a singular whim. Everybody persisted in diagnosing his + symptoms, in questioning him about what the doctor had said, who the + doctor was, how he had come to consult him—all of which, of course, + was very embarrassing to George, who could not see why they had to make + such a fuss. He took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he + could imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house—and + it was all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look of dismay + on his poor mother’s face. After all, however, he told himself that he was + not deceiving her, for the disease he had was quite as serious as + tuberculosis. + </p> + <p> + It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that could be + done about it; the marriage had been put off for six months, and in the + meantime he and Henriette had to control their impatience and make the + best of their situation. Six months was a long time; but what if it had + been three or four years, as the other doctor had demanded? That would + have been a veritable sentence of death. + </p> + <p> + George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and careful in his + habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor prescribed for him; and + day by day he watched, and to his great relief saw the troublesome + symptoms gradually disappearing. He began to take heart, and to look + forward to life with his former buoyancy. He had had a bad scare, but now + everything was going to be all right. + </p> + <p> + Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was cured. He + really was cured, so far as he could see. He was sorry, now, that he had + asked for so long a delay from Henriette; but the new date for the wedding + had been announced, and it would be awkward to change it again. George + told himself that he was being “extra careful,” and he was repaid for the + inconvenience by the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. He was + relieved that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent any more + tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. Sometimes he + had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had had to do; but he told + himself that it was for Henriette’s sake. She loved him as much as he + loved her. She would have suffered needless agonies had she known the + truth; she would never have got over it—so it would have been a + crime to tell her. + </p> + <p> + He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he had + thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any physical harm + that the dread disease might do to him. How could he possibly persuade + himself to give her up, when he knew that the separation would break her + heart and ruin her whole life? No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was + his duty to use his own best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly as + possible. After that he would be true to her, he would take no more + chances of a loathsome disease. + </p> + <p> + The secret he was hiding made him feel humble—made him unusually + gentle in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, and she + was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his sufferings were + because of his love for her, and the delay which he had imposed out of his + excess of conscientiousness. So she loved him more and more, and never was + there a happier bride than Henriette Loches, when at last the great day + arrived. + </p> + <p> + They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned to live in + the home which had belonged to George’s father. The investment in the + notary’s practice had proven a good one, and so life held out every + promise for the young couple. They were divinely happy. + </p> + <p> + After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings that she + was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that the cup of his + earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped far into the background of + his thoughts, like an evil dream which he had forgotten. He put away the + medicines in the bottom of his trunk and dismissed the whole matter from + his mind. Henriette was well—a very picture of health, as every one + agreed. The doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he + declared, and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy as + she attended her daughter-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Henriette went for the summer to her father’s place in the provinces, + which she and George had visited before their marriage. They drove out one + day to the farm where they had stopped. The farmer’s wife had a week-old + baby, the sight of which made Henriette’s heart leap with delight. He was + such a very healthy baby that George conceived the idea that this would be + the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette herself should not be + able to do it. + </p> + <p> + They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As George paced + the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his evil dreams came back + to him. He remembered all the dreadful monstrosities of which he had read—infants + that were born of syphilitic parents. His heart stood still when the nurse + came into the room to tell him the tidings. + </p> + <p> + But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a fool, he + told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed at the wonderful + little mite of life which was the fruit of his love. It was a perfect + child, the doctor said—a little small, to be sure, but that was a + defect which would soon be remedied. George kneeled by the bedside and + kissed the hand of his wife, and went out of the room feeling as if he had + escaped from a tomb. + </p> + <p> + All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about the house + again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the baby did not gain + quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and it was decided that the + country air would be better for her. So George and his mother paid a visit + to the farm in the country, and arranged that the country woman should put + her own child to nurse elsewhere and should become the foster-mother of + little Gervaise. + </p> + <p> + George paid a good price for the service, far more than would have been + necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted with the idea of + taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of her district. George came + home and told his wife about this and had a merry time as he pictured the + woman boasting about it to the travelers who stopped at her door. “Yes, + ma’am, a great piece of luck I’ve got, ma’am. I’ve got the daughter of the + daughter of our deputy—at your service ma’am. My! But she is as fat + as out little calf—and so clever! She understands everything. A + great piece of luck for me, ma’am. She’s the daughter of the daughter of + our deputy!” Henriette was vastly entertained, discovering in her husband + a new talent, that of an actor. + </p> + <p> + As for George’s mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from staying in the + country with the child. She went twice a week, to make sure that all went + well. Henriette and she lived with the child’s picture before them; they + spent their time sewing on caps and underwear—all covered with laces + and frills and pink and blue ribbons. Every day, when George came home + from his work, he found some new article completed, and was ravished by + the scent of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky man he was! + </p> + <p> + You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole city of + Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his early sins. There + was, for instance, the deception he had practiced upon his friend, away + back in the early days. Now he had friends of his own, and he could not + keep these friends from visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the fear + that some one of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even in the + midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was hanging + upon his every word, trembling with delight when she heard his latchkey in + the door—still he could not drive away the horrible thought that + perhaps all this might be deception. + </p> + <p> + There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend of + Henriette’s before her marriage; he had even been in love with her at one + time. And now he came sometimes to the house—once or twice when + George was away! What did that mean? George wondered. He brooded over it + all day, but dared not drop any hint to Henriette. But he took to setting + little traps to catch her; for instance, he would call her up on the + telephone, disguising his voice. “Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame + Dupont?” And when she answered, “It is I, sir,” all unsuspecting, he would + inquire, “Is George there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” she replied. “Who is this speaking?” + </p> + <p> + He answered, “It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?” He wanted to + see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, “Very well, Gustave. How + are you?”—in a tone which would betray too great intimacy! + </p> + <p> + But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound like + Gustave’s. She asked in bewilderment, “What?” and then again, “What?” + </p> + <p> + So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, had to + burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he came home and + teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on his side. Henriette had + guessed the real meaning of his joke! She did not really mind—she + took his jealousy as a sign of love, and was pleased with it. It is not + until a third party come upon the scene that jealousy begins to be + annoying. + </p> + <p> + So she had a merry time teasing George. “You are a great fellow! You have + no idea how well I understand you—and after only a year of + marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “You know me?” said the husband, curiously. (It is always so fascinating + when anybody thinks she know us better than we know ourselves!) “Tell me, + what do you think about me?” + </p> + <p> + “You are restless,” said Henriette. “You are suspicious. You pass your + time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise schemes to get them + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you think that, do you?” said George, pleased to be talked about. + </p> + <p> + “I am not annoyed,” she answered. “You have always been that way—and + I know that it’s because at bottom you are timid and disposed to suffer. + And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for not having confidence in a + wife’s intimate friends—lady-killer that you are!” + </p> + <p> + George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, so he + laughed gayly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said—“upon my word I + don’t. But it is a trick I would not advise everybody to try.” + </p> + <p> + There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George’s having things to + conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the six months’ delay in + the marriage—about which Henriette would never stop talking. She + begrudged the time, because she had got the idea that little Gervaise was + six months younger than she otherwise would have been. “That shows your + timidity again,” she would say. “The idea of your having imagined yourself + a consumptive!” + </p> + <p> + Poor George had to defend himself. “I didn’t tell you half the truth, + because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had the beginning of + chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly whenever I took a breath, a + deep breath—look, like this. Yes—I felt—here and there, + on each side of the chest, a heaviness—a difficulty—” + </p> + <p> + “The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!” + exclaimed Henriette. “And making our baby six months younger than she + ought to be!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” laughed George, “that means that we shall have her so much the + longer! She will get married six months later!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me,” responded the other, “let us not talk about such things! I + am already worried, thinking she will get married some day.” + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said George, “I see myself mounting with her on my arm the + staircase of the Madeleine.” + </p> + <p> + “Why the Madeleine?” exclaimed his wife. “Such a very magnificent church!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—I see her under her white veil, and myself all dressed + up, and with an order.” + </p> + <p> + “With an order!” laughed Henriette. “What do you expect to do to win an + order?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that—but I see myself with it. Explain it as you will, + I see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I were there—the + Swiss guard with his white stockings and the halbard, and the little + milliner’s assistants and the scullion lined up staring.” + </p> + <p> + “It is far off—all that,” said Henriette. “I don’t like to talk of + it. I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up—but then I change + my mind and think I don’t. I know your mother doesn’t. Do you know, I + don’t believe she ever thinks about anything but her little Gervaise.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said the father. “The child can certainly boast of having + a grandmother who loves her.” + </p> + <p> + “Also, I adore your mother,” declared Henriette. “She makes me forget my + misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so good!” + </p> + <p> + “We are all like that in our family,” put in George. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” laughed the wife. “Well, anyhow—the last time that we went + down in the country with her—you had gone out, I don’t know where + you had gone—” + </p> + <p> + “To see the sixteenth-century chest,” suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” laughed Henriette; “your famous chest!” (You must excuse this + little family chatter of theirs—they were so much in love with each + other!) + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let’s talk about that,” objected George. “You were saying—?” + </p> + <p> + “You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Or at the wine merchant’s! Go on, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was all alone + with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the baby—all + sorts of nonsense, pretty little words—stupid, if you like, but + tender. I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I wanted to weep.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she called her ‘my dear little Savior’?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly! Did you hear her?” + </p> + <p> + “No—but that is what she used to call me when I was little.” + </p> + <p> + “It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized her, and + laughed!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “And then another time, when I went into her room—mother’s room—she + didn’t hear me because the door was open, but I saw her. She was in + ecstasy before the little boots which the baby wore at baptism—you + know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say then?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the threshold a great + kiss to the dear grandmother!” + </p> + <p> + Henriette sat for a moment in thought. “It didn’t take her very long,” she + remarked, “today when she got the letter from the nurse. I imagine she + caught the eight-fifty-nine train!” + </p> + <p> + “Any yet,” laughed George, “it was really nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said his wife. “Yet after all, perhaps she was right—and + perhaps I ought to have gone with her.” + </p> + <p> + “How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are + told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply + playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I’ll bet you + something. What would you like to bet? You don’t want to? Come, I’ll bet + you a lovely necklace—you know, with a big pearl.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I should + be too much afraid of winning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as you + love her—my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her + EXACT age?” + </p> + <p> + Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and + eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. Then + we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” Then, + too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase again. + </p> + <p> + “If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk now,” + said Henriette. + </p> + <p> + He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and + pay some calls?” + </p> + <p> + Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + </p> + <p> + “Run along, little wife,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do in the + meantime. You won’t be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in + my papers. Bye-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Bye-bye,” said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so + kisses before she went away to dress. + </p> + <p> + Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big + armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. + Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to + be, since the letter had come from the baby’s nurse? Madame Dupont had + gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph at + once—but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + </p> + <p> + George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for a + moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put his + geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But then + suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced about, and + started up with an exclamation, “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was thrown + back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he cried. “We didn’t get any telegram from you; we + were not expecting you till tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Still his mother did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “Henriette was just going out,” he exclaimed nervously; “I had better call + her.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. “I did not + want Henriette to be here when I arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s the matter?” cried George. + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read something + terrible in the mother’s manner, and he found himself trembling violently. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought back the child and the nurse,” said Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “What! Is the little one sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing dangerous—for the moment, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “We must send and get the doctor!” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the doctor’s,” was the reply. “He said it was + necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up on the + bottle.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to ask the next + question. Try as he would, he could not keep his voice from weakening. + “Well, now, what is her trouble?” + </p> + <p> + The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At last she said, + faintly, “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them spoke. + “Why?” he inquired at last. + </p> + <p> + “Because—he—the nurse’s doctor—had frightened me so—” + </p> + <p> + “Truly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is a disease—” again she stopped. + </p> + <p> + George cried, in a voice of agony, “and then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be satisfied + with our ordinary doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he answer?” + </p> + <p> + “He said that if we had the means it would really be better to consult a + specialist.” + </p> + <p> + George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she was + not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. “And—where + did he send you?” + </p> + <p> + His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. “Here,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself from + tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first consulted about + his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + It was all George could do to control his voice. “You—you went to + see him?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his mother. “You know him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered. “Or—that is—I have met him, I think. I + don’t know.” And then to himself, “My God!” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. “He is coming to talk to you,” said the mother, at + last. + </p> + <p> + George was hardly able to speak. “Then he is very much disturbed?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but he wants to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, ‘Madame, it is impossible + for me to continue to attend this child unless I have had this very day a + conversation with the father.’ So I said ‘Very well,’ and he said he would + come at once.” + </p> + <p> + George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “My poor little + daughter!” he whispered to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the mother, her voice breaking, “she is, indeed, a poor little + daughter!” + </p> + <p> + A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? Hearing + the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were all a-quiver + with the strain she had been under. A servant came in and spoke to her, + and she said to George, “It is the doctor. If you need me, I shall be in + the next room.” + </p> + <p> + Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an + executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and he stood + for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost overcome with + emotion. Then he said, “Good-day, doctor.” As the man stared at him, + surprised and puzzled, he added, “You don’t recognize me?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him to break + out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. “You!” he exclaimed. “It is + you!” + </p> + <p> + At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, “You got + married, and you have a child! After all that I told you! You are a + wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” cried George, “let me explain to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word!” exclaimed the other. “There can be no explanation for what + you have done.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. Finally, + stretching out his arms, he pleaded, “You will take care of my little + daughter all the same, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + The other turned away with disgust. “Imbecile!” he said. + </p> + <p> + George did not hear the word. “I was able to wait only six months,” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, “That is enough, + sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong even to let you see + my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I have nothing + to do here but with the present and with the future—with the infant + and with the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “She isn’t in danger?” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “The nurse is in danger of being contaminated.” + </p> + <p> + But George had not been thinking about the nurse. “I mean my child,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing.” + </p> + <p> + George waited; after a while he began, “You were saying about the nurse. + Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better than I.” + </p> + <p> + “As you wish,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible distress. “I + have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so that my wife—so that + no one will know. If my wife learned that it is I who am the cause—! + It is for her that I implore you! She—she isn’t to blame.” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “I will do everything in my power that she may be kept + ignorant of the true nature of the disease.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how I thank you!” murmured George. “How I thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will consent to + lie.” + </p> + <p> + “And my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother knows the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “I pray you, sir—we have enough to talk about, and very serious + matters.” + </p> + <p> + So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered and greeted + the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to keep the signs of grief + and terror from her face. She signed to the doctor to take a seat, and + then seated herself by a little table near him. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dupont,” he began, “I have prescribed a course of treatment for + the child. I hope to be able to improve its condition, and to prevent any + new developments. But my duty and yours does not stop there; if there is + still time, it is necessary to protect the health of the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “The woman must stop nursing the child.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean we have to change the nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, either by + that nurse or by any other nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “But why, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave her milk.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle—our little one—she + will die!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly George burst out into sobs. “Oh, my poor little daughter! My + God, my God!” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor, “If the feeding is well attended to, with sterilized milk—” + </p> + <p> + “That can do very well for healthy infants,” broke in Madame Dupont. “But + at the age of three months one cannot take from the breast a baby like + ours, frail and ill. More than any other such an infant has need of a + nurse—is that not true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the doctor admitted, “that is true. But—” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of the nurse, + you understand perfectly well that my choice is made.” + </p> + <p> + Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose head was + buried in his arms. “Madame,” he said, “your love for that baby has just + caused you to utter something ferocious! It is not for you to choose. It + is not for you to choose. I forbid the nursing. The health of that woman + does not belong to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried the grandmother, wildly, “nor does the health of out child + belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope is in giving it + more care than any other child; and you would wish that I put it upon a + mode of nourishment which the doctors condemn, even for vigorous infants! + You expect that I will let myself be taken in like that? I answer you: she + shall have the milk which she needs, my poor little one! If there was a + single thing that one could do to save her—I should be a criminal to + neglect it!” And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious scorn, “The nurse! + The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty—we shall take care of + her, repay her. But our child before all! No sir, no! Everything that can + be done to save our baby I shall do, let it cost what it will. To do what + you say—you don’t realize it—it would be as if I should kill + the child!” In the end the agonized woman burst into tears. “Oh, my poor + little angel! My little savior!” + </p> + <p> + George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these last + words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with his foot, he + tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent physical pain. “Oh, + oh, oh!” he cried. “My little child! My little child!” And then, in a + horrified whisper to himself, “I am a wretch! A criminal!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the doctor, “you must calm yourself; you must both calm + yourselves. You will not help out the situation by lamentations. You must + learn to take it with calmness.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort recovered + her self-control. “You are right, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “I ask + your pardon; but if you only knew what that child means to me! I lost one + at that age. I am an old woman, I am a widow—I had hardly hoped to + live long enough to be a grandmother. But, as you say—we must be + calm.” She turned to the young man, “Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor + way to show our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us + talk, Doctor, and seriously—coldly. But I declare to you that + nothing will ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when I know + that it might kill her. That is all I can say.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor replied: “This isn’t the first time that I find myself in the + present situation. Madame, I declare to you that always—ALWAYS, you + understand—persons who have rejected my advice have had reason to + repent it cruelly.” + </p> + <p> + “The only thing of which I should repent—” began the other. + </p> + <p> + “You simply do not know,” interrupted the doctor, “what such a nurse is + capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness—legitimate + bitterness, you understand—joined to the rapacity, the cupidity, the + mischief-making impulse—might inspire these people to do. For them + the BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an enemy; and when they find + themselves in position to avenge their inferiority, they are ferocious.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could the woman do?” + </p> + <p> + “What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against you.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is much too stupid to have that idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Others will put it into her mind.” + </p> + <p> + “She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and stupidity? + Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “such a thing was never heard of! + Do you mean that?” + </p> + <p> + “I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there has been + certainty, the parents have lost their case.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like ours—not + when it is a question of saving the life of a poor little innocent!” + </p> + <p> + “Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented.” + </p> + <p> + Here George broke in. “I can give you the dates of the decisions.” He rose + from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be useful. “I have the books,” + he said, and took one from the case and brought it to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “All of that is no use—” interposed the mother. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor said to George, “You will be able to convince yourself. The + parents have been forced once or twice to pay the nurse a regular income, + and at other times they have had to pay her an indemnity, of which the + figure has varied between three and eight thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. “Never fear, sir! If there + should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We shall be able to pay + and choose the best—and he would demand, without doubt, which of the + two, the nurse or the child, has given the disease to the other.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor was staring at her in horror. “Do you not perceive that would + be a monstrous thing to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I would not have to say it,” was the reply. “The lawyer would see to + it—is not that his profession? My point is this: by one means or + another he would make us win our case.” + </p> + <p> + “And the scandal that would result,” replied the other. “Have you thought + of that?” + </p> + <p> + Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. “Doctor, + permit me to give you a little information. In cases of this sort, the + names are never printed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to print the + judgment?” + </p> + <p> + “What won’t they stoop to,” exclaimed Madame Dupont—“those filthy + journals!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the other, “and see what a scandal? What a shame it would be to + you!” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is right, mother,” exclaimed the young man. + </p> + <p> + But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. “We will prevent the woman from + taking any steps; we will give her what she demands from us.” + </p> + <p> + “But then,” said the other, “you will give yourselves up to the risk of + blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up for over twelve + years.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will permit me, Doctor,” said George, timidly, “she could be made + to sign a receipt.” + </p> + <p> + “For payment in full?” asked the doctor, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Even so.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” added his mother, “she would be more than delighted to go back + to her country with a full purse. She would be able to buy a little house + and a bit of ground—in that country one doesn’t need so much in + order to live.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse entered. She + was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly bursting with health. + When she spoke one got the impression that her voice was more than she + could contain. It did not belong in a drawing-room, but under the open sky + of her country home. “Sir,” she said, addressing the doctor, “the baby is + awake.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go and see her,” was the reply; and then to Madame Dupont, “We + will take up this conversation later on.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the mother. “Will you have need of the nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Madame,” the doctor answered. + </p> + <p> + “Nurse,” said the mother, “sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I wish to + speak to you.” As the doctor went out, she took her son to one side and + whispered to him, “I know the way to arrange everything. If we let her + know what is the matter, and if she accepts, the doctor will have nothing + more to say. Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Obviously,” replied the son. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs when she + goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the child.” + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand francs?” said the other. “Is that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I will see,” was the reply. “If she hesitates, I will go further. Let me + attend to it.” + </p> + <p> + George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the nurse. “You + know,” she said, “that our child is a little sick?” + </p> + <p> + The other looked at her in surprise. “Why no, ma’am!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the grandmother. + </p> + <p> + “But, ma’am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always kept her + proper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not saying anything to the contrary,” said Madame Dupont, “but the + child is sick, the doctors have said it.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting ready to + scold her. “Humph,” she said, “that’s a fine thing—the doctors! If + they couldn’t always find something wrong you’d say they didn’t know their + business.” + </p> + <p> + “But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that our + child has some little pimples.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ma’am,” said the nurse, “that’s the heat—it’s nothing but the + heat of the blood breaking out. You don’t need to bother yourself; I tell + you it’s only the child’s blood. It’s not my fault; I swear to you that + she had not lacked anything, and that I have always kept her proper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not reproaching you—” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She’s tiny—the + little one—she’s a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she’s a city child! + And she’s getting along all right, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” persisted Madame Dupont, “I tell you—she has got a cold in her + head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried the nurse, angrily, “if she has, it’s because the doctor + scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A + cold in the head? Yes, that’s true; but if she has caught cold, I can’t + say when, I don’t know anything about it—nothing, nothing at all. I + have always kept her well covered; she’s always had as much as three + covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; + you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!” + </p> + <p> + “But once more I tell you,” cried Madame Dupont, “we are not putting any + blame on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried the woman, more vehemently. “I know what that kind of talk + means. It’s no use—when you’re a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you imagining now?” demanded the other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right. It’s no use when you’re a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat to you once more,” cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty + controlling her impatience, “we have nothing whatever to blame you for.” + </p> + <p> + But the nurse began to weep. “If I had known that anything like this was + coming to me—” + </p> + <p> + “We have nothing to blame you for,” declared the other. “We only wish to + warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child.” + </p> + <p> + The woman pouted. “A cold in the head!” she exclaimed. “Well, if I catch + it, it won’t be the first time. I know how to blow my nose.” + </p> + <p> + “But you might also get the pimples.” + </p> + <p> + At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac + rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, we + ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? Pimples—what + difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t have a white + complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in the fields, in + the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream on our muzzles! No + offense, ma’am—but I say if you’re looking for an excuse to get rid + of me, you must get a better one than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head. + </p> + <p> + “But speak!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “But then—explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must; I wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, + for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George here + has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a month, if + I came to Paris.” And then, turning upon the other, she went on—“But, + sir, isn’t it only natural? Don’t I have to put my own child away + somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? We’re + nothing but poor country people, we are.” + </p> + <p> + “You are making a mistake, nurse,” broke in George. “It is nothing at all + of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far from wanting to reproach + you, that, on the contrary, I think she had not promised enough, and I + want to make you, for my part, another promise. When you go away, when + baby is old enough to be weaned, by way of thanking you, we wish to give + you—” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, “We wish to give you,—over and + above your wages, you understand—we wish to give you five hundred + francs, and perhaps a thousand, if the little one is altogether in good + health. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + The nurse stared at her, stupefied. “You will give me five hundred francs—for + myself?” She sought to comprehend the words. “But that was not agreed, you + don’t have to do that at all.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” admitted Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “But then,” whispered the nurse, half to herself, “that’s not natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the other hurried on, “it is because the baby will have need of + extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will have to give it + medicines; your task will be a little more delicate, a little more + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; then it’s so that I will be sure to take care of her? I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s agreed?” exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + </p> + <p> + “Yes ma’am,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one + another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you + could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of + care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the + nursing. That’s all right, is it? + </p> + <p> + “But, my lady,” cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, “you spoke + just now of a thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, a thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing her + to one side. “It would be a mistake,” he whispered, “if we did not make + her sign an agreement to all that.” + </p> + <p> + His mother turned to the nurse. “In order that there may be no + misunderstanding about the sum—you see how it is, I had forgotten + already that I had spoken of a thousand francs—we will draw up a + little paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, ma’am,” said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so + important a transaction. “Why, it’s just as you do when you rent a house!” + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the doctor,” said the other. “Come, nurse, it is agreed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. But all the same, as she went out she + hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at George and + his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, and she meant to find + out if she could. + </p> + <p> + The doctor seated himself in George’s office chair, as if to write a + prescription. “The child’s condition remains the same,” he said; “nothing + disturbing.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said Madame Dupont, gravely, “from now on, you will be able to + devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without any scruple. + During your absence we have arranged matters nicely. The nurse has been + informed about the situation, and she does not mind. She has agreed to + accept an indemnity, and the amount has been stated.” + </p> + <p> + But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he might. + He replied: “The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably contract in + feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such consequences + might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as death. So I say + that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay the damage.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” exclaimed the other, “she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, + and she has the right—” + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health. + And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her + husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain + that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life of + the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised. Such + things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a bargain + of this sort isn’t possible. If the evil has not been done, you must do + everything to avoid it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” protested the mother, wildly, “you do not defend our interests!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” was the reply, “I defend those who are weakest.” + </p> + <p> + “If we had called in our own physician, who knows us,” she protested, “he + would have taken sides with us.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. “I doubt it,” he said, + “but there is still time to call him.” + </p> + <p> + George broke in with a cry of distress. “Sir, I implore you!” + </p> + <p> + And the mother in turn cried. “Don’t abandon us, sir! You ought to make + allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to + me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us! + Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest—it is not she who is + the weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so + emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and + cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir—I pray + you!” + </p> + <p> + “I pity her,” said the doctor, “I would like to save her—and I will + do everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, + with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and + robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as that.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. “Very Well!” she + exclaimed. “I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor in a solemn voice: “There is already some one here who + regrets that he did not listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” moaned George, “to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of us.” + </p> + <p> + But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. “Very well!” she cried. “If it + is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for it in + this life, and all the punishments in the life to come—I accept it + all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is + frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I + believe in eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to + lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up—I will do everything + to save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the + worse for me!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered: “That responsibility is one which I cannot let you + take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I refuse + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, completely—something + which you have not done, I feel sure.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Madame Dupont, wildly. “You, a doctor, called into a family + which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you its most + terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries—you would betray them?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a betrayal,” replied the man, sternly. “It is something which + the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a + family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either I + give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “You threaten! You threaten!” cried the woman, almost frantic. “You abuse + the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you whose + attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe in you, + and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death of the + child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of the + child—that also means her death!” + </p> + <p> + She flung up her hands like a mad creature. “And yet there is no other + means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice + myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it—if only + you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones—if only I + might serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should + infect me—this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it—with + what joys, with what delights—however disgusting, however frightful + it might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without + fear, without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to the + child the milk which would preserve its life!” + </p> + <p> + She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her and + flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and tears + with hers. + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control his + distress. “Oh, the poor people!” he murmured to himself. “The poor, poor + people!” + </p> + <p> + The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong character, + got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, “Come, sir, tell + us what we have to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in + order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not + exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, in + truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything—I + swear it to you—that your baby may recover as quickly as possible + its perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave + you until tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Doctor, thank you,” said Madame Dupont, faintly. + </p> + <p> + The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not + bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was + gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she + repelled him—without violence, but firmly. + </p> + <p> + Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. “Forgive me!” he + said, in a broken voice. “Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each + other?” + </p> + <p> + His mother answered: “God has punished you for your debauch by striking at + your child.” + </p> + <p> + But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that. + “Impossible!” he said. “There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or + unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your God!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his mother, sadly, “you believe in nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in no such God as that,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the + nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there for + some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. “Madame,” she said, + “I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at once, and + have only the five hundred francs.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. “What is that you are + saying? You want to return to your home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “But,” cried George, “only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened since then?” demanded Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought it over?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “In the last ten minutes?” exclaimed George. + </p> + <p> + “There must be something else,” his mother added. “Evidently there must be + something else.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” insisted the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “But I say yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better wait and try it.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go back at once to my home.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, now,” cried Madame Dupont, “tell us why?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you. I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought what over?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried the mother, “what a stupid reply! ‘I have thought it over! I + have thought it over!’ Thought WHAT over, I want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know how to tell us what?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “you are an imbecile!” + </p> + <p> + George stepped between his mother and the nurse. “Let me talk to her,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + The woman came back to her old formula: “I know that we’re only poor + country people.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, nurse,” said the young man. “Only a little while ago you + were afraid that we would send you away. You were satisfied with the wages + which my mother had fixed. In addition to those wages we had promised you + a good sum when you returned to your home. Now you tell us that you want + to go away. You see? All at once. There must be some reason; let us + understand it. There must certainly be a reason. Has anybody done anything + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the woman, dropping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + George burst out, “Don’t go on repeating always the same thing—‘I + have thought it over!’ That’s not telling us anything.” Controlling + himself, he added, gently, “Come, tell me why you want to go away?” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. “Well?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, I have thought—” + </p> + <p> + George exclaimed in despair, “It’s as if one were talking to a block of + wood!” + </p> + <p> + His mother took up the conversation again. “You must realize, you have not + the right to go away.” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, “I WANT to go.” + </p> + <p> + “But I will not let you leave us.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted George angrily, “let her go; we cannot fasten her here.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” cried the exasperated mother, “since you want to go, + go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you are as stupid as + the animals on your farm!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say that I am not,” answered the woman. + </p> + <p> + “I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will pay your + railroad fare for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The other drew back with a look of anger. “Oho!” she cried. “We’ll see + about that!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll see about it!” cried George. “And you will get out of here at + once. Take yourself off—I will have no more to do with you. Good + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “No, George,” protested his mother, “don’t lose control of yourself.” And + then, with a great effort at calmness, “That cannot be serious, nurse! + Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my five + hundred francs.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” cried George, in consternation. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are telling me?” exclaimed Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “Five hundred francs?” repeated her son. + </p> + <p> + “What five hundred francs?” echoed the mother. + </p> + <p> + “The five hundred francs you promised me,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied with you! + That was our promise.” + </p> + <p> + “No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now I am + leaving, and I want them.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. “In the first place,” she said, + “kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, “You have nothing to do but give me my money, and I + will say nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + George went almost beside himself with rage at this. “Oh, it’s like that?” + he shouted. “Very well; I’ll show you!” And he sprang to the door and + opened it. + </p> + <p> + But the nurse never budged. “Give me my five hundred francs!” she said. + </p> + <p> + George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. “You clear + out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!” + </p> + <p> + The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. “Come now, you—you + can talk to me a little more politely, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” shouted George, completely beside himself. “Will you go, or + must I go out and look for a policeman?” + </p> + <p> + “A policeman!” demanded the woman. “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief.” + </p> + <p> + “A thief? I? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that you are demanding money which doesn’t belong to you.” + </p> + <p> + “More than that,” broke in Madame Dupont, “you are destroying that poor + little baby! You are a wicked woman!” + </p> + <p> + “I will put you out myself!” shouted George, and seized her by the arm + again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” retorted the nurse. “Then you really want me + to tell you why I am going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, tell me!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + His mother added, “Yes, yes!” + </p> + <p> + She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and + seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been + about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. + She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, + shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried loudly, + “Very well! I’m going away because I don’t want to catch a filthy disease + here!” + </p> + <p> + “HUSH!” cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched as + if she would choke her. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent!” cried George, wild with terror. + </p> + <p> + But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, “Oh, you need not be + troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world knows + it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They heard + every word your doctor said!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” screamed George. + </p> + <p> + Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. “Hold your tongue!” she + hissed. + </p> + <p> + But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her + rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, + “Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat—that you will + never be able to raise it—that it’s rotten because it’s father has a + filthy disease he got from a woman of the street!” + </p> + <p> + She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from + Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall + forward upon the floor, convulsed. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but + she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, + of the most profound terror. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, like a + maniac. “Don’t touch me!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter-in-law. + Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be brought to listen + to any one. She rushed into the other room, and when the older woman + followed her, shrieked out to be left alone. Afterwards, she fled to her + own room and barred herself in, and George and his mother waited + distractedly for hours until she should give some sign. + </p> + <p> + Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard about the + door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit of insanity might + attempt some harm to her child. + </p> + <p> + The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of her + outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she had recovered + her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also she wanted her wages and + her railroad fare home. She wanted them at once, and she would not leave + until she got them. George and his mother, in the midst of all their + anguish of mind, had to go through a disgusting scene with this coarse and + angry woman. + </p> + <p> + They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused to + accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so much paper, and + might be some trick that they were playing on her. She kept repeating her + old formula, “I am nothing but a poor country woman.” Nor would she be + contented with the promise that she would receive the money the next day. + She seemed to be afraid that if she left the house she would be + surrendering her claim. So at last the distracted George to sally forth + and obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in full for all + claims and they strove to persuade themselves that this made them safe; + but in their hearts they had no real conviction of safety. What was the + woman’s signature, or her pledged word, against the cupidity of her + husband and relatives. Always she would have the dreadful secret to hold + over them, and so they would live under the shadow of possible blackmail. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was white, her + eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a voice choked with sobs. + She wished to return at once to her father’s home, and to take little + Gervaise with her. Madame Dupont cried out in horror at this proposition, + and argued and pleaded and wept—but all to no purpose. The girl was + immovable. She would not stay under her husband’s roof, and she would take + her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse her. + </p> + <p> + The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no difference. + Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at once. + </p> + <p> + So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the hideous + story. Never before in her life had she discussed such subjects with any + one, but now in her agitation she told her father all. As George had + declared to the doctor, Monsieur Loches was a person of violent temper; at + this revelation, at the sight of his daughter’s agony, he was almost + beside himself. His face turned purple, the veins stood out on his + forehead; a trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill George—there + was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be permitted to live. + </p> + <p> + The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a calming + effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, she did not want + George to be killed. She clung to her father, beseeching him to promise + her that he would not do such a thing; and all that day and evening she + watched him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. + </p> + <p> + There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and which helped + to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own sufferings. The + infant must be fed and cared for—the unhappy victim of other + people’s sins, whose life was now imperiled. A dry nurse must be found at + once, a nurse competent to take every precaution and give the child every + chance. This nurse must be informed of the nature of the trouble—another + matter which required a great deal of anxious thought. + </p> + <p> + That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the child’s + welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of it. It was + impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could not endure to see + her, but the poor grandmother would come and sit for hours in the nursery, + watching the child and the nurse, in silent agony. + </p> + <p> + This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at home, + suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. Truly, in these + days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand-fold in agonized and + impotent regret. He looked back upon the course of his life, and traced + one by one the acts which had led him and those he loved into this + nightmare of torment. He would have been willing to give his life if he + could have undone those acts. But avenging nature offered him no such easy + deliverance as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the Jehovah + of the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern times has + availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of the fathers + shall be visited upon the children. + </p> + <p> + George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He poured out + all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him just once, to give + him a chance to plead his defense. It was not much of a defense, to be + sure; it was only that he had done no worse than the others did—only + that he was a wretched victim of ignorance. But he loved her, he had + proven that he loved her, and he pleaded that for the sake of their child + she would forgive him. + </p> + <p> + When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose advice he + had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to intercede for him—which + the doctor, of course, refused to do. It was an extra-medical matter, he + said, and George was absurd to expect him to meddle in it. + </p> + <p> + But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been interceding—he + had gone farther in pleading George’s cause than he was willing to have + George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid him a visit—his purpose + being to ask the doctor to continue attendance upon the infant, and also + to give Henriette a certificate which she could use in her suit for a + divorce from her husband. + </p> + <p> + So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question between + the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, but refused the + second. In the first place, he said, there was a rule of professional + secrecy which would prevent him. And when the father-in-law requested to + know if the rule of professional secrecy compelled him to protect a + criminal against honest people, the doctor answered that even if his + ethics permitted it, he would still refuse the request. “I would reproach + myself forever,” he said, “if I had aided you to obtain such a divorce.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” cried the old man, vehemently, “because you profess such and such + theories, because the exercise of your profession makes you the constant + witness of such miseries—therefore it is necessary that my daughter + should continue to bear that man’s name all her life!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered, gently, “Sir, I understand and respect your grief. + But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide about these + matters now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” declared the other, controlling himself with an + effort. “I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I have + discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. Surely, sir, you + cannot desire that my daughter should continue to live with a man who has + struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a blow.” + </p> + <p> + “If I refuse your request,” the doctor answered, “it is in the interest of + your daughter.” Then, seeing the other’s excitement returning, he + continued, “In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, I know that you will + probably be abusing me before five minutes has passed. But that will not + trouble me. I have seen many cases. And since I have made the mistake of + letting myself be trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you the + reason for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may prove + in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “And have you not reflected upon this—that at the same time you will + be publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to the + contagion? With such an admission, an admission officially registered in + the public records, do you believe that she will find it easy to re-marry + later on?” + </p> + <p> + “She will never re-marry,” said the father. + </p> + <p> + “She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the same thing + five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you you will not obtain + that divorce, because I will most certainly refuse you the necessary + certificate.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” cried the other, “I will find other means of establishing proofs. + I will have the child examined by another doctor!” + </p> + <p> + The other answered. “Then you do not find that that poor little one has + been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of its life? Your + granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish to add to that a + certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will follow her all her life?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. “You mean that if the victims seek + to defend themselves, they will be struck the harder! You mean that the + law gives me no weapon against a man who, knowing his condition, takes a + young girl, sound, trusting, innocent, and befouls her with the result of + his debauches—makes her the mother of a poor little creature, whose + future is such that those who love her the most do not know whether they + ought to pray for her life, or for her immediate deliverance? Sir,” he + continued, in his orator’s voice, “that man has inflicted upon the woman + he has married a supreme insult. He has made her the victim of the most + odious assault. He has degraded her—he has brought her, so to speak, + into contact with the woman of the streets. He has created between her and + that common woman I know not what mysterious relationship. It is the + poisoned blood of the prostitute which poisons my daughter and her child; + that abject creature, she lives, she lives in us! She belongs to our + family—he has given her a seat at our hearth! He has soiled the + imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he has soiled her body. + He has united forever in her soul the idea of love which she has placed so + high, with I know not what horrors of the hospitals. He has tainted her in + her dignity and her modesty, in her love as well as in her baby. He has + struck her down with physical and moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with + vileness. And yet the law is such, the customs of society are such, that + the woman cannot separate herself from that man save by the aid of legal + proceedings whose scandal will fall upon herself and upon her child!” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, and now + he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + </p> + <p> + “Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I learned the + truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty to find that monster + and to put a bullet into his head, as one does to a mad dog. I don’t know + what weakness, what cowardice, has held me back, and decided me to appeal + to the law. Since the law will not protect me, I will seek justice for + myself. Perhaps his death will be a good warning for the others!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no affair of + his and that he would not try to interfere. But he remarked, quietly: “You + will be tried for your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be acquitted!” cried the other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You will make + the scandal greater, the miseries greater—that is all. And how do + you know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you will find yourself + confronting another court, a higher and more severe one? How do you know + but that your daughter, seized at last by pity for the man you have + killed, will not demand to know by what right you have acted so, by what + right you have made an orphan of her child? How can you know but that her + child also may some day demand an accounting of you?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of crushed + despair. “Tell me then,” he said, in a faint voice, “what ought I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive!” + </p> + <p> + For a while the doctor sat looking at him. “Sir,” he said, at last, “tell + me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have the right to be + inflexible. But are you really so certain that it was not your duty, once + upon a time, to save your daughter from the possibility of such + misfortune?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried the other. “My duty? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you certainly + took precautions to inform yourself about the financial condition of your + future son-in-law. You demanded that he should prove to you that his + stocks and bonds were actual value, listed on the exchange. Also, you + obtained some information about his character. In fact, you forgot only + one point, the most important of all—that was, to inquire if he was + in good health. You never did that.” + </p> + <p> + The father-in-law’s voice had become faint. “No,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because that is not the custom.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father of a + family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take as much + precaution as a business concern which accepts an employee.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” was the reply, “there should be a law.” The man spoke as + a deputy, having authority in these matters. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor cried, “No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We have too + many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice that people should + know a little better what syphilis is. The custom would establish itself + very quickly for a suitor to add to all the other documents which he + presents, a certificate of a doctor, as proof that he could be received + into a family without bringing a pestilence with him. That would be very + simple. Once let the custom be established, then the suitor would go to + the doctor for a certificate of health, just as he goes to the priest for + a certificate that he has confessed; and by that means you would prevent a + great deal of suffering in the world. Or let me put it another way, sir. + Nowadays, before you conclude a marriage, you get the lawyers of the two + families together. It would be of at least equal importance to get their + two doctors together. You see, sir, your inquiry concerning your + son-in-law was far from complete. So your daughter may fairly ask you, why + you, being a man, being a father who ought to know these things, did not + take as much care of her health as you took of her fortune. So it is, sir, + that I say to you, forgive!” + </p> + <p> + But Monsieur Loches said again, “Never!” + </p> + <p> + And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. “Come, sir,” he + began, finally, “since it is necessary to employ the last argument, I will + do so. To be so severe and so pitiless—are you yourself without + sin?” + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “I have never had a shameful disease.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not ask you that,” interrupted the doctor. “I ask you if you have + never exposed yourself to the chance of having it.” And then, reading the + other’s face, he went on, in a tone of quiet certainty. “Yes, you have + exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was not virtue that you had; it was good + fortune. That is one of the things which exasperate me the most—that + term ‘shameful disease’ which you have just used. Like all other diseases, + that is one of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful to be unfortunate—even + if one has deserved it.” The doctor paused, and then with some excitement + he went on: “Come, sir, come, we must understand each other. Among men the + most exacting, among those who with their middle-class prudery dare not + pronounce the name of syphilis, or who make the most terrifying faces, the + most disgusted, when they consent to speak of it—who regard the + syphilitic as sinners—I should wish to know how many there are who + have never exposed themselves to a similar misadventure. They and they + alone have the right to speak. How many are there? Among a thousand men, + are there four? Very well, then. Excepting those four, between all the + rest and the syphilitic there is nothing but the difference of chance.” + </p> + <p> + There came into the doctor’s voice at this moment a note of intense + feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to him every day. + “I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving of sympathy, because they + are suffering. If they have committed a fault, they have at least the plea + that they are expiating it. No, sir, let me hear no more of that + hypocrisy. Recall your own youth, sir. That which afflicts your + son-in-law, you have deserved it just as much as he—more than he, + perhaps. Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which + the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less fortunate than + himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that not so?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the feeling of a + thief before the bar. There was nothing that he could answer. “Sir,” he + stammered, “as you present this thing to me—” + </p> + <p> + “But am I not right?” insisted the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are,” the other admitted. “But—I cannot say all that to + my daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “You can give her other arguments,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “What arguments, in God’s name?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation would be + a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one in the world who + would be devoted enough to help her save her child. You will say to her + that out of the ruins of her first happiness she can build herself another + structure, far stronger. And, sir, you will add to that whatever your good + heart may suggest—and we will arrange so that the next child of the + pair shall be sound and vigorous.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise that + George himself had manifested. “Is that possible?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The doctor cried: “Yes, yes, yes—a thousand times yes! There is a + phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would wish to post + upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious mistress, who only + demands that one should recognize her power. She is terrible for those who + think her insignificant, and gentle with those who know how dangerous she + is. You know that kind of mistress—who is only vexed when she is + neglected. You may tell this to your daughter—you will restore her + to the arms of her husband, from whom she has no longer anything to fear, + and I will guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two years from + now.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his resolution. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” he said, “I do not know that I can ever go so far as + forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, and that + I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of some time—I + cannot venture to say how long—my poor child should make up her mind + to a reconciliation.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said the other. “But let me add this: If you have another + daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you committed when you + married off the first.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the old man, “I did not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, surely!” cried the other. “You did not know! You are a father, and + you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed the responsibility + and the honor of making our laws—and you did not know! You are + ignorant about syphilis, just as you probably are ignorant about + alcoholism and tuberculosis.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” exclaimed the other, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the doctor, “I will leave you out, if you wish. I am + talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don’t know how many more, + who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who call themselves + representatives of the people. They are not able to find a single hour to + discuss these three cruel gods, to which egotism and indifference make + every day such frightful human sacrifices. They have not sufficient + leisure to combat this ferocious trinity, which destroys every day + thousands of lives. Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the + manufacture of poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as one + has fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of the + little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, one puts one’s + conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of the working-class, and + publishing little pamphlets and sermons. Imbeciles!...Tuberculosis! + Everybody knows the true remedy, which would be the paying of sufficient + wages, and the tearing down of the filthy tenements into which the + laborers are packed—those who are the most useful and the most + unfortunate among our population! But needless to say, no one wants that + remedy, so we go round begging the workingmen not to spit on the + sidewalks. Wonderful! But syphilis—why do you not occupy yourself + with that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to attend to all + sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to the public + health?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Doctor,” responded Monsieur Loches, “you fall into the French + habit of considering the government as the cause of all evils. Show us the + way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a matter about which you are + informed, and we are ignorant, begin by telling us what measures you + believe to be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” exclaimed the other. “That’s fine, indeed! It was about eighteen + years ago that a project of that nature, worked out by the Academy of + Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, was sent to the proper minister. + We have not yet heard his reply.” + </p> + <p> + “You really believe,” inquired Monsieur Loches, in some bewilderment, “you + believe that there are some measures—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” broke in the doctor, “before we get though, you are going to + suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened today. When + I received your card I did not know that you were the father-in-law of + George Dupont. I say that you were a deputy, and I thought that you wanted + to get some information about these matters. There was a woman patient + waiting to see me, and I kept her in my waiting-room—saying to + myself, This is just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk + to.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: “Be reassured, I will take + care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that is apparent to the + eye. She is simply an illustration of the argument I have been advancing—that + our worst enemy is ignorance. Ignorance—you understand me? Since I + have got you here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have managed to + cure a little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is a thing which + drives me to distraction—we MUST do something about these + conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is very + seriously infected. I told her—well, wait; you shall see for + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman whom + Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging on old age, + small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly dressed, and yet + with a suggestion of refinement about her. She stood near the door, + twisting her hands together nervously, and shrinking from the gaze of the + strange gentleman. The doctor began in an angry voice. “Did I not tell you + to come and see me once every eight days? Is that not true?” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, in a faint voice, “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he exclaimed, “and how long has it been since you were here?” + </p> + <p> + “Three months, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under such + conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You discourage me, you + discourage me.” There was a pause. Then, seeing the woman’s suffering, he + began, in a gentler tone, “Come now, what is the reason that you have not + come? Didn’t you know that you have a serious disease—most serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” replied the woman, “I know that very well—since my + husband died of it.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor’s voice bore once again its note of pity. “Your husband died of + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “He took no care of himself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And was not that a warning to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” the woman replied, “I would ask nothing better than to come as + often as you told me, but the cost is too great.” + </p> + <p> + “How—what cost? You were coming to my free clinic.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied the woman, “but that’s during working hours, and then + it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I have to + wait my turn, It is in the morning—sometimes I lose a whole day—and + then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. It is things + like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any + longer. Then, too, sir—” the woman stopped, hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” demanded the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, sir,” she stammered. “You have been too good to me already.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” commanded the other. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured the woman, “I know I ought not to put on airs, but you + see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband’s misfortune, we + were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always managed + to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to stand + around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one’s + miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; + I argue with myself—but all the same, it’s hard, sir; I assure you, + it is truly hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor woman!” said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then + he asked: “It was your husband who brought you the disease?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Everything which happened to us came from him. + We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half crazy. + He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here and there + for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not undergo treatment?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we + hadn’t a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “How was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn’t been a + resident six months, one has no right to free medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that true?” broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor, “that’s the rule.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” said the woman, “it was not our fault.” + </p> + <p> + “You never had children?” inquired the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I was never able to bring one to birth,” was the answer. “My husband was + taken just at the beginning of our marriage—it was while he was + serving in the army. You know, sir—there are women about the + garrisons—” She stopped, and there was a long silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the doctor, “that’s all right. I will arrange it with you. + You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings.” And + as the poor creature started to express her gratitude, he slipped a coin + into her hand. “Come, come; take it,” he said gruffly. “You are not going + to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. Hush!” And + he pushed her out of the door. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the deputy. “You heard her story, sir,” he said. “Her + husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who + compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons—you + heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and + look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our + soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other + social types. You don’t care very much about soldiers, perhaps—they + belong to the lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let + me show you what is going on among our college students—among the + men our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who + prey upon them! Perhaps, who knows—I can show you the very woman who + was the cause of all the misery in your own family!” + </p> + <p> + And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and + took him by the hand. “Promise me, sir,” he said, earnestly, “that you + will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a + chance that I must not let go—the first time in my life that I ever + got hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and + let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to + remedy these frightful evils!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was + wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the + things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his + friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful + story—or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his + mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the use + of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to spend + them for? + </p> + <p> + All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was + reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a + separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to + depend upon her in every little thing—until now, when her + companionship was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. + He would come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would + be his mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when + Henriette was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that + had happened to him through the day! + </p> + <p> + There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear + how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother the + news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no + complaints against the price, however high—only sometimes he + wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such + discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself. + </p> + <p> + A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one day + in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as + familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was + only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized—it was the + girl who had been the cause of all his misery! + </p> + <p> + He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and + she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, “Why, how do you do?” + </p> + <p> + George had to face her. “How do you do?” he responded, weakly. + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much + welcome in his clasp. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she asked. + Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, “What’s the matter? You + don’t seem glad to see me.” + </p> + <p> + The girl—Therese was her name—had a little package under her + arm, as if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George + had met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his + lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half + realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you never come to see me again?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + George hesitated. “I—I—” he stammered—“I’ve been married + since then.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Oh! So that’s it!” And then, as they came to a bench under + some trees, “Won’t you sit down a while?” There was allurement in her + glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he had + ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken + completely. + </p> + <p> + She quickly saw that something was wrong. “You don’t seem very cheerful,” + she said. “What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you know what + you did to me?” + </p> + <p> + “What I did to you?” Therese repeated wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “You must know!” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. “Why—” she + stammered. + </p> + <p> + There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was low + and trembling. “You ruined my whole life,” he said—“not only mine, + but my family’s. How could you do it?” + </p> + <p> + She strove to laugh it off. “A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!” + </p> + <p> + For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he + repeated, “How could you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Some one did it to me first,” was the response. “A man!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said George, “but he didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell whether he knew or not?” + </p> + <p> + “You knew?” he inquired, wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + Therese hesitated. “Yes, I knew,” she said at last, defiantly. “I have + known for years.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m not the only man.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “I guess not!” + </p> + <p> + There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, “I don’t want to blame + you; there’s nothing to be gained by that; it’s done, and can’t be undone. + But sometimes I wonder about it. I should like to understand—why did + you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? That’s easy enough. I did it because I have to live.” + </p> + <p> + “You live that way?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why of course. What did you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were a—a—” He hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I was respectable,” laughed Therese. “Well, that’s just a + little game I was playing on you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t give you any money!” he argued. + </p> + <p> + “Not that time,” she said, “but I thought you would come back.” + </p> + <p> + He sat gazing at her. “And you earn your living that way still?” he asked. + “When you know what’s the matter with you! When you know—” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do? I have to live, don’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be some way, + some place—” + </p> + <p> + “The reformatory, perhaps,” she sneered. “No, thanks! I’ll go there when + the police catch me, not before. I know some girls that have tried that.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you afraid?” cried the man. “And the things that will happen + to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor—or read a book?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it all. If it comes to me, I’ll go over the + side of one of the bridges some dark night.” + </p> + <p> + George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to him—to + meet this girl under such different circumstances! It was as if he were + watching a play from behind the scenes instead of in front. If only he had + had this new view in time—how different would have been his life! + And how terrible it was to think of the others who didn’t know—the + audience who were still sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, + interested in it! + </p> + <p> + His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and the life + she lived. “Tell me a little about it,” he said. “How you came to be doing + this.” And he added, “Don’t think I want to preach; I’d really like to + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s a common story,” she said—“nothing especially romantic. I + came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had died, and I had no + friends, and I didn’t know what to do. I got a place as a nursemaid. I was + seventeen years old then, and I didn’t know anything. I believed what I + was told, and I believed my employer. His wife was ill in a hospital, and + he said he wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked him, and I was + sorry for him—and then the first thing I knew I had a baby. And then + the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a fool, of course. If + I had been in her place should have done just what she did.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of things about + which she was no longer able to suffer. “So, there I was—on the + street,” she went on. “You have always had money, a comfortable home, + education, friends to help you—all that. You can’t imagine how it is + to be in the world without any of these things. I lived on my savings as + long as I could; then I had to leave my baby in a foundling’s home, and I + went out to do my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I have + no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt bitter + towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of which he was a + victim also. There was nothing to be gained by hating each other. Just as + the doctor said, what was needed was enlightenment. “Listen,” he said, + “why don’t you try to get cured?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got the price,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “I know a doctor—one of the really + good men. He has a free clinic, and I’ve no doubt he would take you in if + I asked him to.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU ask him?” echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + </p> + <p> + The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to playing the + role of the good Samaritan. “I—I need not tell him about us,” he + stammered. “I could just say that I met you. I have had such a wretched + time myself, I feel sorry for anybody that’s in the same plight. I should + like to help you if I could.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. “I have treated you + badly, I guess,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the doctor’s + address. “Here it is,” he said, in a business-like way, because he felt + that otherwise he could become sentimental. He was half tempted to tell + the woman what had happened to him, and all about Henriette and the sick + child; but he realized that that would not do. So he rose and shook hands + with her and left. + </p> + <p> + The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He decided to + tell him the truth—having already made so many mistakes trying to + conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat the woman, making the condition + that George promise not to see her again. + </p> + <p> + The young man was rather shocked at this. “Doctor,” he exclaimed, “I + assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in mind would be utterly + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the other, “you think so. But I think, young man, that I + know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman have once + committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time they + spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and forbearing + to each other, the better for them both.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor,” cried George. “I love Henriette! I could not possibly love + anyone else. It would be horrible to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor. “But you are not living with Henriette. You are + wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next.” + </p> + <p> + There was no need for anybody to tell George that. “What do you think?” he + asked abruptly. “Is there any hope for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I think there is,” said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had + become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to the + Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing + Henriette, and talking to her about the child’s health and her own future. + He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the young + wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + </p> + <p> + George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to + call at the physician’s office—he could read them in the faces of + the people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, + the doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman, + whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at college. + The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man remembered how + pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be, thought George, + that this old man was a victim of syphilis? + </p> + <p> + But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the + consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he + stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. “Perhaps you + can’t understand,” he said, “just what it means to us—the hopes we + had of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! + We were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college—and + now just see!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t despair, sir,” said the doctor, “we’ll try to cure him.” And he + added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard, + “Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?” + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know what he had?” cried the other. “He didn’t dare tell me, + sir—he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the + disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went + secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed him, and didn’t cure him. You + know how it is, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Such things ought not to be permitted,” cried the old man. “What is our + government about that it allows such things to go on? Take the conditions + there at the college where my poor boy was ruined. At the very gates of + the building these women are waiting for the lads! Ought they to be + permitted to debauch young boys only fifteen years old? Haven’t we got + police enough to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “One would think so,” said the doctor, patiently. + </p> + <p> + “But is it that the police don’t want to?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest—they don’t know. + Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your son’s. And some + day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these conditions.” + </p> + <p> + So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to think about. + How much he could have told them about what had happened to that young + fellow when only fifteen years old! It had not been altogether the fault + of the women who were lurking outside of the college gates; it was a fact + that the boy’s classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had literally + made his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + </p> + <p> + It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all over the + world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak and foolish; that a + fellow was not a man unless he led a life of debauchery like the rest. And + what did they know about these dreadful diseases? They had the most + horrible superstitions—ideas of cures so loathsome that they could + not be set down in print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those of + savages in the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing and + jesting about one another’s condition. They might be afflicted with + diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects upon their whole + lives and upon their families—diseases which cause tens of thousands + of surgical operations upon women, and a large percentage of blindness and + idiocy in children—and you might hear them confidently express the + opinion that these diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + </p> + <p> + And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped down by + a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superstition of sex-prudery! + George went out from the doctor’s office trembling with excitement over + this situation. Oh, why had not some one warned him in time? Why didn’t + the doctors and the teachers lift up their voices and tell young men about + these frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in the highways and preach it + himself—except that he dared not, because he could not explain to + the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden topic. + </p> + <p> + These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his mother—to + whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. He was moved to + mention to her the interview he had overheard in the doctor’s office. In a + sudden burst of grief he told her of his struggles and temptations; he + pleaded with her to go to Henriette once more—to tell her these + things, and try to make her realize that he alone was not to blame for + them, that they were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only + difference between her husband and other men was that he had had the + misfortune to be caught. + </p> + <p> + There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. After + all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her father’s home, so far + as the physical side of things went; but she knew that all her friends + were gossiping and speculating about her separation from her husband, and + sooner or later she would have to make up her mind, either to separate + permanently from George or to return to him. There was not much happiness + for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom deep in her + heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the rest of her life, + and the home in which poor little Gervaise would be brought up would not + be a cheerful one. + </p> + <p> + George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back to his + home. They might live separate lives for as long as Henriette wished. They + would have no more children until the doctor declared it was quite safe; + and in the meantime he would be humble and patient, and would try his best + to atone for the wrong that he had done her. + </p> + <p> + To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She told the + girl some things which through bitter experience she had learned about the + nature and habits of men; things that should be told to every girl before + marriage, but which almost all of them are left to find out afterwards, + with terrible suffering and disillusionment. Whatever George’s sins may + have been, he was a man who had been chastened by suffering, and would + know how to value a woman’s love for the rest of his life. Not all men + knew that—not even those who had been fortunate in escaping from the + so-called “shameful disease.” + </p> + <p> + Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this time had + had time to think things over, and had come to the conclusion that the + doctor was right. He had noted his son-in-law’s patience and penitence, + and had also made sure that in spite of everything Henriette still loved + him. The baby apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, with his + strong sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to separate a child + permanently from its father. So in the end he cast the weight of his + influence in favor of a reconciliation, and Henriette returned to her + husband, upon terms which the doctor laid down. + </p> + <p> + The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not been + allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now thoroughly awake + to the importance of the duty he owed his daughter. In fact, he had become + somewhat of a “crank” upon the whole subject. He had attended several of + the doctor’s clinics, and had read books and pamphlets on the subject of + syphilis, and was now determined that there should be some practical steps + towards reform. + </p> + <p> + At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average legislator, that + the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prostitution, and to + enforce them more strictly. He echoed the cry of the old man whom George + had heard in the doctor’s office: “Are there not enough police?” + </p> + <p> + “We must go to the source,” he declared. “We must proceed against these + miserable women—veritable poisoners that they are!” + </p> + <p> + He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor was quick + to answer his arguments. “Poisoners?” he said. “You forget that they have + first been poisoned. Every one of these women who communicates the disease + has first received it from some man.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. But the + doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had seen it tried so + many times—such a law could never be enforced. What must come first + was education, and by this means a modification of morals. People must + cease to treat syphilis as a mysterious evil, of which not even the name + could be pronounced. + </p> + <p> + “But,” objected the other, “one cannot lay it bare to children in our + educational institutions!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent to + awaken.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. “You + believe that you are preventing these curiosities from awakening?” he + demanded. “I appeal to those—both men and women—who have + passed through colleges and boarding schools! Such curiosities cannot be + smothered, and they satisfy themselves as best they can, basely, vilely. I + tell you, sir, there is nothing immoral about the act which perpetuates + life by means of love. But we organize around it, so far as concerns our + children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. The worthy + citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical comedies, where + they listen to things which would make a monkey blush; but it is forbidden + to discuss seriously before the young that act of love which people seem + to think they should only know of through blasphemies and profanations! + Either that act is a thing of which people can speak without blushing—or + else, sir, it is a matter for the innuendoes of the cabaret and the + witticisms of the messroom! Pornography is admitted, but science is not! I + tell you, sir, that is the thing which must be changed! We must elevate + the soul of the young man by taking these facts out of the realm of + mystery and of slang. We must awaken in him a pride in that creative power + with which each one of us is endowed. We must make him understand that he + is a sort of temple in which is prepared the future of the race, and we + must teach him that he must transmit, intact, the heritage entrusted to + him—the precious heritage which has been built out of the tears and + miseries and sufferings of an interminable line of ancestors!” + </p> + <p> + So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove that the + prostitute was what she was, not because of innate vileness, but because + of economic conditions. It happened that the deputy came to one of the + clinics where he met Therese. The doctor brought her into his consulting + room, after telling her that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend + of the director of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for a + position on the stage to which she aspired. “Tell him all about yourself,” + he said, “how you live, and what you do, and what you would like to do. + You will get him interested in you.” + </p> + <p> + So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a + matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been obliged + to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was surprised that Monsieur + Loches showed horror. “What could I do?” she demanded. “How could I have + taken care of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you ever miss it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It would have + died of hunger with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” he said, “it was your child—” + </p> + <p> + “It was the father’s child, too, wasn’t it? Much attention he paid to it! + If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would have put it out to + nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty francs a month I could have + earned as a servant, could I have paid for a baby? That’s the situation a + girl faces—so long as I wanted to remain honest, it was impossible + for me to keep my child. You answer, perhaps, ‘You didn’t stay honest + anyway.’ That’s true. But then—when you are hungry, and a nice young + fellow offers you dinner, you’d have to be made of wood to refuse him. Of + course, if I had had a trade—but I didn’t have any. So I went on the + street—You know how it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us about it,” said the doctor. “This gentleman is from the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” said the girl. “I never supposed there was anyone who didn’t + know about such things. Well, I took the part of a little working-girl. A + very simple dress—things I had made especially for that—a + little bundle in a black napkin carried in my hand—so I walked along + where the shops are. It’s tiresome, because to do it right, you have to + patter along fast. Then I stop before a shop, and nine times out of ten, + there you are! A funny thing is that the men—you’d imagine they had + agreed on the words to approach you with. They have only two phrases; they + never vary them. It’s either, ‘You are going fast, little one.’ Or it’s, + ‘Aren’t you afraid all alone?’ One thing or the other. One knows pretty + well what they mean. Isn’t it so?” The girl paused, then went on. “Again, + I would get myself up as a young widow. There, too, one has to walk fast: + I don’t know why that should be so, but it is. After a minute or two of + conversation, they generally find out that I am not a young widow, but + that doesn’t make any difference—they go on just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the men?” asked the deputy. “Clerks? Traveling salesmen?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” she responded. “I keep a lookout for gentlemen—like + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “They SAY they are gentlemen,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I can see it,” was the response. “Sometimes they wear orders. + It’s funny—if they have on a ribbon when you first notice them, they + follow you, and presto—the ribbon is gone! I always laugh over that. + I’ve watched them in the glass of the shop windows. They try to look + unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their + thumb—as one shells little peas, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, “Well, at + last the police got after me, That’s a story that I’ve never been able to + understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty disease, and then I was to be + shut in prison for it! That was a little too much, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor, grimly, “you revenged yourself on them—from + what you have told me.” + </p> + <p> + The other laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I had my innings.” She turned to + Monsieur Loches. “You want me to tell you that? Well, just on the very day + I learned that the police were after me, I was coming home furious, + naturally. It was on the Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the place—and + whom do you think I met? My old master—the one who got me into + trouble, you know. There it was, God’s own will! I said to myself, ‘Now, + my good fellow, here’s the time where you pay me what you owe me, and with + interest, too!’ I put on a little smile—oh, it didn’t take very + long, you may be sure!” + </p> + <p> + The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice trembling + with agitation: “When I had left him, I was seized with a rage. A sort of + madness got into my blood. I took on all the men who offered themselves, + for whatever they offered me, for nothing, if they didn’t offer me + anything. I took as many as I could, the youngest ones and the handsomest + ones. Just so! I only gave them back what they had given to me. And since + that time I haven’t really cared about anyone any more. I just turned it + all into a joke.” She paused, and then looking at the deputy, and reading + in his face the horror with which he was regarding her, “Oh, I am not the + only one!” she exclaimed. “There are lots of other women who do the same. + To be sure, it is not for vengeance—it is because they must have + something to eat. For even if you have syphilis, you have to eat, don’t + you? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a long + silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had heard enough + for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the woman, the cause of all + George Dupont’s misfortunes, and turning to Monsieur Loches, said: “It was + on purpose that I brought that wretched prostitute before you. In her the + whole story is summed up—not merely the story of your son-in-law, + but that of all the victims of the red plague. That woman herself is a + victim, and she is a symbol of the evil which we have created and which + falls upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to her story, I only + ask you, Monsieur Loches—when next you are proposing new laws in the + Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which that poor woman has + exposed to you!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1157 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..33a83d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1157 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1157) diff --git a/old/1157-0.txt b/old/1157-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..caabf2b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1157-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4342 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Damaged Goods + A novelization of the play “Les Avaries” + +Author: Upton Sinclair + Eugene Brieux + +Posting Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #1157] +Release Date: January, 1998 +Last Updated: October 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + + + + +Produced by John P. Roberts, III + + + + + +DAMAGED GOODS + +The Great Play “Les Avaries” of Eugene Brieux + +Novelized with the approval of the author + +by Upton Sinclair + + + +THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX’S PLAY, “LES AVARIES,” OR, TO GIVE IT +ITS ENGLISH TITLE, “DAMAGED GOODS,” HAS INITIATED A MOVEMENT IN THIS +COUNTRY WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.--New York Times + + + ++++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten script from M. +Brieux.+++ + + + + +PREFACE + +My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as closely as +possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I have tried, as it +were, to take the play to pieces, and build a novel out of the same +material. I have not felt at liberty to embellish M. Brieux’s ideas, and +I have used his dialogue word for word wherever possible. Unless I have +mis-read the author, his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to +place a number of most important facts before the minds of the public, +and to drive them home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able +to assist him, this bit of literary carpentering will be worth while. I +have to thank M. Brieux for his kind permission to make the attempt, and +for the cordial spirit which he has manifested. + +Upton Sinclair + + + + +PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + +DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee on +March 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before members of +the Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed by public press and +pulpit as the greatest contribution ever made by the Stage to the cause +of humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the producer, who had the courage to +present the play, with the aid of his co-workers, in the face of most +savage criticism from the ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a +repetition of the performance. + +Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before the +general public, it was arranged that the highest officials in the United +States should pass judgment upon the manner in which the play teaches +its vital lesson. A special guest performance for members of the +Cabinet, members of both houses of Congress, members of the United +States Supreme Court, representatives of the Diplomatic corps and others +prominent in national life was given in Washington, D.C. + +Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April 6, +1913), the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with the most +distinguished audience ever assembled in America, including exclusively +the foremost men and women of the Capital. The most noted clergymen of +Washington were among the spectators. + +The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous endorsement +of the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett and his co-workers +were presenting it. + +This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York performances +until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision on the part of Mr. +Bennett to offer the play in every city in America where citizens feel +that the ultimate welfare of the community is dependent upon a higher +standard of morality and clearer understanding of the laws of health. + + +The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, said: + +The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; with all +the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all the earnestness +and power of a vital truth. + +In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a great +social evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. Dr. Donald C. +Macleod, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, mounted the rostrum +usually occupied by the leader of the orchestra, and announced that the +nature of the performance, the sacredness of the play, and the character +of the audience gave to the play the significance of a tremendous sermon +in behalf of mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that +a divine blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont +Avenue Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow +their heads in a prayer for the proper reception of the message to be +presented from the stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the Bernard Shaw preface +to the play, and asked that there be no applause during the performance, +a suggestion which was rigidly followed, thus adding greatly to the +effectiveness and the seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + +The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is +reflected in such comments as the following expressions voiced after the +performance: + +RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION--If I could preach +from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as convincing, as +far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance of DAMAGED GOODS must +be, I would consider that I had achieved the triumph of my life. + +COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH--I was deeply impressed by what I saw, and +I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, a matinee one +day for father and son and the next day for mother and daughter. + +REV. EARLE WILFLEY--I am confirmed in the opinion that we must take up +our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems brought to the +fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these diseases are increasing is +enough to make us get busy on a campaign against them. + +SURGEON GENERAL BLUE--It was a most striking and telling lesson. For +years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It is high time +that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding them and crusaded +against them in a proper manner. + +MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS--The play was a powerful presentation of a very +important question and was handled in a most admirable manner. The +drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and is bound to do +considerable good in conveying information of a very serious nature. + +MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU--There can be no doubt but that the performance +will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the good for which it +was created. Fortunately, we do not have the prudery in South America +that you of the north possess, and have open minds to consider these +serious questions. + +JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT--I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS will +have considerable effect in educating the people of the nature of the +danger that surrounds them. + +SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA--There can be no denial of the fact that it is +time to look at the serious problems presented in the play with an open +mind. + + +Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as “incomparably the greatest +writer France has produced since Moliere,” and perhaps no writer ever +wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of the race. To quote from +an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the INDEPENDENT: + +Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured by laws +and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble is caused +by ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment and franker +recognition of existing conditions. All this may be needed, but still we +may well doubt its effectiveness as a remedy. The drunken Helot argument +is not a strong one, and those who lead a vicious life know more about +its risks than any teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also +urges the requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many +clergymen now insist upon and which doubtless will be made compulsory +before long in many of our States. + +Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will +be criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. The +conditions of society and the moral standards of France are so different +from those of America that his point of view and his proposals for +reform will not meet with general acceptance, but it is encouraging to +find a dramatist who realizes the importance of being earnest and who +uses his art in defense of virtue instead of its destruction. + + +Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in the play +and the belief in the highest seriousness of its purpose: + +There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the glamour, in +the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, and suggestions the +threat to life lies. + +This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such clean, +artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could possibly be +impressed in no other manner. + +Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There is no +sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of the theme. +The doctor appears in his ideal function, as the modern high-priest of +truth. Around him writhe the victims of ignorance and the criminals +of conventional cruelty. Kind, stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet +human-hearted, he towers over all, as the master. + +This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the world of +ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a mistaken modesty +has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is the physician. + +The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is that it is +the decentest play that has been in New York for a year. It is so decent +that it is religious.--HEARST’S MAGAZINE. + + +The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of the veil +of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject of the penalty +of sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on this hidden danger, that +fathers and mothers, young men and young women, may know the terrible +price that must be paid, not only by the generation that violates the +law, but by the generations to come. It is a serious question just how +the education of men and women, especially young men and young women, in +the vital matters of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is +sure, however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often been +followed in the past--not to carry it on at all but to ignore it.--THE +OUTLOOK. + + +It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of “thesis drama,”--an +argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, cumulative, between science +and common sense, on one side, and love, of various types, on the other. +It is what Mr. Bernard Shaw has called a “drama of discussion”; it +has the splendid movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved--and +undiluted--by Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many +audiences at the Fulton Theater were astonished at the play’s showing +of sheer strength as acted drama. Possibly it might not interest the +general public; probably it would be inadvisable to present it to them. +But no thinking person, with the most casual interest in current social +evils, could listen to the version of Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, +and their associates, without being gripped by the power of Brieux’s +message.--THE DIAL. + + +It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of this +play, which is one of France’s most valuable contributions to the drama. +Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over ten years ago. Antoine +produced it at his theater and Paris immediately censored it, but soon +thought better of it and removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 +it was played in Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was +thronged with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last +spring and eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have welcomed it. +--THE INDEPENDENT. + + +A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth Church, +Brooklyn. + +23 Monroe Street Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + +Mr. Richard Bennett, New York City, N.Y. My Dear Mr. Bennett: + +During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I have +experienced many exciting hours under the influence of reformer, orator +and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I do not know that I +have ever passed through a more thrilling, terrible, and yet hopeful +experience than last evening, while I listened to your interpretation of +Eugene Brieux’ “DAMAGED GOODS.” + +I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It is not +too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the people of our +country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, this conspiracy of +silence is ended. No young man who sees “Damaged Goods” will ever be the +same again. If I wanted to build around an innocent boy buttresses of +fire and granite, and lend him triple armour against temptation and the +assaults of evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. +That which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to +accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a work for +which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of gratitude. + +I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases and +Heredity in connection with your great reform. + +With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, Faithfully yours, + +Newell Dwight Hillis + + + + +CHAPTER I + +It was four o’clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the door +and came down the steps to the street. The first faint streaks of dawn +were in the sky, and he noticed this with annoyance, because he knew +that his hair was in disarray and his whole aspect disorderly; yet he +dared not take a cab, because he feared to attract attention at home. +When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no +one had seen him leave the house, then started down the street, his eyes +upon the sidewalk before him. + +George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men in this +world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase means. The fumes +of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober now, quite free from +excitement. He saw what he had done, and it seemed to him something +black and disgusting. + +Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had to +traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid was +up, before the baker’s boy called with the rolls; otherwise, what +explanation could he give?--he who had always been such a moral man, who +had been pointed out by mothers as an example to their sons. + +George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she could +know about his night’s adventure. He thought again and again, with a +pang of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be possible that a man who was +engaged, whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon +to possess the love of a beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could +have been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into +such a low action? + +He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying +to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them. +He had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a +thing in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted +the invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law +school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led “fast” + lives--but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend’s rooms for a +lark without harm! + +He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had +come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that +she was all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when +first he had noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun +to go to his head--he was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot +drink wine at all. He had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on +the way he had lost his head. + +Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he +who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them, +because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long +time to persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her +married friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take +off his shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck +George particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was, +he had not forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the +dangers of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, “This +girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such +a thing.” + +But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He +was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in the bitter +words about “Time’s moving finger having writ.” His mind, seeking some +explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that +night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a +decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He +had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her up when he +became engaged; but now for a while he felt that he would have to break +his resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat in +the working-class portion of Paris. + +It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as his +father--that of notary--that he had made the acquaintance of the young +working girl. It may not be easy to believe, but Lizette had really been +a decent girl. She had a family to take care of, and was in need. There +was a grandmother in poor health, a father not much better, and three +little brothers; so Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and +he felt quite virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of +these unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered +proper to take such things if one paid for them. + +All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They adored +him, and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had not been so +foolish as to give them his true name). + +Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control +her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she +deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her +relatives also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never +trusted out alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his +little “family,” so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. +He interested her in church affairs--mass and vespers were her regular +occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother +went with her to the services. The simple people were proud to see their +name engraved upon the brass plate of the pew. + +The reason for all these precautions was George’s terror of disease. +He had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men +encounter in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George’s +heart; he had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, +for one, would protect himself. + +That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; +such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably +ever occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do +such a thing. The French have a phrase, “l’homme moyen sensuel”--the +average sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble +idealisms, no particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude +was a purely selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same +time to keep out of trouble. + +He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed +upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, +he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the +amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to +keep regular hours, preparing for his law examinations. But all the +time he was longing for adventures. And, of course, this could not go +on forever, for the motive of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the +sexual urge in a full-blooded young man. + +The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been +for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George +was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted +mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the +mother broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had +been that his son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense +suffering he had been able to think about the matter, and had named the +girl whom he wished George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some +interest to learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother +told him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches. + +He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. “It +doesn’t please you?” asked his mother, with a tone disappointment. + +“Why no, mother,” he answered. “It’s not that. It just surprises me.” + +“But why?” asked the mother. “Henriette is a lovely girl and a good +girl.” + +“Yes, I know,” said George; “but then she is my cousin, and--” He +blushed a little with embarrassment. “I had never thought of her in that +way.” + +Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son’s. “Yes, George,” she said +tenderly. “I know. You are such a good boy.” + +Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good boy; +but his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea of the +truth about the majority of men. She would never have got over the shock +if he had told her about himself, and so he had to pretend to be just +what she thought him. + +“Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “have you never felt the least +bit in love?” + +“Why no--I don’t think so,” George stammered, becoming conscious of a +sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + +“Because,” said his mother, “it is really time that you were settled in +life. Your father said that we should have seen to it before, and now it +is my duty to see to it. It is not good for you to live alone so long.” + +“But, mother, I have YOU,” said George generously. + +“Some day the Lord may take me away,” was the reply. “I am getting +old. And, George, dear--” Here suddenly her voice began to tremble with +feeling--“I would like to see my baby grandchildren before I go. You +cannot imagine what it would mean to me.” + +Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so she went +on to the more worldly aspects of the matter. Henriette’s father was +well-to-do, and he would give her a good dowry. She was a charming and +accomplished girl. Everybody would consider him most fortunate if the +match could be arranged. Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame +Dupont had spoken, and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a +great deal of property and would surely help the young couple. + +George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, even if +he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a course? He could +not explain that he already had a family--with stepchildren, so to +speak, who adored him. And what could he say to his mother’s obsession, +to which she came back again and again--her longing to see her +grandchildren before she died? Madame Dupont waited only long enough for +George to stammer out a few protestations, and then in the next breath +to take them back; after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. +The family lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement +were worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately afterwards +George learned of an opportunity to purchase the practice of a notary, +who was ready to retire from business in two months’ time. Henriette’s +father consented to advance a portion of her dowry for this purpose. + +Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his father, and +this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did not attempt to +deny, either to himself of to any one else. George was a cautious young +man, who came of a frugal and saving stock. He had always been taught +that it was his primary duty to make certain of a reasonable amount of +comfort. From his earliest days, he had been taught to regard material +success as the greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed +of engaging himself to a girl without money. But when he had the good +fortune to meet one who possessed desirable personal qualities in +addition to money, he was not in the least barred from appreciating +those qualities. They were, so to speak, the sauce which went with the +meat, and it seemed to him that in this case the sauce was of the very +best. + +George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a +good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty +laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its +deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round +world; he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune +of possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat +sentimental turn--easily influenced by women and sensitive to their +charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had +learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed, +was to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + +In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his +relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement +was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as +he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had +kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When +he walked arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he +had walked just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare +the words of the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he +had taken Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the +excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately he +decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he +persuaded an aunt of Henriette’s to go with her as a chaperon. George +took his bride-to-be to the same little inn where he had lunch before. + +Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful +and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and +did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to +tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident +which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found +himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. +There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which +made it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so +sensible. Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not +have afforded to marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been +expected to lead a continent life. And he had really loved Lizette; she +was really a good girl. Yet, if Henriette had got any idea of it, she +would have been horrified and indignant--she might even have broken off +the engagement. + +And then, too, there was Henriette’s father, a personage of great +dignity and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French Parliament, +from a district in the provinces. He was a man of upright life, and a +man who made a great deal of that upright life--keeping it on a pedestal +where everyone might observe it. It was impossible to imagine M. Loches +in an undignified or compromising situation--such as the younger man +found himself facing in the matter of Lizette. + +The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George became. +Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to break with +the girl, and be “good” until the time of his marriage. Dear little +soft-eyed Lizette--he did not dare to face her personally; he could +never bear to say good-by, he felt. Instead, he went to the father, +who as a man could be expected to understand the situation. George was +embarrassed and not a little nervous about it; for although he had never +misrepresented his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely +free from the possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, Lizette’s +father behaved decently, and was duly grateful for the moderate sum of +money which George handed him in parting. He promised to break the news +gently to Lizette, and George went away with his mind made up that he +would never see her again. + +This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous in +doing it. But the truth was that he had grown used to intimacy with a +woman, and was restless without it. And that, he told himself, was why +he yielded to the shameful temptation the night of that fatal supper +party. + +He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that he had +been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that he had proved +himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. So keen was his +feeling that it was several days before he could bring himself to see +Henriette again; and when he went, it was with a mind filled with a +brand-new set of resolutions. It was the last time that he would ever +fall into error. He would be a new man from then on. He thanked God +that there was no chance of his sin being known, that he might have an +opportunity to prove his new determination. + +So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of +them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with +Henriette’s mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance. +George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he +was really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always +been as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and +sweetness had awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life +had been full of blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of +ideas as to what the blunders of a tender and generous young man like +George might be. So she only loved him the more for his humility, and +was flattered to have such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such +moods of exaltation. When he told her that all men were bad, and that +no man was worthy of such a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and +wiped away tears from her eyes. + +It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the +real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new +resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really +mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his +past. + +It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young +girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with +unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young +man could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the +importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter, +he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He +made haste to shy off from the subject of his “badness” and to turn the +conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + +“If I am going to be so good,” he said, “don’t forget that you will have +to be good also!” + +“I will try,” said Henriette, who was still serious. + +“You will have to try hard,” he persisted. “You will find that you have +a very jealous husband.” + +“Will I?” said Henriette, beaming with happiness--for when a woman is +very much in love she doesn’t in the least object to the man’s being +jealous. + +“Yes, indeed,” smiled George. “I’ll always be watching you.” + +“Watching me?” echoed the girl with a surprised look. + +And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be +no need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it +at such a time. That was one of the ideas which he had brought with him +from his world of evil. + +The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious +husband; nothing could ever change that fact, for there was something in +his own conscience which he could not get out, and which would make it +impossible for him to be at ease as a married man. It was the memory of +something which had happened earlier in his life before he met Lizette. +There had been one earlier experience, with the wife of his dearest +friend. She had been much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an +interest in George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years +the intrigue continued, and George considered it a good solution of a +young man’s problem. There had been no danger of contamination, for he +knew that his friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a jealous +man who watched his wife, and did not permit her to contract those new +relations which are always dangerous. As for George, he helped in this +worthy work, keeping the woman in terror of some disease. He told her +that almost all men were infected, for he hoped by this means to keep +her from deceiving him. + +I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want anyone +to think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to point out that +people feel differently about these matters in France. In judging the +unfortunate young man, we must judge him by the customs of his own +country, and not by ours. In France, they are accustomed to what is +called the MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. The young girl is not permitted to go +about and make her own friends and decide which one of them she prefers +for her husband; on the contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training +often is of a religious nature, and her marriage is a matter of +business, to be considered and decided by her parents and those of the +young man. Now, whatever we may think right, it is humanly certain that +where marriages are made in that way, the need of men and women for +sympathy and for passionate interest will often lead to the forming of +irregular relationships after marriage. It is not possible to present +statistics as to the number of such irregular relationships in Parisian +society; but in the books which he read and in the plays which he saw, +George found everything to encourage him to think that it was a romantic +and delightful thing to keep up a secret intrigue with the wife of his +best friend. + +It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling the +truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it is not +customary to tell this about men, either in real life or in novels. +There is a great deal of concealment in the world about matters of sex; +and in such matters the truth-telling man is apt to suffer in reputation +in comparison with the truth-concealing one. + +Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. It had +happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and this had so +affected the guilty pair that they had felt their relationship was no +longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse her grief alone, and +George had been so deeply affected that he had avoided affairs and +entanglements with women until his meeting with Lizette. + +All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a deeper +impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it was now working +in his mind and marring his happiness. Here was a girl who loved him +with a noble and unselfish and whole-hearted love--and yet he would +never be able to trust her as she deserved, but would always have +suspicions lurking in the back of his mind. He would be unable to have +his friends intimate in his home, because of the memory of what he had +once done to a friend. It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it +is that Nature often finds ways of punishing us, without our even being +aware of it. + +That was all for the future, however. At present, George was happy. He +put his black sin behind him, feeling that he had obtained absolution +by his confession to Henriette. Day by day, as he realized his good +fortune, his round face beamed with more and yet more joy. + +He went for a little trip to Henriette’s home in the country. It was +a simple village, and they took walks in the country, and stopped to +refresh themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of M. Loches’ tenants. +Here was a rosy and buxom peasant woman, with a nursing child in her +arms. She was destined a couple of years later to be the foster-mother +of Henriette’s little girl and to play an important part in her life. +But the pair had no idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud +and happy mother, and Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to +childish delight. Then suddenly she looked up and saw that George was +watching her, and as she read his thoughts a beautiful blush suffused +her cheeks. + +As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in a kind +of ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; he had found +its supreme happiness, which was love. He was really getting quite mad +about Henriette, he told himself. He could hardly believe that the day +was coming when he would be able to clasp her in his arms. + +But in the blue sky of George’s happiness there was one little cloud of +storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so small that at first +he paid no attention to it at all. + +He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated it with +salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or two, when this +had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He remembered suddenly he +had heard about the symptoms of an unmentionable, dreadful disease, and +a vague terror took possession of him. + +For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, it was +absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the thought would +not be put away, and finally he went to a school friend, who was a man +of the world, and got him to talk on the subject. Of course, George had +to be careful, so that his friend should not suspect that he had any +special purpose in mind. + +The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; but one +was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. There were other +diseases which fellows got, which nearly every fellow had, and to which +none of them paid any attention. But one seldom met anyone who had the +red plague that George dreaded. + +“And yet,” he added, “according to the books, it isn’t so uncommon. +I suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap naturally wouldn’t +tell, when he knew it would damn him for life.” + +George had a sick sensation inside of him. “Is it as bad as that?” he +asked. + +“Of course,” said the other, “Should you want to have anything to do +with a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with him or +travel with him? You wouldn’t even want to shake hands with him!” + +“No, I suppose not,” said George, feebly. + +“I remember,” continued the other, “an old fellow who used to live out +in the country near me. He was not so very old, either, but he looked +it. He had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. People said he had +locomotor ataxia, but that really meant syphilis. We boys used to poke +all kinds of fun at him because one windy day his hat and his wig were +blown off together, and we discovered that he was as bald as an egg. +We used to make jokes about his automobile, as we called it. It had a +little handle in front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to +push, instead of an engine.” + +“How horrible!” remarked George with genuine feeling. + +“I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after,” continued the +friend, quite carelessly. “He could not steer any more, and also he lost +his voice. When you met him he would look at you as it he thought he was +talking, but all he could say was ‘Ga-ga-ga’.” + +George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told himself +over and over again that he was a fool, but still he could not get the +hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself brooding over it all day +and lying awake at night, haunted by images of himself in a wheel-chair, +and without any hair on his head. He realized that the sensible thing +would be for him to go to a doctor and make certain about his condition; +but he could not bring himself to face the ordeal--he was ashamed to +admit to a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + +He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy face. He +had less appetite, and his moods of depression became so frequent that +he could not hide then even from Henriette. She asked him once or twice +if there were not something the matter with him, and he laughed--a +forced and hurried laugh--and told her that he had sat up too late the +night before, worrying over the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a +cruel thing it was that a man who stood in the very gateway of such +a garden of delight should be tormented and made miserable by this +loathsome idea! + +The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George purchased +a medical book, dealing with the subject of the disease. Then, indeed, +he opened up a chamber of horrors; he made up his mind an abiding place +of ghastly images. In the book there were pictures of things so awful +that he turned white, and trembled like a leaf, and had to close the +volume and hide it in the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish +the pictures from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the +description of the first symptom of the disease, which seemed to +correspond exactly with his own. So at last he made up his mind he must +ascertain definitely the truth about his condition. + +He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard somewhere +a story about a young fellow who had fallen into the hands of a quack, +and been ruined forever. So he decided that he would consult only the +best authority. + +He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a +bookstore, and found that the author of one of these books was +practicing in Paris as a specialist. Two or three days elapsed before he +was able to get up the courage to call on this doctor. And oh, the shame +and horror of sitting in his waiting-room with the other people, none of +whom dared to look each other in the eyes! They must all be afflicted, +George thought, and he glanced at them furtively, looking for the +various symptoms of which he had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like +himself--merely victims of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of +dread pulled from off their backs? + +And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the doctor, +signaling to him. His turn had come! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every +appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock coat +he wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. Confused and +nervous as George was, he got a vague impression of the physician’s +richly furnished office, with its bronzes, marbles and tapestries. + +The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair before +his desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the perspiration +from his forehead, stammered out a few words, explaining his errand. Of +course, he said, it could not be true, but it was a man’s duty not +to take any chances in such a matter. “I have not been a man of loose +life,” he added; “I have not taken so many chances as other men.” + +The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance was all +that was necessary. Instead of discussing such questions, he would make +an examination. “We do not say positively in these cases until we have +made a blood test. That is the one way to avoid the possibility of +mistake.” + +A drop of blood was squeezed out of George’s finger on to a little glass +plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and the victim sat +alone in the office, deriving no enjoyment from the works of art which +surrounded him, but feeling like a prisoner who sits in the dock with +his life at stake while the jury deliberates. + +The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in his +office-chair. + +“Well, doctor?” asked George. He was trembling with terror. + +“Well,” was the reply, “there is no doubt whatever.” + +George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. “No doubt +whatever? In what sense?” + +“In the bad sense,” said the other. + +He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how George +turned page with terror. “Come,” he said, after a silence, “you must +have known the truth pretty well.” + +“No, no, sir!” exclaimed George. + +“Well,” said the other, “you have syphilis.” + +George was utterly stunned. “My God!” he exclaimed. + +The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and observed his +condition. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. Out of every seven men you meet +upon the street, in society, or at the theater, there is at least one +who has been in your condition. One out of seven--fifteen per cent!” + +George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. “I know +what I am going to do.” + +“And I know also,” said the doctor, with a smile. “There is your +prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have it put +up.” + +George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, “No, sir.” + +“Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does.” + +“No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know what I +am going to do.” + +Said the doctor: “Five times out of ten, in the chair where you are +sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each one believes +himself more unhappy than all the others; but after thinking it over, +and listening to me, they understand that this disease is a companion +with whom one can live. Just as in every household, one gets along at +the cost of mutual concessions, that’s all. Come, sir, I tell you again, +there is nothing about it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly +natural, perfectly common; it is an accident which can happen to any +one. It is a great mistake that people speak if this as the ‘French +Disease,’ for there is none which is more universal. Under the picture +of this disease, addressing myself to those who follow the oldest +profession in the world, I would write the famous phrase: ‘Here is your +master. It is, it was, or it must be.’” + +George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of his +coat, stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. “But, sir,” he +exclaimed, “I should have been spared!” + +“Why?” inquired the other. “Because you are a man of position, because +you are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of art in my +room. Do you imagine that such things have been presented to me by +chimney-sweeps?” + +“But, Doctor,” cried George, with a moan, “I have never been a +libertine. There was never any one, you understand me, never any one +could have been more careful in his pleasures. If I were to tell you +that in all my life I have only had two mistresses, what would you +answer to that?” + +“I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to bring +you to me.” + +“No, sir!” cried George. “It could not have been either of those women.” + He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, and then about +Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how much he adored her. He +could really use such a word--he loved her most tenderly. She was so +good--and he had thought himself so lucky! + +As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. “I had +everything,” he exclaimed, “everything a man needed! All who knew me +envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me off to that +miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My future is ruined, my whole +existence poisoned! What is to become of me? Everybody will avoid me--I +shall be a pariah, a leper!” + +He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, “Come, now! Would +it not be better that I should take myself out of the way? At least, I +should not suffer any more. You see that there could not be any one +more unhappy than myself--not any one, I tell you, sir, not any one!” + Completely overcome, he began to weep in his handkerchief. + +The doctor got up, and went to him. “You must be a man,” he said, “and +not cry like a child.” + +“But sir,” cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, +“if I had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with +chorus girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had +deserved it.” + +The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, “No, no! You would not say it. +However, it is of no matter--go on.” + +“I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I +had deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And +now, when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting +things, the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned--” + +“What is all this you are telling me?” asked the doctor, laughing. + +“Oh, I know, I know!” cried the other, and repeated what his friend +had told him about the man in a wheel-chair. “And they used to call me +handsome Raoul! That was my name--handsome Raoul!” + +“Now, my dear sir,” said the doctor, cheerfully, “wipe your eyes one +last time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and +hear me dry-eyed.” + +George obeyed mechanically. “But I give you fair warning,” he said, “you +are wasting your time.” + +“I tell you--” began the other. + +“I know exactly what you are going to tell me!” cried George. + +“Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here--run +along.” + +“Since I am here,” said the patient submissively, “I will hear you.” + +“Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the +perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you.” + +“Of course, it is your duty to tell me that.” + +“I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in +Paris, alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just +saying--wheel-chairs. One doesn’t see so many of them.” + +“No, that’s true,” said George. + +“And besides,” added the doctor, “a good many people who ride in them +are not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why +you should be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred +thousand. The disease is serious, nothing more.” + +“You admit that it is a serious disease?” argued George. + +“Yes.” + +“One of the most serious?” + +“Yes, but you have the good fortune--” + +“The GOOD fortune?” + +“Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected +with one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control.” + +“Yes, yes,” exclaimed George, “but the remedies are worse than the +disease.” + +“You deceive yourself,” replied the other. + +“You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?” + +“You can be.” + +“And that I am not condemned?” + +“I swear it to you.” + +“You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was +told--” + +The doctor laughed, contemptuously. “You were told, you were told! I’ll +wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls.” + +“Yes, naturally,” said George. “But I don’t see what they have to do +with it.” + +“Instead of teaching you such things,” was the reply, “it would have +been a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause +of diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the +contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the +most important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every +newspaper.” + +This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned +a little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way +subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the +name of this vile disease. + +“And yet,” pursued the doctor, “you publish romances about adultery!” + +“Yes,” said George, “that’s what the readers want.” + +“They don’t want the truth about venereal diseases,” exclaimed the +other. “If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that +adultery was romantic and interesting.” + +He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. +There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take +her as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive +you. “Take that from me,” added the doctor, “and teach it to your son, +when you have one.” + +George’s attention was caught by this last sentence. + +“You mean that I shall be able to have children?” he cried. + +“Certainly,” was the reply. + +“Healthy children?” + +“I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long +time, conscientiously, you have little to fear.” + +“That’s certain?” + +“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” + +George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. “Why, then,” + he exclaimed, “I shall be able to marry!” + +“You will be able to marry,” was the reply. + +“You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would +not expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?” + +“In three or four years,” said the doctor. + +“What!” cried George in consternation. “In three or four years? Not +before?” + +“Not before.” + +“How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just +now--” + +Said the doctor: “The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, +yourself--but you will be dangerous to others.” + +“But,” the young man cried, in despair, “I am to be married a month from +now.” + +“That is impossible.” + +“But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have +been published! I have given my word!” + +“Well, you are a great one!” the doctor laughed. “Just now you were +looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month.” + +“But, Doctor, it is necessary!” + +“But I forbid it.” + +“As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I +could be cured, naturally I didn’t want to commit suicide. And as soon +as I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular +life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married.” + +“No,” said the doctor. + +“Yes, yes!” persisted George, with blind obstinacy. “Why, Doctor, if I +didn’t marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something +you don’t understand. I, for my part--it is not that I am anxious to be +married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette’s little +brothers adored me. But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother +is crazy about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of +chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has the +family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a regular dragoon +for his principles--severe, violent. He never makes a joke of serious +things, and I tell you it would cost me dear, terribly dear. And, +besides, I have given my word.” + +“You must take back your word.” + +“You still insist?” exclaimed George, in despair. “But then, suppose +that it were possible, how could I take back my signature which I put at +the bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to pay in two months for +the attorney’s practice I have purchased!” + +“Sir,” said the doctor, “all these things--” + +“You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I should +never have disposed of my wife’s dowry until after the honeymoon!” + +“Sir,” said the doctor, again, “all these considerations are foreign to +me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, and I can only +tell you this: If you marry before three or four years, you will be a +criminal.” + +George broke out with a wild exclamation. “No sir, you are not merely a +physician! You are also a confessor! You are not merely a scientist; and +it is not enough for you that you observe me as you would some lifeless +thing in your laboratory, and say, ‘You have this; science says that; +now go along with you.’ All my existence depends upon you. It is +your duty to listen to me, because when you know everything you will +understand me, and you will find some way to cure me within a month.” + +“But,” protested the doctor, “I wear myself out telling you that such +means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as much as any +one can be certain, in less than three or four years.” + +George was almost beside himself. “I tell you you must find some means! +Listen to me, sir--if I don’t get married I don’t get the dowry! And +will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have signed?” + +“Oh,” said the doctor, dryly, “if that is the question, it is very +simple--I will give you a plan to get out of the affair. You will go +and get acquainted with some rich man; you will do everything you can to +gain his confidence; and when you have succeeded, you will plunder him.” + +George shook his head. “I am not in any mood for joking.” + +“I am not joking,” replied his adviser. “Rob that man, assassinate him +even--that would be no worse crime than you would commit in taking a +young girl in good health in order to get a portion of her dowry, +when at the same time you would have to expose her to the frightful +consequences of the disease which you would give her.” + +“Frightful consequences?” echoed George. + +“Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful.” + +“But, sir, you were saying to me just now--” + +“Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, suppressed a +little by our remedies, the disease remains mysterious, menacing, and +in its sum, sufficiently grave. So it would be an infamy to expose your +fiancee in order to avoid an inconvenience, however great that might +be.” + +But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that this +misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best attention? + +Said the other: “I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not absolutely +certain, it is probable. And there is another truth which I wish to +tell you now: our remedies are not infallible. In a certain number of +cases--a very small number, scarcely five per cent--they have remained +without effect. You might be one of those exceptions, your wife might be +one. What then?” + +“I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should have to +expect the worst catastrophes.” + +George sat in a state of complete despair. + +“Tell me what to do, then,” he said. + +“I can tell you only one thing: don’t marry. You have a most serious +blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one will ever come to +claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless creditor will come all +at once, presenting a brutal demand for immediate payment. Come now--you +are a business man. Marriage is a contract; to marry without saying +anything--that means to enter into a bargain by means of passive +dissimulation. That’s the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it +ought to come under the law.” + +George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could think +of nothing to say to it. + +“What shall I do?” he asked. + +The other answered, “Go to your father-in-law and tell him frankly the +truth.” + +“But,” cried the young man, wildly, “there will be no question then of +three or four years’ delay. He will refuse his consent altogether.” + +“If that is the case,” said the doctor, “don’t tell him anything.” + +“But I have to give him a reason, or I don’t know what he will do. He +is the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, and again my +fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From everything I have said +to you, you may perhaps think I am a mercenary man. It is true that I +want to get along in the world, that is only natural. But Henriette has +such qualities; she is so much better than I, that I love her, really, +as people love in novels. My greatest grief--it is not to give up the +practice I have bought--although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow to +me; my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only see +her, if you only knew her--then you would understand. I have her picture +here--” + +The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph to the +doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with embarrassment. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am ridiculous. That happens to me, +sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place--I love her so!” His voice +broke. + +“My dear boy,” said the doctor, feelingly, “that is exactly why you +ought not to marry her.” + +“But,” he cried, “if I back out without saying anything they will guess +the truth, and I shall be dishonored.” + +“One is not dishonored because one is ill.” + +“But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, yesterday--I +should have laughed at anyone who had got into such a plight; I should +have avoided him, I should have despised him!” And suddenly George +broke down again. “Oh!” he cried, “if I were the only one to suffer; but +she--she is in love with me. I swear it to you! She is so good; and she +will be so unhappy!” + +The doctor answered, “She would be unhappier later on.” + +“It will be a scandal!” George exclaimed. + +“You will avoid one far greater,” the other replied. + +Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his seat. He +took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and laid them quietly +upon the doctor’s desk--paying the fee in cash, so that he would not +have to give his name and address. He took up his gloves, his cane and +his hat, and rose. + +“I will think it over,” he said. “I thank you, Doctor. I will come back +next week as you have told me. That is--probably I will.” + +He was about to leave. + +The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. “No,” he +said, “I shan’t see you next week, and you won’t even think it over. You +came here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice of me, with the +intention of paying no heed to it, unless it conformed to your wishes. +A superficial honesty has driven you to take that chance in order to +satisfy your conscience. You wanted to have somebody upon whom you could +put off, bye and bye, the consequences of an act whose culpability you +understand! No, don’t protest! Many of those who come here think and act +as you think, and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against +my will has generally been the source of such calamities that now I am +always afraid of not having been persuasive enough, and it even seems to +me that I am a little to blame for these misfortunes. I should have been +able to prevent them; they would not have happened if those who are the +authors of them knew what I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to +me, sir, that you are going to break off that marriage!” + +George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. “I cannot swear +to you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again that I will think it +over.” + +“That WHAT over?” + +“What you have told me.” + +“What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new objections; and +I have answered those which you have presented to me; therefore, your +mind ought to be made up.” + +Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he had +made inquiry about these matters before he had come to the doctor. But +he said that he was not al all certain that he had this disease. The +doctor declared it, and perhaps it was true, but the most learned +physicians were sometimes deceived. + +He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. “Dr. +Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is no longer +contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. Today you produce +new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I want to do what’s right, +but surely I have the right to think it over. And when I think it +over, I realize that all the evils with which you threaten me are only +probable evils. In spite of your desire to terrify me, you have been +forced to admit that possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome +consequence for my wife.” + +The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, “Go on. +I will answer you afterwards.” + +And George blundered ahead in his desperation. “Your remedies are +powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you speak to +befall me, I would have to be among the rare exceptions--also my +wife would have to be among the number of those rare exceptions. If a +mathematician were to apply the law of chance to these facts, the result +of his operation would show but slight chance of a catastrophe, as +compared with the absolute certainty of a series of misfortunes, +sufferings, troubles, tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which +the breaking of my engagement would cause. So I say that the +mathematician--who is, even more than you, a man of science, a man of +a more infallible science--the mathematician would conclude that wisdom +was not with you doctors, but with me.” + +“You believe it, sir!” exclaimed the other. “But you deceive yourself.” + And he continued, driving home his point with a finger which seemed to +George to pierce his very soul. “Twenty cases identical with your own +have been patiently observed, from the beginning to the end. Nineteen +times the woman was infected by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen +times out of twenty! You believe that the disease is without danger, and +you take to yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the +chance of your being one of those exceptions, for whom our remedies +are without effect. Very well; it is necessary that you should know the +disease which your wife, without being consulted, will run a chance of +contracting. Take that book, sir; it is the work of my teacher. Read it +yourself. Here, I have marked the passage.” + +He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to take it. + +“You do not wish to read it?” the other continued. “Listen to me.” + And in a voice trembling with passion, he read: “‘I have watched the +spectacle of an unfortunate young woman, turned into a veritable monster +by means of a syphilitic infection. Her face, or rather let me say +what was left of her face, was nothing but a flat surface seamed with +scars.’” + +George covered his face, exclaiming, “Enough, sir! Have mercy!” + +But the other cried, “No, no! I will go to the very end. I have a +duty to perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility of your +nerves.” + +He went on reading: “‘Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the ridge +of the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.’” But then at the young man’s +protests, his resolution failed him. “Come,” he said, “I will stop. I am +sorry for you--you who accept for another person, for the woman you say +you love, the chance of a disease which you cannot even endure to hear +described. Now, from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who +am speaking, it is the book. ‘From a miserable scoundrel who was not +afraid to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary eruption.’ All +that was established later on--‘and who, moreover, had thought it best +not to let his wife be treated for fear of awakening her suspicions!’” + +The doctor closed the book with a bang. “What that man has done, sir, is +what you want to do.” + +George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the doctor in +the eye. “I should deserve all those epithets and still more brutal ones +if I should marry, knowing that my marriage would cause such horrors. +But that I do not believe. You and your teachers--you are specialists, +and consequently you are driven to attribute everything to the disease +you make the subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional +case, holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be +talked about enough.” + +“I have heard that argument before,” said the doctor, with an effort at +patience. + +“Let me go on, I beg you,” pleaded George. “You have told me that out of +every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have told me that there are +one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and going, alert, and apparently +well.” + +“It is true,” said the doctor, “that there are one hundred thousand +who are actually at this moment not visibly under the influence of the +disease. But many thousands have passed into our hospitals, victims of +the most frightful ravages that our poor bodies can support. These--you +do not see them, and they do not count for you. But again, if it +concerned no one but yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I +declare to you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, +is that you have not the right to expose a human creature to such +chances--rare, as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. What +have you to answer to that?” + +“Nothing,” stammered George, brought to his knees at last. “You are +right about that. I don’t know what to think.” + +“And in forbidding you marriage,” continued the doctor, “is it the same +as if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told you that you +could never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out to you every hope; but +I demand of you a delay of three or four years, because it will take me +that time to find out if you are among the number of those unfortunate +ones whom I pity with all my heart, for whom the disease is without +mercy; because during that time you will be dangerous to your wife and +to your children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you.” + +Here the doctor’s voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving +eloquence. “Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young for such +things not to move you; you are not insensible to duty. It is impossible +that I shan’t be able to find a way to your heart, that I shan’t be +able to make you obey me. My emotion in speaking to you proves that I +appreciate your suffering, that I suffer with you. It is in the name of +my sincerity that I implore you. You have admitted it--that you have not +the right to expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your +wife that you strike; you may attack in her your own children. I exclude +you for a moment from my thought--you and her. It is in the name of +these innocents that I implore you; it is the future, it is the race +that I defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out of the twenty households +of which I spoke, only fifteen had children; these fifteen had +twenty-eight. Do you know how many out of these twenty-eight survived? +Three, sir! Three out of twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a +murderer of children. Herod reigns in France, and over all the earth, +and begins each year his massacre of the innocents; and if it be not +blasphemy against the sacredness of life, I say that the most happy are +those who have disappeared. Visit our children’s hospitals! We know too +well the child of syphilitic parents; the type is classical; the doctors +can pick it out anywhere. Those little old creatures who have the +appearance of having already lived, and who have kept the stigmata of +all out infirmities, of all our decay. They are the victims of fathers +who have married, being ignorant of what you know--things which I should +like to go and cry out in the public places.” + +The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: “I have told +you all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the pros and +cons; sum up the possible misfortunes and the certain miseries. But +disregard yourself, and consider that there are in one side of the +scales the misfortunes of others, and in the other your own. Take care +that you are just.” + +George was at last overcome. “Very well,” he said, “I give way. I +won’t get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a delay of six +months. More than that, I cannot do.” + +The doctor exclaimed, “I need three years--I need four years!” + +“No, Doctor!” persisted George. “You can cure me in less time than +that.” + +The other answered, “No! No! No!” + +George caught him by the hand, imploringly. “Yes! Science in all +powerful!” + +“Science is not God,” was the reply. “There are no longer any miracles.” + +“If only you wanted to do it!” cried the young man, hysterically. “You +are a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some new plan with +me; give me double the dose, ten times the does; make me suffer. I give +myself up to you; I will endure everything--I swear it! There ought to +be some way to cure me within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I +can’t answer for myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my +wife, in the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for +them!” + +The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. “Enough, sir!” he +cried. “Enough!” + +But nothing could stop the wretched man. “On my knees!” he cried. “I +put myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only you would do it! I would +bless you; I would adore you, as one adores a god! All my gratitude, all +my life--half my fortune! For mercy’s sake, Doctor, do something; invent +something; make some discovery--have pity!” + +The doctor answered gravely, “Do you wish me to do more for you than for +the others?” + +George answered, unblushingly, ‘answered, unblushingly, “Yes!” He was +beside himself with terror and distress. + +The other’s reply was delivered in a solemn tone. “Understand, sir, +for every one of out patients we do all that we can, whether it be the +greatest personage, or the last comer to out hospital clinic. We have no +secrets in reserve for those who are more fortunate, or less fortunate +than the others, and who are in a hurry to be cured.” + +George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and then +suddenly bowed his head. “Good-by, Doctor,” he answered. + +“Au revoir, sir,” the other corrected--with what proved to be prophetic +understanding. For George was destined to see him again--even though he +had made up his mind to the contrary! + + + +CHAPTER III + +George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to make; but +there was never very much doubt what his decision would be. One the one +hand was the definite certainty that if he took the doctor’s advice, he +would wreck his business prospects, and perhaps also lose the woman he +loved. On the other hand were vague and uncertain possibilities which it +was difficult for him to make real to himself. It was all very well to +wait a while to be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four +years--that was simply preposterous! + +He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this time who +would not be so particular, who would be willing to take some trouble +to cure him quickly. He began to notice the advertisements which +were scattered over the pages of the newspapers he read. There were +apparently plenty of doctors in Paris who could cure him, who were +willing to guarantee to cure him. After much hesitation, he picked out +one whose advertisement sounded the most convincing. + +The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not +encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. +The doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with +anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was +evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter +with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, +he could cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great +discoveries made--new methods which had not reached the bulk of the +profession. He laughed at the idea of three or four years. That was +the way with those specialists! When one got forty francs for a +consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out the case. There were +tricks in the medical trade, as in all others. A doctor had to live; +when he had a big name, he had to live expensively. + +The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the +shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would +surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six +months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there +was no need for him to worry himself--things would come out all right. +So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his +shoulders. + +He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter +settled. “Henriette,” he said, “I have to tell you something very +important--something rather painful. I hope you won’t let it disturb you +too much.” + +She was gazing at him in alarm. “What is it?” + +“Why,” he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had +begun the matter so precipitately, “for some time I’ve not been feeling +quite well. I’ve been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?” + +“Why no!” exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + +“Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a +possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it might +be--I might possibly have lung trouble.” + +“George!” cried the girl in horror. + +He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be +all right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he +thought--to be so much worried! + +“George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have +been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so +much--” + +“I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is +necessary. I shall be all right--the doctor assured me there was no +doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is +the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am +perfectly well.” + +Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + +“I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to +you.” + +“But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!” + +“We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being +married to a consumptive.” + +The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a +consumptive; she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was +willing to take her chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But +George insisted--he was sure that he ought not to marry for six months. + +“Did the doctor advise that?” asked Henriette. + +“No,” he replied, “but I made up my mind after talking to him that I +must do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to forgive me, and to +believe that I know best.” + +George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had to give +way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue persisting. + +George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped this +would settle the matter without further discussion. But in this he was +disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence with long arguments +and protestations from Henriette’s father and from his own mother. +It seemed such a singular whim. Everybody persisted in diagnosing his +symptoms, in questioning him about what the doctor had said, who the +doctor was, how he had come to consult him--all of which, of course, was +very embarrassing to George, who could not see why they had to make such +a fuss. He took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he could +imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house--and it was +all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look of dismay on +his poor mother’s face. After all, however, he told himself that he +was not deceiving her, for the disease he had was quite as serious as +tuberculosis. + +It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that could be +done about it; the marriage had been put off for six months, and in the +meantime he and Henriette had to control their impatience and make the +best of their situation. Six months was a long time; but what if it had +been three or four years, as the other doctor had demanded? That would +have been a veritable sentence of death. + +George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and careful in +his habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor prescribed +for him; and day by day he watched, and to his great relief saw the +troublesome symptoms gradually disappearing. He began to take heart, +and to look forward to life with his former buoyancy. He had had a bad +scare, but now everything was going to be all right. + +Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was cured. He +really was cured, so far as he could see. He was sorry, now, that he +had asked for so long a delay from Henriette; but the new date for the +wedding had been announced, and it would be awkward to change it again. +George told himself that he was being “extra careful,” and he was repaid +for the inconvenience by the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. +He was relieved that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent +any more tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. +Sometimes he had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had had to +do; but he told himself that it was for Henriette’s sake. She loved him +as much as he loved her. She would have suffered needless agonies had +she known the truth; she would never have got over it--so it would have +been a crime to tell her. + +He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he had +thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any physical harm +that the dread disease might do to him. How could he possibly persuade +himself to give her up, when he knew that the separation would break her +heart and ruin her whole life? No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was +his duty to use his own best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly +as possible. After that he would be true to her, he would take no more +chances of a loathsome disease. + +The secret he was hiding made him feel humble--made him unusually gentle +in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, and she +was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his sufferings were +because of his love for her, and the delay which he had imposed out of +his excess of conscientiousness. So she loved him more and more, and +never was there a happier bride than Henriette Loches, when at last the +great day arrived. + +They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned to live +in the home which had belonged to George’s father. The investment in +the notary’s practice had proven a good one, and so life held out every +promise for the young couple. They were divinely happy. + +After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings that +she was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that the cup of his +earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped far into the background +of his thoughts, like an evil dream which he had forgotten. He put away +the medicines in the bottom of his trunk and dismissed the whole matter +from his mind. Henriette was well--a very picture of health, as every +one agreed. The doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he +declared, and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy +as she attended her daughter-in-law. + +Henriette went for the summer to her father’s place in the provinces, +which she and George had visited before their marriage. They drove out +one day to the farm where they had stopped. The farmer’s wife had a +week-old baby, the sight of which made Henriette’s heart leap with +delight. He was such a very healthy baby that George conceived the idea +that this would be the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette +herself should not be able to do it. + +They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As George paced +the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his evil dreams came back +to him. He remembered all the dreadful monstrosities of which he had +read--infants that were born of syphilitic parents. His heart stood +still when the nurse came into the room to tell him the tidings. + +But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a fool, +he told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed at the +wonderful little mite of life which was the fruit of his love. It was a +perfect child, the doctor said--a little small, to be sure, but that was +a defect which would soon be remedied. George kneeled by the bedside and +kissed the hand of his wife, and went out of the room feeling as if he +had escaped from a tomb. + +All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about the house +again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the baby did not gain +quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and it was decided that the +country air would be better for her. So George and his mother paid a +visit to the farm in the country, and arranged that the country woman +should put her own child to nurse elsewhere and should become the +foster-mother of little Gervaise. + +George paid a good price for the service, far more than would have been +necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted with the idea of +taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of her district. George came +home and told his wife about this and had a merry time as he pictured +the woman boasting about it to the travelers who stopped at her door. +“Yes, ma’am, a great piece of luck I’ve got, ma’am. I’ve got the +daughter of the daughter of our deputy--at your service ma’am. My! +But she is as fat as out little calf--and so clever! She understands +everything. A great piece of luck for me, ma’am. She’s the daughter +of the daughter of our deputy!” Henriette was vastly entertained, +discovering in her husband a new talent, that of an actor. + +As for George’s mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from staying in +the country with the child. She went twice a week, to make sure that all +went well. Henriette and she lived with the child’s picture before them; +they spent their time sewing on caps and underwear--all covered with +laces and frills and pink and blue ribbons. Every day, when George +came home from his work, he found some new article completed, and was +ravished by the scent of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky +man he was! + +You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole city +of Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his early sins. +There was, for instance, the deception he had practiced upon his friend, +away back in the early days. Now he had friends of his own, and he could +not keep these friends from visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the +fear that some one of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even +in the midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was +hanging upon his every word, trembling with delight when she heard his +latchkey in the door--still he could not drive away the horrible thought +that perhaps all this might be deception. + +There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend of +Henriette’s before her marriage; he had even been in love with her at +one time. And now he came sometimes to the house--once or twice when +George was away! What did that mean? George wondered. He brooded over +it all day, but dared not drop any hint to Henriette. But he took to +setting little traps to catch her; for instance, he would call her up on +the telephone, disguising his voice. “Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame +Dupont?” And when she answered, “It is I, sir,” all unsuspecting, he +would inquire, “Is George there?” + +“No, sir,” she replied. “Who is this speaking?” + +He answered, “It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?” He wanted to +see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, “Very well, Gustave. +How are you?”--in a tone which would betray too great intimacy! + +But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound like +Gustave’s. She asked in bewilderment, “What?” and then again, “What?” + +So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, had to +burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he came home and +teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on his side. Henriette +had guessed the real meaning of his joke! She did not really mind--she +took his jealousy as a sign of love, and was pleased with it. It is +not until a third party come upon the scene that jealousy begins to be +annoying. + +So she had a merry time teasing George. “You are a great fellow! +You have no idea how well I understand you--and after only a year of +marriage!” + +“You know me?” said the husband, curiously. (It is always so fascinating +when anybody thinks she know us better than we know ourselves!) “Tell +me, what do you think about me?” + +“You are restless,” said Henriette. “You are suspicious. You pass your +time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise schemes to get them +out.” + +“Oh, you think that, do you?” said George, pleased to be talked about. + +“I am not annoyed,” she answered. “You have always been that way--and I +know that it’s because at bottom you are timid and disposed to suffer. +And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for not having confidence in a +wife’s intimate friends--lady-killer that you are!” + +George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, so he +laughed gayly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said--“upon my word I +don’t. But it is a trick I would not advise everybody to try.” + +There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George’s having things +to conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the six months’ delay +in the marriage--about which Henriette would never stop talking. She +begrudged the time, because she had got the idea that little Gervaise +was six months younger than she otherwise would have been. “That shows +your timidity again,” she would say. “The idea of your having imagined +yourself a consumptive!” + +Poor George had to defend himself. “I didn’t tell you half the truth, +because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had the beginning of +chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly whenever I took a breath, a +deep breath--look, like this. Yes--I felt--here and there, on each side +of the chest, a heaviness--a difficulty--” + +“The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!” + exclaimed Henriette. “And making our baby six months younger than she +ought to be!” + +“But,” laughed George, “that means that we shall have her so much the +longer! She will get married six months later!” + +“Oh, dear me,” responded the other, “let us not talk about such things! +I am already worried, thinking she will get married some day.” + +“For my part,” said George, “I see myself mounting with her on my arm +the staircase of the Madeleine.” + +“Why the Madeleine?” exclaimed his wife. “Such a very magnificent +church!” + +“I don’t know--I see her under her white veil, and myself all dressed +up, and with an order.” + +“With an order!” laughed Henriette. “What do you expect to do to win an +order?” + +“I don’t know that--but I see myself with it. Explain it as you will, I +see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I were there--the +Swiss guard with his white stockings and the halbard, and the little +milliner’s assistants and the scullion lined up staring.” + +“It is far off--all that,” said Henriette. “I don’t like to talk of it. +I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up--but then I change my +mind and think I don’t. I know your mother doesn’t. Do you know, I don’t +believe she ever thinks about anything but her little Gervaise.” + +“I believe you,” said the father. “The child can certainly boast of +having a grandmother who loves her.” + +“Also, I adore your mother,” declared Henriette. “She makes me forget my +misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so good!” + +“We are all like that in our family,” put in George. + +“Really,” laughed the wife. “Well, anyhow--the last time that we went +down in the country with her--you had gone out, I don’t know where you +had gone--” + +“To see the sixteenth-century chest,” suggested the other. + +“Oh, yes,” laughed Henriette; “your famous chest!” (You must excuse this +little family chatter of theirs--they were so much in love with each +other!) + +“Don’t let’s talk about that,” objected George. “You were saying--?” + +“You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think--” + +“Or at the wine merchant’s! Go on, go on.” + +“Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was all +alone with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the baby--all +sorts of nonsense, pretty little words--stupid, if you like, but tender. +I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I wanted to weep.” + +“Perhaps she called her ‘my dear little Savior’?” + +“Exactly! Did you hear her?” + +“No--but that is what she used to call me when I was little.” + +“It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized her, and +laughed!” + +“Oh, yes!” + +“And then another time, when I went into her room--mother’s room--she +didn’t hear me because the door was open, but I saw her. She was in +ecstasy before the little boots which the baby wore at baptism--you +know?” + +“Yes, yes.” + +“Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!” + +“And what did you say then?” + +“Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the threshold a +great kiss to the dear grandmother!” + +Henriette sat for a moment in thought. “It didn’t take her very long,” + she remarked, “today when she got the letter from the nurse. I imagine +she caught the eight-fifty-nine train!” + +“Any yet,” laughed George, “it was really nothing at all.” + +“Oh no,” said his wife. “Yet after all, perhaps she was right--and +perhaps I ought to have gone with her.” + +“How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are +told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply +playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I’ll bet +you something. What would you like to bet? You don’t want to? Come, I’ll +bet you a lovely necklace--you know, with a big pearl.” + +“No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I +should be too much afraid of winning.” + +“Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as +you love her--my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her +EXACT age?” + +Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + +“Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and +eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. +Then we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” + Then, too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase +again. + +“If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk +now,” said Henriette. + +He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and +pay some calls?” + +Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + +“Run along, little wife,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do in the +meantime. You won’t be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in +my papers. Bye-bye.” + +“Bye-bye,” said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so +kisses before she went away to dress. + +Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big +armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. +Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to +be, since the letter had come from the baby’s nurse? Madame Dupont had +gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph +at once--but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + +George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for +a moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put +his geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But +then suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced +about, and started up with an exclamation, “Mother!” + +Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was +thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her +countenance. + +“What’s the matter?” he cried. “We didn’t get any telegram from you; we +were not expecting you till tomorrow.” + +Still his mother did not speak. + +“Henriette was just going out,” he exclaimed nervously; “I had better +call her.” + +“No!” said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. “I did +not want Henriette to be here when I arrived.” + +“But what’s the matter?” cried George. + +Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read something +terrible in the mother’s manner, and he found himself trembling +violently. + +“I have brought back the child and the nurse,” said Madame Dupont. + +“What! Is the little one sick?” + +“Yes.” + +“What’s the matter with her?” + +“Nothing dangerous--for the moment, at least.” + +“We must send and get the doctor!” cried George. + +“I have just come from the doctor’s,” was the reply. “He said it was +necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up on the +bottle.” + +Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to ask +the next question. Try as he would, he could not keep his voice from +weakening. “Well, now, what is her trouble?” + +The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At last she +said, faintly, “I don’t know.” + +“You didn’t ask?” + +“I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went.” + +“Ah!” whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them spoke. +“Why?” he inquired at last. + +“Because--he--the nurse’s doctor--had frightened me so--” + +“Truly?” + +“Yes. It is a disease--” again she stopped. + +George cried, in a voice of agony, “and then?” + +“Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be +satisfied with our ordinary doctor.” + +“And what did he answer?” + +“He said that if we had the means it would really be better to consult a +specialist.” + +George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she +was not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. +“And--where did he send you?” + +His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. “Here,” + she said. + +And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself +from tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first +consulted about his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases! + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was all George could do to control his voice. “You--you went to see +him?” he stammered. + +“Yes,” said his mother. “You know him?” + +“No, no,” he answered. “Or--that is--I have met him, I think. I don’t +know.” And then to himself, “My God!” + +There was a silence. “He is coming to talk to you,” said the mother, at +last. + +George was hardly able to speak. “Then he is very much disturbed?” + +“No, but he wants to talk to you.” + +“To me?” + +“Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, ‘Madame, it is impossible +for me to continue to attend this child unless I have had this very day +a conversation with the father.’ So I said ‘Very well,’ and he said he +would come at once.” + +George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “My poor little +daughter!” he whispered to himself. + +“Yes,” said the mother, her voice breaking, “she is, indeed, a poor +little daughter!” + +A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? Hearing +the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were all a-quiver +with the strain she had been under. A servant came in and spoke to her, +and she said to George, “It is the doctor. If you need me, I shall be in +the next room.” + +Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an +executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and he +stood for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost overcome +with emotion. Then he said, “Good-day, doctor.” As the man stared at +him, surprised and puzzled, he added, “You don’t recognize me?” + +The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him to break +out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. “You!” he exclaimed. “It is +you!” + +At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, “You +got married, and you have a child! After all that I told you! You are a +wretch!” + +“Sir,” cried George, “let me explain to you!” + +“Not a word!” exclaimed the other. “There can be no explanation for what +you have done.” + +A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. Finally, +stretching out his arms, he pleaded, “You will take care of my little +daughter all the same, will you not?” + +The other turned away with disgust. “Imbecile!” he said. + +George did not hear the word. “I was able to wait only six months,” he +murmured. + +The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, “That is enough, +sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong even to let you see +my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I have nothing +to do here but with the present and with the future--with the infant and +with the nurse.” + +“She isn’t in danger?” cried George. + +“The nurse is in danger of being contaminated.” + +But George had not been thinking about the nurse. “I mean my child,” he +said. + +“Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing.” + +George waited; after a while he began, “You were saying about the nurse. +Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better than I.” + +“As you wish,” was the reply. + +The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible distress. +“I have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so that my wife--so that +no one will know. If my wife learned that it is I who am the cause--! It +is for her that I implore you! She--she isn’t to blame.” + +Said the doctor: “I will do everything in my power that she may be kept +ignorant of the true nature of the disease.” + +“Oh, how I thank you!” murmured George. “How I thank you!” + +“Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will consent to +lie.” + +“And my mother?” + +“Your mother knows the truth.” + +“But--” + +“I pray you, sir--we have enough to talk about, and very serious +matters.” + +So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered and +greeted the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to keep the +signs of grief and terror from her face. She signed to the doctor to +take a seat, and then seated herself by a little table near him. + +“Madame Dupont,” he began, “I have prescribed a course of treatment for +the child. I hope to be able to improve its condition, and to prevent +any new developments. But my duty and yours does not stop there; if +there is still time, it is necessary to protect the health of the +nurse.” + +“Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?” said she. + +“The woman must stop nursing the child.” + +“You mean we have to change the nurse?” + +“Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, either by +that nurse or by any other nurse.” + +“But why, sir?” + +“Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave her +milk.” + +“But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle--our little one--she will +die!” + +And suddenly George burst out into sobs. “Oh, my poor little daughter! +My God, my God!” + +Said the doctor, “If the feeding is well attended to, with sterilized +milk--” + +“That can do very well for healthy infants,” broke in Madame Dupont. +“But at the age of three months one cannot take from the breast a baby +like ours, frail and ill. More than any other such an infant has need of +a nurse--is that not true?” + +“Yes,” the doctor admitted, “that is true. But--” + +“In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of the +nurse, you understand perfectly well that my choice is made.” + +Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose head was +buried in his arms. “Madame,” he said, “your love for that baby has just +caused you to utter something ferocious! It is not for you to choose. It +is not for you to choose. I forbid the nursing. The health of that woman +does not belong to you.” + +“No,” cried the grandmother, wildly, “nor does the health of out child +belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope is in giving +it more care than any other child; and you would wish that I put it +upon a mode of nourishment which the doctors condemn, even for vigorous +infants! You expect that I will let myself be taken in like that? I +answer you: she shall have the milk which she needs, my poor little one! +If there was a single thing that one could do to save her--I should be +a criminal to neglect it!” And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious +scorn, “The nurse! The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty--we +shall take care of her, repay her. But our child before all! No sir, +no! Everything that can be done to save our baby I shall do, let it cost +what it will. To do what you say--you don’t realize it--it would be as +if I should kill the child!” In the end the agonized woman burst into +tears. “Oh, my poor little angel! My little savior!” + +George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these last +words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with his foot, he +tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent physical pain. “Oh, +oh, oh!” he cried. “My little child! My little child!” And then, in a +horrified whisper to himself, “I am a wretch! A criminal!” + +“Madame,” said the doctor, “you must calm yourself; you must both calm +yourselves. You will not help out the situation by lamentations. You +must learn to take it with calmness.” + +Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort recovered +her self-control. “You are right, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “I ask +your pardon; but if you only knew what that child means to me! I lost +one at that age. I am an old woman, I am a widow--I had hardly hoped to +live long enough to be a grandmother. But, as you say--we must be calm.” + She turned to the young man, “Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor way to +show our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us talk, +Doctor, and seriously--coldly. But I declare to you that nothing will +ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when I know that it might +kill her. That is all I can say.” + +The doctor replied: “This isn’t the first time that I find myself in +the present situation. Madame, I declare to you that always--ALWAYS, +you understand--persons who have rejected my advice have had reason to +repent it cruelly.” + +“The only thing of which I should repent--” began the other. + +“You simply do not know,” interrupted the doctor, “what such a nurse is +capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness--legitimate +bitterness, you understand--joined to the rapacity, the cupidity, the +mischief-making impulse--might inspire these people to do. For them the +BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an enemy; and when they find themselves +in position to avenge their inferiority, they are ferocious.” + +“But what could the woman do?” + +“What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against you.” + +“But she is much too stupid to have that idea.” + +“Others will put it into her mind.” + +“She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses.” + +“And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and stupidity? +Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance.” + +“Why, surely,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “such a thing was never heard +of! Do you mean that?” + +“I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there has +been certainty, the parents have lost their case.” + +“But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like ours--not +when it is a question of saving the life of a poor little innocent!” + +“Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented.” + +Here George broke in. “I can give you the dates of the decisions.” He +rose from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be useful. “I have +the books,” he said, and took one from the case and brought it to the +doctor. + +“All of that is no use--” interposed the mother. + +But the doctor said to George, “You will be able to convince yourself. +The parents have been forced once or twice to pay the nurse a regular +income, and at other times they have had to pay her an indemnity, of +which the figure has varied between three and eight thousand francs.” + +Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. “Never fear, sir! If there +should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We shall be able to pay +and choose the best--and he would demand, without doubt, which of the +two, the nurse or the child, has given the disease to the other.” + +The doctor was staring at her in horror. “Do you not perceive that would +be a monstrous thing to do?” + +“Oh, I would not have to say it,” was the reply. “The lawyer would see +to it--is not that his profession? My point is this: by one means or +another he would make us win our case.” + +“And the scandal that would result,” replied the other. “Have you +thought of that?” + +Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. “Doctor, +permit me to give you a little information. In cases of this sort, the +names are never printed.” + +“Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings.” + +“That’s true.” + +“And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to print the +judgment?” + +“What won’t they stoop to,” exclaimed Madame Dupont--“those filthy +journals!” + +“Ah,” said the other, “and see what a scandal? What a shame it would be +to you!” + +“The doctor is right, mother,” exclaimed the young man. + +But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. “We will prevent the woman from +taking any steps; we will give her what she demands from us.” + +“But then,” said the other, “you will give yourselves up to the risk of +blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up for over twelve +years.” + +“If you will permit me, Doctor,” said George, timidly, “she could be +made to sign a receipt.” + +“For payment in full?” asked the doctor, scornfully. + +“Even so.” + +“And then,” added his mother, “she would be more than delighted to go +back to her country with a full purse. She would be able to buy a little +house and a bit of ground--in that country one doesn’t need so much in +order to live.” + +At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse entered. She +was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly bursting with health. +When she spoke one got the impression that her voice was more than she +could contain. It did not belong in a drawing-room, but under the open +sky of her country home. “Sir,” she said, addressing the doctor, “the +baby is awake.” + +“I will go and see her,” was the reply; and then to Madame Dupont, “We +will take up this conversation later on.” + +“Certainly,” said the mother. “Will you have need of the nurse?” + +“No, Madame,” the doctor answered. + +“Nurse,” said the mother, “sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I wish to +speak to you.” As the doctor went out, she took her son to one side and +whispered to him, “I know the way to arrange everything. If we let +her know what is the matter, and if she accepts, the doctor will have +nothing more to say. Isn’t that so?” + +“Obviously,” replied the son. + +“I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs when +she goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the child.” + +“Two thousand francs?” said the other. “Is that enough?” + +“I will see,” was the reply. “If she hesitates, I will go further. Let +me attend to it.” + +George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the nurse. “You +know,” she said, “that our child is a little sick?” + +The other looked at her in surprise. “Why no, ma’am!” + +“Yes,” said the grandmother. + +“But, ma’am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always kept +her proper.” + +“I am not saying anything to the contrary,” said Madame Dupont, “but the +child is sick, the doctors have said it.” + +The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting ready +to scold her. “Humph,” she said, “that’s a fine thing--the doctors! If +they couldn’t always find something wrong you’d say they didn’t know +their business.” + +“But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that our +child has some little pimples.” + +“Ah, ma’am,” said the nurse, “that’s the heat--it’s nothing but the heat +of the blood breaking out. You don’t need to bother yourself; I tell you +it’s only the child’s blood. It’s not my fault; I swear to you that she +had not lacked anything, and that I have always kept her proper.” + +“I am not reproaching you--” + +“What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She’s tiny--the +little one--she’s a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she’s a city child! +And she’s getting along all right, I tell you.” + +“No,” persisted Madame Dupont, “I tell you--she has got a cold in her +head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat.” + +“Well,” cried the nurse, angrily, “if she has, it’s because the doctor +scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A +cold in the head? Yes, that’s true; but if she has caught cold, I can’t +say when, I don’t know anything about it--nothing, nothing at all. I +have always kept her well covered; she’s always had as much as three +covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; +you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!” + +“But once more I tell you,” cried Madame Dupont, “we are not putting any +blame on you.” + +“Yes,” cried the woman, more vehemently. “I know what that kind of talk +means. It’s no use--when you’re a poor country woman.” + +“What are you imagining now?” demanded the other. + +“Oh, that’s all right. It’s no use when you’re a poor country woman.” + +“I repeat to you once more,” cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty +controlling her impatience, “we have nothing whatever to blame you for.” + +But the nurse began to weep. “If I had known that anything like this was +coming to me--” + +“We have nothing to blame you for,” declared the other. “We only wish to +warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child.” + +The woman pouted. “A cold in the head!” she exclaimed. “Well, if I catch +it, it won’t be the first time. I know how to blow my nose.” + +“But you might also get the pimples.” + +At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac +rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, +we ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? +Pimples--what difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t +have a white complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in +the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream +on our muzzles! No offense, ma’am--but I say if you’re looking for an +excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that.” + +“Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?” + +“Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head. + +“But speak!” + +“It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.” + +“I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!” + +“Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.” + +“But then--explain yourself.” + +“No, I don’t want to say it.” + +“But you must; I wish it.” + +“Well--” + +“Go ahead.” + +“I’m only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, +for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George +here has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a +month, if I came to Paris.” And then, turning upon the other, she went +on--“But, sir, isn’t it only natural? Don’t I have to put my own child +away somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? +We’re nothing but poor country people, we are.” + +“You are making a mistake, nurse,” broke in George. “It is nothing at +all of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far from wanting +to reproach you, that, on the contrary, I think she had not promised +enough, and I want to make you, for my part, another promise. When you +go away, when baby is old enough to be weaned, by way of thanking you, +we wish to give you--” + +Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, “We wish to give you,--over and above +your wages, you understand--we wish to give you five hundred francs, and +perhaps a thousand, if the little one is altogether in good health. You +understand?” + +The nurse stared at her, stupefied. “You will give me five hundred +francs--for myself?” She sought to comprehend the words. “But that was +not agreed, you don’t have to do that at all.” + +“No,” admitted Madame Dupont. + +“But then,” whispered the nurse, half to herself, “that’s not natural.” + +“Yes,” the other hurried on, “it is because the baby will have need of +extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will have to give +it medicines; your task will be a little more delicate, a little more +difficult.” + +“Oh, yes; then it’s so that I will be sure to take care of her? I +understand.” + +“Then it’s agreed?” exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + +“Yes ma’am,” said the nurse. + +“And you won’t come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one +another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you +could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of +care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the +nursing. That’s all right, is it? + +“But, my lady,” cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, “you spoke +just now of a thousand francs.” + +“Very well, then, a thousand francs.” + +George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing +her to one side. “It would be a mistake,” he whispered, “if we did not +make her sign an agreement to all that.” + +His mother turned to the nurse. “In order that there may be no +misunderstanding about the sum--you see how it is, I had forgotten +already that I had spoken of a thousand francs--we will draw up a little +paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us.” + +“Very good, ma’am,” said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so +important a transaction. “Why, it’s just as you do when you rent a +house!” + +“Here comes the doctor,” said the other. “Come, nurse, it is agreed?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. But all the same, as she went out she +hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at George +and his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, and she meant to +find out if she could. + +The doctor seated himself in George’s office chair, as if to write +a prescription. “The child’s condition remains the same,” he said; +“nothing disturbing.” + +“Doctor,” said Madame Dupont, gravely, “from now on, you will be able +to devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without any scruple. +During your absence we have arranged matters nicely. The nurse has been +informed about the situation, and she does not mind. She has agreed to +accept an indemnity, and the amount has been stated.” + +But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he +might. He replied: “The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably +contract in feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such +consequences might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as +death. So I say that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay +the damage.” + +“But,” exclaimed the other, “she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, +and she has the right--” + +“I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health. +And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her +husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain +that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life +of the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised. +Such things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a +bargain of this sort isn’t possible. If the evil has not been done, you +must do everything to avoid it.” + +“Sir,” protested the mother, wildly, “you do not defend our interests!” + +“Madame,” was the reply, “I defend those who are weakest.” + +“If we had called in our own physician, who knows us,” she protested, +“he would have taken sides with us.” + +The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. “I doubt it,” he said, +“but there is still time to call him.” + +George broke in with a cry of distress. “Sir, I implore you!” + +And the mother in turn cried. “Don’t abandon us, sir! You ought to make +allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to +me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us! +Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest--it is not she who is the +weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so +emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and +cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir--I pray you!” + +“I pity her,” said the doctor, “I would like to save her--and I will do +everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, +with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and +robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as +that.” + +Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. “Very Well!” she +exclaimed. “I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!” + +Said the doctor in a solemn voice: “There is already some one here who +regrets that he did not listen to me.” + +“Yes,” moaned George, “to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of +us.” + +But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. “Very well!” she cried. “If +it is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for +it in this life, and all the punishments in the life to come--I accept +it all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is +frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I +believe in eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to +lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up--I will do everything to +save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the +worse for me!” + +The doctor answered: “That responsibility is one which I cannot let +you take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I +refuse it.” + +“What will you do?” + +“I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, +completely--something which you have not done, I feel sure.” + +“What?” cried Madame Dupont, wildly. “You, a doctor, called into a +family which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you +its most terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries--you would betray +them?” + +“It is not a betrayal,” replied the man, sternly. “It is something which +the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a +family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either +I give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped.” + +“You threaten! You threaten!” cried the woman, almost frantic. “You +abuse the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you +whose attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe +in you, and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death +of the child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of +the child--that also means her death!” + +She flung up her hands like a mad creature. “And yet there is no other +means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice +myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it--if only +you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones--if only I might +serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should infect +me--this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it--with what +joys, with what delights--however disgusting, however frightful it +might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without fear, +without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to the +child the milk which would preserve its life!” + +She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her +and flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and +tears with hers. + +The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control +his distress. “Oh, the poor people!” he murmured to himself. “The poor, +poor people!” + +The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong +character, got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, +“Come, sir, tell us what we have to do.” + +“You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in +order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not +exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, +in truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything--I +swear it to you--that your baby may recover as quickly as possible its +perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave +you until tomorrow.” + +“Thank you, Doctor, thank you,” said Madame Dupont, faintly. + +The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not +bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was +gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she +repelled him--without violence, but firmly. + +Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. “Forgive me!” he +said, in a broken voice. “Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each +other?” + +His mother answered: “God has punished you for your debauch by striking +at your child.” + +But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that. +“Impossible!” he said. “There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or +unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your God!” + +“Yes,” said his mother, sadly, “you believe in nothing.” + +“I believe in no such God as that,” he answered. + +A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the +nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there +for some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. “Madame,” she +said, “I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at +once, and have only the five hundred francs.” + +Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. “What is that you are +saying? You want to return to your home?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. + +“But,” cried George, “only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it.” + +“What has happened since then?” demanded Madame Dupont. + +“I have thought it over.” + +“Thought it over?” + +“Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband.” + +“In the last ten minutes?” exclaimed George. + +“There must be something else,” his mother added. “Evidently there must +be something else.” + +“No!” insisted the nurse. + +“But I say yes!” + +“Well, I’m afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me.” + +“You had better wait and try it.” + +“I would rather go back at once to my home.” + +“Come, now,” cried Madame Dupont, “tell us why?” + +“I have told you. I have thought it over.” + +“Thought what over?” + +“Well, I have thought.” + +“Oh,” cried the mother, “what a stupid reply! ‘I have thought it over! I +have thought it over!’ Thought WHAT over, I want to know!” + +“Well, everything.” + +“Don’t you know how to tell us what?” + +“I tell you, everything.” + +“Why,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “you are an imbecile!” + +George stepped between his mother and the nurse. “Let me talk to her,” + he said. + +The woman came back to her old formula: “I know that we’re only poor +country people.” + +“Listen to me, nurse,” said the young man. “Only a little while ago you +were afraid that we would send you away. You were satisfied with the +wages which my mother had fixed. In addition to those wages we had +promised you a good sum when you returned to your home. Now you tell +us that you want to go away. You see? All at once. There must be some +reason; let us understand it. There must certainly be a reason. Has +anybody done anything to you?” + +“No, sir,” said the woman, dropping her eyes. + +“Well, then?” + +“I have thought it over.” + +George burst out, “Don’t go on repeating always the same thing--‘I have +thought it over!’ That’s not telling us anything.” Controlling himself, +he added, gently, “Come, tell me why you want to go away?” + +There was a silence. “Well?” he demanded. + +“I tell you, I have thought--” + +George exclaimed in despair, “It’s as if one were talking to a block of +wood!” + +His mother took up the conversation again. “You must realize, you have +not the right to go away.” + +The woman answered, “I WANT to go.” + +“But I will not let you leave us.” + +“No,” interrupted George angrily, “let her go; we cannot fasten her +here.” + +“Very well, then,” cried the exasperated mother, “since you want to go, +go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you are as stupid +as the animals on your farm!” + +“I don’t say that I am not,” answered the woman. + +“I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will pay +your railroad fare for yourself.” + +The other drew back with a look of anger. “Oho!” she cried. “We’ll see +about that!” + +“Yes, we’ll see about it!” cried George. “And you will get out of here +at once. Take yourself off--I will have no more to do with you. Good +evening.” + +“No, George,” protested his mother, “don’t lose control of yourself.” + And then, with a great effort at calmness, “That cannot be serious, +nurse! Answer me.” + +“I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my five +hundred francs.” + +“WHAT?” cried George, in consternation. + +“What’s that you are telling me?” exclaimed Madame Dupont. + +“Five hundred francs?” repeated her son. + +“What five hundred francs?” echoed the mother. + +“The five hundred francs you promised me,” said the nurse. + +“We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?” + +“Yes.” + +“When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied with +you! That was our promise.” + +“No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now I am +leaving, and I want them.” + +Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. “In the first place,” she +said, “kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do you +understand?” + +The woman answered, “You have nothing to do but give me my money, and I +will say nothing more.” + +George went almost beside himself with rage at this. “Oh, it’s like +that?” he shouted. “Very well; I’ll show you!” And he sprang to the door +and opened it. + +But the nurse never budged. “Give me my five hundred francs!” she said. + +George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. “You clear +out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!” + +The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. “Come now, +you--you can talk to me a little more politely, eh?” + +“Will you go?” shouted George, completely beside himself. “Will you go, +or must I go out and look for a policeman?” + +“A policeman!” demanded the woman. “For what?” + +“To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief.” + +“A thief? I? What do you mean?” + +“I mean that you are demanding money which doesn’t belong to you.” + +“More than that,” broke in Madame Dupont, “you are destroying that poor +little baby! You are a wicked woman!” + +“I will put you out myself!” shouted George, and seized her by the arm +again. + +“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” retorted the nurse. “Then you really want +me to tell you why I am going away?” + +“Yes, tell me!” cried he. + +His mother added, “Yes, yes!” + +She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and +seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been +about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. +She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, +shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried +loudly, “Very well! I’m going away because I don’t want to catch a +filthy disease here!” + +“HUSH!” cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched +as if she would choke her. + +“Be silent!” cried George, wild with terror. + +But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, “Oh, you need not +be troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world +knows it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They +heard every word your doctor said!” + +“Shut up!” screamed George. + +Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. “Hold your tongue!” she +hissed. + +But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her +rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, +“Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat--that you will never +be able to raise it--that it’s rotten because it’s father has a filthy +disease he got from a woman of the street!” + +She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from +Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall +forward upon the floor, convulsed. + +“My God!” cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but +she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, +of the most profound terror. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, like a +maniac. “Don’t touch me!” + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter-in-law. +Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be brought to +listen to any one. She rushed into the other room, and when the older +woman followed her, shrieked out to be left alone. Afterwards, she fled +to her own room and barred herself in, and George and his mother waited +distractedly for hours until she should give some sign. + +Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard about +the door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit of insanity +might attempt some harm to her child. + +The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of +her outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she had +recovered her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also she wanted +her wages and her railroad fare home. She wanted them at once, and she +would not leave until she got them. George and his mother, in the midst +of all their anguish of mind, had to go through a disgusting scene with +this coarse and angry woman. + +They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused to +accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so much paper, +and might be some trick that they were playing on her. She kept +repeating her old formula, “I am nothing but a poor country woman.” Nor +would she be contented with the promise that she would receive the money +the next day. She seemed to be afraid that if she left the house she +would be surrendering her claim. So at last the distracted George to +sally forth and obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + +The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in full for +all claims and they strove to persuade themselves that this made them +safe; but in their hearts they had no real conviction of safety. What +was the woman’s signature, or her pledged word, against the cupidity of +her husband and relatives. Always she would have the dreadful secret +to hold over them, and so they would live under the shadow of possible +blackmail. + +Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was white, +her eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a voice choked with +sobs. She wished to return at once to her father’s home, and to take +little Gervaise with her. Madame Dupont cried out in horror at this +proposition, and argued and pleaded and wept--but all to no purpose. The +girl was immovable. She would not stay under her husband’s roof, and she +would take her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse +her. + +The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no difference. +Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at once. + +So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the hideous +story. Never before in her life had she discussed such subjects with +any one, but now in her agitation she told her father all. As George had +declared to the doctor, Monsieur Loches was a person of violent temper; +at this revelation, at the sight of his daughter’s agony, he was almost +beside himself. His face turned purple, the veins stood out on his +forehead; a trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill +George--there was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be +permitted to live. + +The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a calming +effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, she did not want +George to be killed. She clung to her father, beseeching him to promise +her that he would not do such a thing; and all that day and evening she +watched him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. + +There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and which +helped to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own sufferings. +The infant must be fed and cared for--the unhappy victim of other +people’s sins, whose life was now imperiled. A dry nurse must be found +at once, a nurse competent to take every precaution and give the +child every chance. This nurse must be informed of the nature of the +trouble--another matter which required a great deal of anxious thought. + +That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the child’s +welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of it. It was +impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could not endure to +see her, but the poor grandmother would come and sit for hours in the +nursery, watching the child and the nurse, in silent agony. + +This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at home, +suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. Truly, in +these days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand-fold in agonized and +impotent regret. He looked back upon the course of his life, and traced +one by one the acts which had led him and those he loved into this +nightmare of torment. He would have been willing to give his life if he +could have undone those acts. But avenging nature offered him no such +easy deliverance as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the +Jehovah of the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern +times has availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of +the fathers shall be visited upon the children. + +George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He poured +out all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him just once, to +give him a chance to plead his defense. It was not much of a defense, to +be sure; it was only that he had done no worse than the others did--only +that he was a wretched victim of ignorance. But he loved her, he had +proven that he loved her, and he pleaded that for the sake of their +child she would forgive him. + +When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose advice +he had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to intercede for +him--which the doctor, of course, refused to do. It was an extra-medical +matter, he said, and George was absurd to expect him to meddle in it. + +But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been interceding--he +had gone farther in pleading George’s cause than he was willing to have +George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid him a visit--his purpose being +to ask the doctor to continue attendance upon the infant, and also +to give Henriette a certificate which she could use in her suit for a +divorce from her husband. + +So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question between +the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, but refused the +second. In the first place, he said, there was a rule of professional +secrecy which would prevent him. And when the father-in-law requested +to know if the rule of professional secrecy compelled him to protect +a criminal against honest people, the doctor answered that even if +his ethics permitted it, he would still refuse the request. “I would +reproach myself forever,” he said, “if I had aided you to obtain such a +divorce.” + +“Then,” cried the old man, vehemently, “because you profess such and +such theories, because the exercise of your profession makes you the +constant witness of such miseries--therefore it is necessary that my +daughter should continue to bear that man’s name all her life!” + +The doctor answered, gently, “Sir, I understand and respect your grief. +But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide about these +matters now.” + +“You are mistaken,” declared the other, controlling himself with an +effort. “I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I have +discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. Surely, sir, you +cannot desire that my daughter should continue to live with a man who +has struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a blow.” + +“If I refuse your request,” the doctor answered, “it is in the interest +of your daughter.” Then, seeing the other’s excitement returning, he +continued, “In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, I know that you will +probably be abusing me before five minutes has passed. But that will not +trouble me. I have seen many cases. And since I have made the mistake +of letting myself be trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you +the reason for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may +prove in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis.” + +“Precisely,” said the other. + +“And have you not reflected upon this--that at the same time you will be +publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to the contagion? +With such an admission, an admission officially registered in the public +records, do you believe that she will find it easy to re-marry later +on?” + +“She will never re-marry,” said the father. + +“She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the same +thing five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you you will +not obtain that divorce, because I will most certainly refuse you the +necessary certificate.” + +“Then,” cried the other, “I will find other means of establishing +proofs. I will have the child examined by another doctor!” + +The other answered. “Then you do not find that that poor little one has +been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of its life? Your +granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish to add to that a +certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will follow her all her life?” + +Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. “You mean that if the victims +seek to defend themselves, they will be struck the harder! You mean that +the law gives me no weapon against a man who, knowing his condition, +takes a young girl, sound, trusting, innocent, and befouls her with the +result of his debauches--makes her the mother of a poor little creature, +whose future is such that those who love her the most do not know +whether they ought to pray for her life, or for her immediate +deliverance? Sir,” he continued, in his orator’s voice, “that man has +inflicted upon the woman he has married a supreme insult. He has made +her the victim of the most odious assault. He has degraded her--he has +brought her, so to speak, into contact with the woman of the streets. He +has created between her and that common woman I know not what mysterious +relationship. It is the poisoned blood of the prostitute which poisons +my daughter and her child; that abject creature, she lives, she lives in +us! She belongs to our family--he has given her a seat at our hearth! He +has soiled the imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he +has soiled her body. He has united forever in her soul the idea of +love which she has placed so high, with I know not what horrors of the +hospitals. He has tainted her in her dignity and her modesty, in her +love as well as in her baby. He has struck her down with physical and +moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with vileness. And yet the law is +such, the customs of society are such, that the woman cannot separate +herself from that man save by the aid of legal proceedings whose scandal +will fall upon herself and upon her child!” + +Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, and +now he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + +“Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I learned the +truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty to find that +monster and to put a bullet into his head, as one does to a mad dog. I +don’t know what weakness, what cowardice, has held me back, and decided +me to appeal to the law. Since the law will not protect me, I will seek +justice for myself. Perhaps his death will be a good warning for the +others!” + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no affair +of his and that he would not try to interfere. But he remarked, quietly: +“You will be tried for your life.” + +“I shall be acquitted!” cried the other. + +“Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You will make +the scandal greater, the miseries greater--that is all. And how do you +know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you will find yourself +confronting another court, a higher and more severe one? How do you +know but that your daughter, seized at last by pity for the man you have +killed, will not demand to know by what right you have acted so, by what +right you have made an orphan of her child? How can you know but that +her child also may some day demand an accounting of you?” + +Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of crushed +despair. “Tell me then,” he said, in a faint voice, “what ought I to +do?” + +“Forgive!” + +For a while the doctor sat looking at him. “Sir,” he said, at last, +“tell me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have the right to +be inflexible. But are you really so certain that it was not your duty, +once upon a time, to save your daughter from the possibility of such +misfortune?” + +“What?” cried the other. “My duty? What do you mean?” + +“I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you certainly +took precautions to inform yourself about the financial condition of +your future son-in-law. You demanded that he should prove to you that +his stocks and bonds were actual value, listed on the exchange. Also, +you obtained some information about his character. In fact, you forgot +only one point, the most important of all--that was, to inquire if he +was in good health. You never did that.” + +The father-in-law’s voice had become faint. “No,” he said. + +“But why not?” + +“Because that is not the custom.” + +“Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father of a +family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take as much +precaution as a business concern which accepts an employee.” + +“You are right,” was the reply, “there should be a law.” The man spoke +as a deputy, having authority in these matters. + +But the doctor cried, “No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We have +too many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice that people +should know a little better what syphilis is. The custom would establish +itself very quickly for a suitor to add to all the other documents +which he presents, a certificate of a doctor, as proof that he could +be received into a family without bringing a pestilence with him. That +would be very simple. Once let the custom be established, then the +suitor would go to the doctor for a certificate of health, just as he +goes to the priest for a certificate that he has confessed; and by that +means you would prevent a great deal of suffering in the world. Or let +me put it another way, sir. Nowadays, before you conclude a marriage, +you get the lawyers of the two families together. It would be of at +least equal importance to get their two doctors together. You see, sir, +your inquiry concerning your son-in-law was far from complete. So your +daughter may fairly ask you, why you, being a man, being a father who +ought to know these things, did not take as much care of her health as +you took of her fortune. So it is, sir, that I say to you, forgive!” + +But Monsieur Loches said again, “Never!” + +And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. “Come, sir,” he +began, finally, “since it is necessary to employ the last argument, I +will do so. To be so severe and so pitiless--are you yourself without +sin?” + +The other answered, “I have never had a shameful disease.” + +“I do not ask you that,” interrupted the doctor. “I ask you if you have +never exposed yourself to the chance of having it.” And then, reading +the other’s face, he went on, in a tone of quiet certainty. “Yes, you +have exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was not virtue that you had; it +was good fortune. That is one of the things which exasperate me the +most--that term ‘shameful disease’ which you have just used. Like all +other diseases, that is one of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful +to be unfortunate--even if one has deserved it.” The doctor paused, +and then with some excitement he went on: “Come, sir, come, we must +understand each other. Among men the most exacting, among those who with +their middle-class prudery dare not pronounce the name of syphilis, +or who make the most terrifying faces, the most disgusted, when they +consent to speak of it--who regard the syphilitic as sinners--I should +wish to know how many there are who have never exposed themselves to a +similar misadventure. They and they alone have the right to speak. How +many are there? Among a thousand men, are there four? Very well, then. +Excepting those four, between all the rest and the syphilitic there is +nothing but the difference of chance.” + +There came into the doctor’s voice at this moment a note of intense +feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to him every day. +“I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving of sympathy, because +they are suffering. If they have committed a fault, they have at least +the plea that they are expiating it. No, sir, let me hear no more of +that hypocrisy. Recall your own youth, sir. That which afflicts your +son-in-law, you have deserved it just as much as he--more than he, +perhaps. Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which +the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less fortunate +than himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that not so?” + +Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the feeling of +a thief before the bar. There was nothing that he could answer. “Sir,” + he stammered, “as you present this thing to me--” + +“But am I not right?” insisted the doctor. + +“Perhaps you are,” the other admitted. “But--I cannot say all that to my +daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband.” + +“You can give her other arguments,” was the answer. + +“What arguments, in God’s name?” + +“There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation would +be a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one in the world +who would be devoted enough to help her save her child. You will say to +her that out of the ruins of her first happiness she can build herself +another structure, far stronger. And, sir, you will add to that whatever +your good heart may suggest--and we will arrange so that the next child +of the pair shall be sound and vigorous.” + +Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise that +George himself had manifested. “Is that possible?” he asked. + +The doctor cried: “Yes, yes, yes--a thousand times yes! There is a +phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would wish to post +upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious mistress, who only +demands that one should recognize her power. She is terrible for +those who think her insignificant, and gentle with those who know how +dangerous she is. You know that kind of mistress--who is only vexed when +she is neglected. You may tell this to your daughter--you will restore +her to the arms of her husband, from whom she has no longer anything +to fear, and I will guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two +years from now.” + +Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his resolution. + +“Doctor,” he said, “I do not know that I can ever go so far as +forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, and +that I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of some +time--I cannot venture to say how long--my poor child should make up her +mind to a reconciliation.” + +“Very good,” said the other. “But let me add this: If you have another +daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you committed when you +married off the first.” + +“But,” said the old man, “I did not know.” + +“Ah, surely!” cried the other. “You did not know! You are a father, and +you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed the responsibility +and the honor of making our laws--and you did not know! You are ignorant +about syphilis, just as you probably are ignorant about alcoholism and +tuberculosis.” + +“No,” exclaimed the other, quickly. + +“Very well,” said the doctor, “I will leave you out, if you wish. I am +talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don’t know how many +more, who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who call themselves +representatives of the people. They are not able to find a single hour +to discuss these three cruel gods, to which egotism and indifference +make every day such frightful human sacrifices. They have not sufficient +leisure to combat this ferocious trinity, which destroys every day +thousands of lives. Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the +manufacture of poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as +one has fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of +the little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, one +puts one’s conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of +the working-class, and publishing little pamphlets and sermons. +Imbeciles!...Tuberculosis! Everybody knows the true remedy, which would +be the paying of sufficient wages, and the tearing down of the filthy +tenements into which the laborers are packed--those who are the most +useful and the most unfortunate among our population! But needless to +say, no one wants that remedy, so we go round begging the workingmen not +to spit on the sidewalks. Wonderful! But syphilis--why do you not occupy +yourself with that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to +attend to all sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to +the public health?” + +“My dear Doctor,” responded Monsieur Loches, “you fall into the French +habit of considering the government as the cause of all evils. Show us +the way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a matter about which you +are informed, and we are ignorant, begin by telling us what measures you +believe to be necessary.” + +“Ah, ah!” exclaimed the other. “That’s fine, indeed! It was about +eighteen years ago that a project of that nature, worked out by the +Academy of Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, was sent to the +proper minister. We have not yet heard his reply.” + +“You really believe,” inquired Monsieur Loches, in some bewilderment, +“you believe that there are some measures--” + +“Sir,” broke in the doctor, “before we get though, you are going to +suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened today. +When I received your card I did not know that you were the father-in-law +of George Dupont. I say that you were a deputy, and I thought that you +wanted to get some information about these matters. There was a woman +patient waiting to see me, and I kept her in my waiting-room--saying to +myself, This is just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk +to.” + +The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: “Be reassured, I will +take care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that is apparent +to the eye. She is simply an illustration of the argument I have been +advancing--that our worst enemy is ignorance. Ignorance--you understand +me? Since I have got you here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have +managed to cure a little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is +a thing which drives me to distraction--we MUST do something about these +conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is very +seriously infected. I told her--well, wait; you shall see for yourself.” + +The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman whom +Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging on old age, +small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly dressed, and yet +with a suggestion of refinement about her. She stood near the door, +twisting her hands together nervously, and shrinking from the gaze of +the strange gentleman. The doctor began in an angry voice. “Did I not +tell you to come and see me once every eight days? Is that not true?” + +The woman answered, in a faint voice, “Yes, sir.” + +“Well,” he exclaimed, “and how long has it been since you were here?” + +“Three months, sir.” + +“Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under such +conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You discourage me, you +discourage me.” There was a pause. Then, seeing the woman’s suffering, +he began, in a gentler tone, “Come now, what is the reason that you +have not come? Didn’t you know that you have a serious disease--most +serious?” + +“Oh, yes, sir,” replied the woman, “I know that very well--since my +husband died of it.” + +The doctor’s voice bore once again its note of pity. “Your husband died +of it?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“He took no care of himself?” + +“No, sir.” + +“And was not that a warning to you?” + +“Doctor,” the woman replied, “I would ask nothing better than to come as +often as you told me, but the cost is too great.” + +“How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic.” + +“Yes, sir,” replied the woman, “but that’s during working hours, and +then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I +have to wait my turn, It is in the morning--sometimes I lose a whole +day--and then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. +It is things like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not +put it off any longer. Then, too, sir--” the woman stopped, hesitating. + +“Well,” demanded the doctor. + +“Oh, nothing, sir,” she stammered. “You have been too good to me +already.” + +“Go on,” commanded the other. “Tell me.” + +“Well,” murmured the woman, “I know I ought not to put on airs, but you +see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband’s misfortune, +we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always +managed to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to +stand around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell +all one’s miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it +perfectly well; I argue with myself--but all the same, it’s hard, sir; I +assure you, it is truly hard.” + +“Poor woman!” said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then +he asked: “It was your husband who brought you the disease?” + +“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Everything which happened to us came from +him. We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half +crazy. He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here +and there for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money.” + +“Why did he not undergo treatment?” + +“He didn’t know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we +hadn’t a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment.” + +“And then?” + +“Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine.” + +“How was that?” + +“Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn’t been a +resident six months, one has no right to free medicine.” + +“Is that true?” broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + +“Yes,” said the doctor, “that’s the rule.” + +“So you see,” said the woman, “it was not our fault.” + +“You never had children?” inquired the doctor. + +“I was never able to bring one to birth,” was the answer. “My husband +was taken just at the beginning of our marriage--it was while he +was serving in the army. You know, sir--there are women about the +garrisons--” She stopped, and there was a long silence. + +“Come,” said the doctor, “that’s all right. I will arrange it with you. +You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings.” + And as the poor creature started to express her gratitude, he slipped a +coin into her hand. “Come, come; take it,” he said gruffly. “You are not +going to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. +Hush!” And he pushed her out of the door. + +Then he turned to the deputy. “You heard her story, sir,” he said. “Her +husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who +compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons--you +heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and +look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our +soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other +social types. You don’t care very much about soldiers, perhaps--they +belong to the lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let +me show you what is going on among our college students--among the men +our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who prey +upon them! Perhaps, who knows--I can show you the very woman who was the +cause of all the misery in your own family!” + +And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and +took him by the hand. “Promise me, sir,” he said, earnestly, “that you +will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a +chance that I must not let go--the first time in my life that I ever got +hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and +let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to +remedy these frightful evils!” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was +wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the +things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his +friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful +story--or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his +mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the +use of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to +spend them for? + +All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was +reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a +separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to +depend upon her in every little thing--until now, when her companionship +was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. He would +come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would be his +mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when Henriette +was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that had +happened to him through the day! + +There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear +how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother +the news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no +complaints against the price, however high--only sometimes he +wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such +discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself. + +A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one +day in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as +familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was +only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized--it was the girl +who had been the cause of all his misery! + +He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and +she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, “Why, how do you do?” + +George had to face her. “How do you do?” he responded, weakly. + +She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much +welcome in his clasp. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she asked. +Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, “What’s the matter? +You don’t seem glad to see me.” + +The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her arm, as +if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George had +met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his +lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half +realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her. + +“Why did you never come to see me again?” she asked. + +George hesitated. “I--I--” he stammered--“I’ve been married since then.” + +She laughed. “Oh! So that’s it!” And then, as they came to a bench under +some trees, “Won’t you sit down a while?” There was allurement in her +glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he +had ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken +completely. + +She quickly saw that something was wrong. “You don’t seem very +cheerful,” she said. “What’s the matter?” + +And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you know what +you did to me?” + +“What I did to you?” Therese repeated wonderingly. + +“You must know!” he insisted. + +And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. “Why--” she +stammered. + +There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was +low and trembling. “You ruined my whole life,” he said--“not only mine, +but my family’s. How could you do it?” + +She strove to laugh it off. “A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!” + +For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he +repeated, “How could you do it?” + +“Some one did it to me first,” was the response. “A man!” + +“Yes,” said George, “but he didn’t know.” + +“How can you tell whether he knew or not?” + +“You knew?” he inquired, wonderingly. + +Therese hesitated. “Yes, I knew,” she said at last, defiantly. “I have +known for years.” + +“And I’m not the only man.” + +She laughed. “I guess not!” + +There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, “I don’t want to blame +you; there’s nothing to be gained by that; it’s done, and can’t +be undone. But sometimes I wonder about it. I should like to +understand--why did you do it?” + +“Why? That’s easy enough. I did it because I have to live.” + +“You live that way?” he exclaimed. + +“Why of course. What did you think?” + +“I thought you were a--a--” He hesitated. + +“You thought I was respectable,” laughed Therese. “Well, that’s just a +little game I was playing on you.” + +“But I didn’t give you any money!” he argued. + +“Not that time,” she said, “but I thought you would come back.” + +He sat gazing at her. “And you earn your living that way still?” he +asked. “When you know what’s the matter with you! When you know--” + +“What can I do? I have to live, don’t I?” + +“But don’t you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be some +way, some place--” + +“The reformatory, perhaps,” she sneered. “No, thanks! I’ll go there +when the police catch me, not before. I know some girls that have tried +that.” + +“But aren’t you afraid?” cried the man. “And the things that will happen +to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor--or read a book?” + +“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it all. If it comes to me, I’ll go over +the side of one of the bridges some dark night.” + +George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to him--to +meet this girl under such different circumstances! It was as if he were +watching a play from behind the scenes instead of in front. If only he +had had this new view in time--how different would have been his life! +And how terrible it was to think of the others who didn’t know--the +audience who were still sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, +interested in it! + +His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and the life +she lived. “Tell me a little about it,” he said. “How you came to be +doing this.” And he added, “Don’t think I want to preach; I’d really +like to understand.” + +“Oh, it’s a common story,” she said--“nothing especially romantic. +I came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had died, and I had no +friends, and I didn’t know what to do. I got a place as a nursemaid. +I was seventeen years old then, and I didn’t know anything. I believed +what I was told, and I believed my employer. His wife was ill in a +hospital, and he said he wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked +him, and I was sorry for him--and then the first thing I knew I had a +baby. And then the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a +fool, of course. If I had been in her place should have done just what +she did.” + +The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of things +about which she was no longer able to suffer. “So, there I was--on the +street,” she went on. “You have always had money, a comfortable home, +education, friends to help you--all that. You can’t imagine how it is +to be in the world without any of these things. I lived on my savings as +long as I could; then I had to leave my baby in a foundling’s home, and +I went out to do my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I +have no doubt.” + +Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt bitter +towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of which he was +a victim also. There was nothing to be gained by hating each other. +Just as the doctor said, what was needed was enlightenment. “Listen,” he +said, “why don’t you try to get cured?” + +“I haven’t got the price,” was the answer. + +“Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “I know a doctor--one of the really good +men. He has a free clinic, and I’ve no doubt he would take you in if I +asked him to.” + +“YOU ask him?” echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + +The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to playing +the role of the good Samaritan. “I--I need not tell him about us,” he +stammered. “I could just say that I met you. I have had such a wretched +time myself, I feel sorry for anybody that’s in the same plight. I +should like to help you if I could.” + +The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. “I have treated you +badly, I guess,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of myself.” + +George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the doctor’s +address. “Here it is,” he said, in a business-like way, because he felt +that otherwise he could become sentimental. He was half tempted to tell +the woman what had happened to him, and all about Henriette and the +sick child; but he realized that that would not do. So he rose and shook +hands with her and left. + +The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He decided +to tell him the truth--having already made so many mistakes trying +to conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat the woman, making the +condition that George promise not to see her again. + +The young man was rather shocked at this. “Doctor,” he exclaimed, “I +assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in mind would be utterly +impossible.” + +“I know,” said the other, “you think so. But I think, young man, that +I know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman have once +committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time +they spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and +forbearing to each other, the better for them both.” + +“But, Doctor,” cried George. “I love Henriette! I could not possibly +love anyone else. It would be horrible to me!” + +“Yes,” said the doctor. “But you are not living with Henriette. You are +wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next.” + +There was no need for anybody to tell George that. “What do you think?” + he asked abruptly. “Is there any hope for me?” + +“I think there is,” said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had +become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to +the Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing +Henriette, and talking to her about the child’s health and her own +future. He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the +young wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + +George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to +call at the physician’s office--he could read them in the faces of the +people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, the +doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman, +whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at +college. The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man +remembered how pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be, +thought George, that this old man was a victim of syphilis? + +But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the +consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he +stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. “Perhaps you +can’t understand,” he said, “just what it means to us--the hopes we had +of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! We +were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college--and +now just see!” + +“Don’t despair, sir,” said the doctor, “we’ll try to cure him.” And he +added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard, +“Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?” + +“How was I to know what he had?” cried the other. “He didn’t dare tell +me, sir--he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the +disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went +secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed him, and didn’t cure him. You +know how it is, sir.” + +“Yes, I know,” said the doctor. + +“Such things ought not to be permitted,” cried the old man. “What is +our government about that it allows such things to go on? Take the +conditions there at the college where my poor boy was ruined. At the +very gates of the building these women are waiting for the lads! Ought +they to be permitted to debauch young boys only fifteen years old? +Haven’t we got police enough to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, +sir!” + +“One would think so,” said the doctor, patiently. + +“But is it that the police don’t want to?” + +“No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest--they don’t know. +Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your son’s. And some +day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these conditions.” + +So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to think +about. How much he could have told them about what had happened to that +young fellow when only fifteen years old! It had not been altogether the +fault of the women who were lurking outside of the college gates; it was +a fact that the boy’s classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had +literally made his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + +It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all over +the world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak and foolish; +that a fellow was not a man unless he led a life of debauchery like the +rest. And what did they know about these dreadful diseases? They had the +most horrible superstitions--ideas of cures so loathsome that they could +not be set down in print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those +of savages in the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing +and jesting about one another’s condition. They might be afflicted with +diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects upon their +whole lives and upon their families--diseases which cause tens of +thousands of surgical operations upon women, and a large percentage of +blindness and idiocy in children--and you might hear them confidently +express the opinion that these diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + +And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped +down by a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superstition of +sex-prudery! George went out from the doctor’s office trembling with +excitement over this situation. Oh, why had not some one warned him in +time? Why didn’t the doctors and the teachers lift up their voices and +tell young men about these frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in +the highways and preach it himself--except that he dared not, because he +could not explain to the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden +topic. + +These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his mother--to +whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. He was moved to +mention to her the interview he had overheard in the doctor’s office. In +a sudden burst of grief he told her of his struggles and temptations; he +pleaded with her to go to Henriette once more--to tell her these things, +and try to make her realize that he alone was not to blame for them, +that they were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only +difference between her husband and other men was that he had had the +misfortune to be caught. + +There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. After +all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her father’s home, so far +as the physical side of things went; but she knew that all her friends +were gossiping and speculating about her separation from her husband, +and sooner or later she would have to make up her mind, either to +separate permanently from George or to return to him. There was not much +happiness for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom +deep in her heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the rest +of her life, and the home in which poor little Gervaise would be brought +up would not be a cheerful one. + +George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back to his +home. They might live separate lives for as long as Henriette wished. +They would have no more children until the doctor declared it was quite +safe; and in the meantime he would be humble and patient, and would try +his best to atone for the wrong that he had done her. + +To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She told the +girl some things which through bitter experience she had learned about +the nature and habits of men; things that should be told to every girl +before marriage, but which almost all of them are left to find out +afterwards, with terrible suffering and disillusionment. Whatever +George’s sins may have been, he was a man who had been chastened by +suffering, and would know how to value a woman’s love for the rest of +his life. Not all men knew that--not even those who had been fortunate +in escaping from the so-called “shameful disease.” + +Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this time +had had time to think things over, and had come to the conclusion +that the doctor was right. He had noted his son-in-law’s patience and +penitence, and had also made sure that in spite of everything Henriette +still loved him. The baby apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, +with his strong sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to +separate a child permanently from its father. So in the end he cast +the weight of his influence in favor of a reconciliation, and Henriette +returned to her husband, upon terms which the doctor laid down. + +The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not been +allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now thoroughly awake +to the importance of the duty he owed his daughter. In fact, he had +become somewhat of a “crank” upon the whole subject. He had attended +several of the doctor’s clinics, and had read books and pamphlets on the +subject of syphilis, and was now determined that there should be some +practical steps towards reform. + +At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average legislator, that +the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prostitution, and to +enforce them more strictly. He echoed the cry of the old man whom George +had heard in the doctor’s office: “Are there not enough police?” + +“We must go to the source,” he declared. “We must proceed against these +miserable women--veritable poisoners that they are!” + +He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor was quick +to answer his arguments. “Poisoners?” he said. “You forget that they +have first been poisoned. Every one of these women who communicates the +disease has first received it from some man.” + +Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. But the +doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had seen it tried so +many times--such a law could never be enforced. What must come first was +education, and by this means a modification of morals. People must cease +to treat syphilis as a mysterious evil, of which not even the name could +be pronounced. + +“But,” objected the other, “one cannot lay it bare to children in our +educational institutions!” + +“Why not?” asked the doctor. + +“Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent to +awaken.” + +The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. “You +believe that you are preventing these curiosities from awakening?” + he demanded. “I appeal to those--both men and women--who have passed +through colleges and boarding schools! Such curiosities cannot be +smothered, and they satisfy themselves as best they can, basely, +vilely. I tell you, sir, there is nothing immoral about the act which +perpetuates life by means of love. But we organize around it, so far as +concerns our children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. +The worthy citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical +comedies, where they listen to things which would make a monkey blush; +but it is forbidden to discuss seriously before the young that act +of love which people seem to think they should only know of through +blasphemies and profanations! Either that act is a thing of which +people can speak without blushing--or else, sir, it is a matter for +the innuendoes of the cabaret and the witticisms of the messroom! +Pornography is admitted, but science is not! I tell you, sir, that is +the thing which must be changed! We must elevate the soul of the young +man by taking these facts out of the realm of mystery and of slang. We +must awaken in him a pride in that creative power with which each one of +us is endowed. We must make him understand that he is a sort of temple +in which is prepared the future of the race, and we must teach him that +he must transmit, intact, the heritage entrusted to him--the precious +heritage which has been built out of the tears and miseries and +sufferings of an interminable line of ancestors!” + +So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove that the +prostitute was what she was, not because of innate vileness, but because +of economic conditions. It happened that the deputy came to one of the +clinics where he met Therese. The doctor brought her into his consulting +room, after telling her that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend +of the director of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for +a position on the stage to which she aspired. “Tell him all about +yourself,” he said, “how you live, and what you do, and what you would +like to do. You will get him interested in you.” + +So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a +matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been obliged +to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was surprised that +Monsieur Loches showed horror. “What could I do?” she demanded. “How +could I have taken care of it?” + +“Didn’t you ever miss it?” he asked. + +“Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It would have +died of hunger with me.” + +“Still,” he said, “it was your child--” + +“It was the father’s child, too, wasn’t it? Much attention he paid to +it! If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would have put it out +to nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty francs a month I could have +earned as a servant, could I have paid for a baby? That’s the situation +a girl faces--so long as I wanted to remain honest, it was impossible +for me to keep my child. You answer, perhaps, ‘You didn’t stay honest +anyway.’ That’s true. But then--when you are hungry, and a nice young +fellow offers you dinner, you’d have to be made of wood to refuse him. +Of course, if I had had a trade--but I didn’t have any. So I went on the +street--You know how it is.” + +“Tell us about it,” said the doctor. “This gentleman is from the +country.” + +“Is that so?” said the girl. “I never supposed there was anyone who +didn’t know about such things. Well, I took the part of a little +working-girl. A very simple dress--things I had made especially for +that--a little bundle in a black napkin carried in my hand--so I walked +along where the shops are. It’s tiresome, because to do it right, you +have to patter along fast. Then I stop before a shop, and nine times out +of ten, there you are! A funny thing is that the men--you’d imagine +they had agreed on the words to approach you with. They have only two +phrases; they never vary them. It’s either, ‘You are going fast, little +one.’ Or it’s, ‘Aren’t you afraid all alone?’ One thing or the other. +One knows pretty well what they mean. Isn’t it so?” The girl paused, +then went on. “Again, I would get myself up as a young widow. There, +too, one has to walk fast: I don’t know why that should be so, but it +is. After a minute or two of conversation, they generally find out that +I am not a young widow, but that doesn’t make any difference--they go on +just the same.” + +“Who are the men?” asked the deputy. “Clerks? Traveling salesmen?” + +“Not much,” she responded. “I keep a lookout for gentlemen--like +yourself.” + +“They SAY they are gentlemen,” he suggested. + +“Sometimes I can see it,” was the response. “Sometimes they wear orders. +It’s funny--if they have on a ribbon when you first notice them, they +follow you, and presto--the ribbon is gone! I always laugh over that. +I’ve watched them in the glass of the shop windows. They try to look +unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their +thumb--as one shells little peas, you know.” + +She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, “Well, +at last the police got after me, That’s a story that I’ve never been +able to understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty disease, and then I +was to be shut in prison for it! That was a little too much, it seems to +me.” + +“Well,” said the doctor, grimly, “you revenged yourself on them--from +what you have told me.” + +The other laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I had my innings.” She turned +to Monsieur Loches. “You want me to tell you that? Well, just on the +very day I learned that the police were after me, I was coming home +furious, naturally. It was on the Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the +place--and whom do you think I met? My old master--the one who got me +into trouble, you know. There it was, God’s own will! I said to myself, +‘Now, my good fellow, here’s the time where you pay me what you owe me, +and with interest, too!’ I put on a little smile--oh, it didn’t take +very long, you may be sure!” + +The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice +trembling with agitation: “When I had left him, I was seized with a +rage. A sort of madness got into my blood. I took on all the men who +offered themselves, for whatever they offered me, for nothing, if they +didn’t offer me anything. I took as many as I could, the youngest ones +and the handsomest ones. Just so! I only gave them back what they had +given to me. And since that time I haven’t really cared about anyone any +more. I just turned it all into a joke.” She paused, and then looking +at the deputy, and reading in his face the horror with which he was +regarding her, “Oh, I am not the only one!” she exclaimed. “There +are lots of other women who do the same. To be sure, it is not for +vengeance--it is because they must have something to eat. For even if +you have syphilis, you have to eat, don’t you? Eh?” + +She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a long +silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had heard enough +for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the woman, the cause of +all George Dupont’s misfortunes, and turning to Monsieur Loches, said: +“It was on purpose that I brought that wretched prostitute before +you. In her the whole story is summed up--not merely the story of your +son-in-law, but that of all the victims of the red plague. That woman +herself is a victim, and she is a symbol of the evil which we have +created and which falls upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to +her story, I only ask you, Monsieur Loches--when next you are proposing +new laws in the Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which +that poor woman has exposed to you!” + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 1157-0.txt or 1157-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/5/1157/ + +Produced by John P. Roberts, III + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/1157-0.zip b/old/1157-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..da07b96 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1157-0.zip diff --git a/old/1157-h.zip b/old/1157-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d6dac7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1157-h.zip diff --git a/old/1157-h/1157-h.htm b/old/1157-h/1157-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..26e7405 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1157-h/1157-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5287 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Damaged Goods + A novelization of the play "Les Avaries" + +Author: Upton Sinclair + Eugene Brieux + +Release Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #1157] +Last Updated: October 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + + + + +Produced by John P. Roberts, III, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + DAMAGED GOODS + </h1> + <h2> + The Great Play “Les Avaries” of Eugene Brieux + </h2> + <h3> + Novelized with the approval of the author + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Upton Sinclair + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX’S PLAY, “LES AVARIES,” OR, TO GIVE IT ITS + ENGLISH TITLE, “DAMAGED GOODS,” HAS INITIATED A MOVEMENT IN THIS COUNTRY + WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.—New York Times + </p> + <p> + +++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten script from M. + Brieux.+++ + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as closely as + possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I have tried, as it were, + to take the play to pieces, and build a novel out of the same material. I + have not felt at liberty to embellish M. Brieux’s ideas, and I have used + his dialogue word for word wherever possible. Unless I have mis-read the + author, his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to place a number of + most important facts before the minds of the public, and to drive them + home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able to assist him, this + bit of literary carpentering will be worth while. I have to thank M. + Brieux for his kind permission to make the attempt, and for the cordial + spirit which he has manifested. + </p> + <p> + Upton Sinclair + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + </h2> + <p> + DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee on March + 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before members of the + Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed by public press and pulpit + as the greatest contribution ever made by the Stage to the cause of + humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the producer, who had the courage to + present the play, with the aid of his co-workers, in the face of most + savage criticism from the ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a + repetition of the performance. + </p> + <p> + Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before the general + public, it was arranged that the highest officials in the United States + should pass judgment upon the manner in which the play teaches its vital + lesson. A special guest performance for members of the Cabinet, members of + both houses of Congress, members of the United States Supreme Court, + representatives of the Diplomatic corps and others prominent in national + life was given in Washington, D.C. + </p> + <p> + Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April 6, 1913), + the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with the most + distinguished audience ever assembled in America, including exclusively + the foremost men and women of the Capital. The most noted clergymen of + Washington were among the spectators. + </p> + <p> + The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous endorsement of + the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett and his co-workers were + presenting it. + </p> + <p> + This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York performances + until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision on the part of Mr. + Bennett to offer the play in every city in America where citizens feel + that the ultimate welfare of the community is dependent upon a higher + standard of morality and clearer understanding of the laws of health. + </p> + <p> + The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, said: + </p> + <p> + The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; with all + the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all the earnestness and + power of a vital truth. + </p> + <p> + In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a great social + evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. Dr. Donald C. Macleod, + pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, mounted the rostrum usually + occupied by the leader of the orchestra, and announced that the nature of + the performance, the sacredness of the play, and the character of the + audience gave to the play the significance of a tremendous sermon in + behalf of mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that a divine + blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont Avenue + Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow their heads in + a prayer for the proper reception of the message to be presented from the + stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the Bernard Shaw preface to the play, and + asked that there be no applause during the performance, a suggestion which + was rigidly followed, thus adding greatly to the effectiveness and the + seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + </p> + <p> + The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is reflected + in such comments as the following expressions voiced after the + performance: + </p> + <p> + RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION—If I could preach + from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as convincing, as + far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance of DAMAGED GOODS must be, + I would consider that I had achieved the triumph of my life. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH—I was deeply impressed by what I saw, + and I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, a matinee one + day for father and son and the next day for mother and daughter. + </p> + <p> + REV. EARLE WILFLEY—I am confirmed in the opinion that we must take + up our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems brought to the + fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these diseases are increasing is + enough to make us get busy on a campaign against them. + </p> + <p> + SURGEON GENERAL BLUE—It was a most striking and telling lesson. For + years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It is high time + that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding them and crusaded + against them in a proper manner. + </p> + <p> + MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS—The play was a powerful presentation of a + very important question and was handled in a most admirable manner. The + drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and is bound to do + considerable good in conveying information of a very serious nature. + </p> + <p> + MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU—There can be no doubt but that the + performance will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the good for + which it was created. Fortunately, we do not have the prudery in South + America that you of the north possess, and have open minds to consider + these serious questions. + </p> + <p> + JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT—I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS will + have considerable effect in educating the people of the nature of the + danger that surrounds them. + </p> + <p> + SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA—There can be no denial of the fact that it + is time to look at the serious problems presented in the play with an open + mind. + </p> + <p> + Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as “incomparably the greatest + writer France has produced since Moliere,” and perhaps no writer ever + wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of the race. To quote from + an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the INDEPENDENT: + </p> + <p> + Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured by laws + and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble is caused by + ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment and franker + recognition of existing conditions. All this may be needed, but still we + may well doubt its effectiveness as a remedy. The drunken Helot argument + is not a strong one, and those who lead a vicious life know more about its + risks than any teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also urges the + requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many clergymen + now insist upon and which doubtless will be made compulsory before long in + many of our States. + </p> + <p> + Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will be + criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. The conditions + of society and the moral standards of France are so different from those + of America that his point of view and his proposals for reform will not + meet with general acceptance, but it is encouraging to find a dramatist + who realizes the importance of being earnest and who uses his art in + defense of virtue instead of its destruction. + </p> + <p> + Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in the play + and the belief in the highest seriousness of its purpose: + </p> + <p> + There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the glamour, in + the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, and suggestions the + threat to life lies. + </p> + <p> + This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such clean, + artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could possibly be + impressed in no other manner. + </p> + <p> + Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There is no + sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of the theme. The + doctor appears in his ideal function, as the modern high-priest of truth. + Around him writhe the victims of ignorance and the criminals of + conventional cruelty. Kind, stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet + human-hearted, he towers over all, as the master. + </p> + <p> + This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the world of + ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a mistaken modesty + has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is the physician. + </p> + <p> + The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is that it is + the decentest play that has been in New York for a year. It is so decent + that it is religious.—HEARST’S MAGAZINE. + </p> + <p> + The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of the veil + of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject of the penalty of + sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on this hidden danger, that + fathers and mothers, young men and young women, may know the terrible + price that must be paid, not only by the generation that violates the law, + but by the generations to come. It is a serious question just how the + education of men and women, especially young men and young women, in the + vital matters of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is sure, + however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often been + followed in the past—not to carry it on at all but to ignore it.—THE + OUTLOOK. + </p> + <p> + It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of “thesis drama,”—an + argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, cumulative, between science + and common sense, on one side, and love, of various types, on the other. + It is what Mr. Bernard Shaw has called a “drama of discussion”; it has the + splendid movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved—and undiluted—by + Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many audiences at the + Fulton Theater were astonished at the play’s showing of sheer strength as + acted drama. Possibly it might not interest the general public; probably + it would be inadvisable to present it to them. But no thinking person, + with the most casual interest in current social evils, could listen to the + version of Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, and their associates, without + being gripped by the power of Brieux’s message.—THE DIAL. + </p> + <p> + It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of this + play, which is one of France’s most valuable contributions to the drama. + Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over ten years ago. Antoine + produced it at his theater and Paris immediately censored it, but soon + thought better of it and removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 it was + played in Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was thronged + with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last spring and + eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have welcomed it. —THE + INDEPENDENT. + </p> + <p> + A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth Church, + Brooklyn. + </p> + <p> + 23 Monroe Street Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Richard Bennett, New York City, N.Y. My Dear Mr. Bennett: + </p> + <p> + During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I have + experienced many exciting hours under the influence of reformer, orator + and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I do not know that I have + ever passed through a more thrilling, terrible, and yet hopeful experience + than last evening, while I listened to your interpretation of Eugene + Brieux’ “DAMAGED GOODS.” + </p> + <p> + I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It is not + too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the people of our + country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, this conspiracy of + silence is ended. No young man who sees “Damaged Goods” will ever be the + same again. If I wanted to build around an innocent boy buttresses of fire + and granite, and lend him triple armour against temptation and the + assaults of evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. + That which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to + accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a work for + which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases and + Heredity in connection with your great reform. + </p> + <p> + With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, Faithfully yours, + </p> + <p> + Newell Dwight Hillis + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + It was four o’clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the door and + came down the steps to the street. The first faint streaks of dawn were in + the sky, and he noticed this with annoyance, because he knew that his hair + was in disarray and his whole aspect disorderly; yet he dared not take a + cab, because he feared to attract attention at home. When he reached the + sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no one had seen him leave + the house, then started down the street, his eyes upon the sidewalk before + him. + </p> + <p> + George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men in this + world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase means. The fumes + of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober now, quite free from + excitement. He saw what he had done, and it seemed to him something black + and disgusting. + </p> + <p> + Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had to + traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid was up, + before the baker’s boy called with the rolls; otherwise, what explanation + could he give?—he who had always been such a moral man, who had been + pointed out by mothers as an example to their sons. + </p> + <p> + George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she could + know about his night’s adventure. He thought again and again, with a pang + of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be possible that a man who was engaged, + whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon to possess + the love of a beautiful and noble girl—that such a man could have + been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into such a low + action? + </p> + <p> + He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying + to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them. He + had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a thing + in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted the + invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law + school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led “fast” + lives—but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend’s rooms for a + lark without harm! + </p> + <p> + He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had come + with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that she was + all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when first he had + noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun to go to his head—he + was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot drink wine at all. He had + offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on the way he had lost his + head. + </p> + <p> + Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he + who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them, + because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long time to + persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her married + friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take off his + shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck George + particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was, he had not + forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the dangers of + contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, “This girl must be + safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He was + suffering intensely—the emotion described by the poet in the bitter + words about “Time’s moving finger having writ.” His mind, seeking some + explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that + night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a + decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He + had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her up when he + became engaged; but now for a while he felt that he would have to break + his resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat in the + working-class portion of Paris. + </p> + <p> + It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as his father—that + of notary—that he had made the acquaintance of the young working + girl. It may not be easy to believe, but Lizette had really been a decent + girl. She had a family to take care of, and was in need. There was a + grandmother in poor health, a father not much better, and three little + brothers; so Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and he felt + quite virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of these + unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered proper to + take such things if one paid for them. + </p> + <p> + All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They adored him, + and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had not been so foolish + as to give them his true name). + </p> + <p> + Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control + her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she + deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her relatives + also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never trusted out + alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his little “family,” + so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. He interested her + in church affairs—mass and vespers were her regular occasions for + excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother went with her to + the services. The simple people were proud to see their name engraved upon + the brass plate of the pew. + </p> + <p> + The reason for all these precautions was George’s terror of disease. He + had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men encounter + in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George’s heart; he + had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, for one, + would protect himself. + </p> + <p> + That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; + such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably ever + occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do such a + thing. The French have a phrase, “l’homme moyen sensuel”—the average + sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble idealisms, no + particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude was a purely + selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same time to keep out + of trouble. + </p> + <p> + He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed upon + himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, he suffered + keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the amusements of his + friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to keep regular hours, + preparing for his law examinations. But all the time he was longing for + adventures. And, of course, this could not go on forever, for the motive + of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the sexual urge in a + full-blooded young man. + </p> + <p> + The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been + for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George + was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted + mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the mother + broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had been that his + son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense suffering he had + been able to think about the matter, and had named the girl whom he wished + George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some interest to learn who + this might be. He was surprised when his mother told him that it was his + cousin, Henriette Loches. + </p> + <p> + He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. “It + doesn’t please you?” asked his mother, with a tone disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Why no, mother,” he answered. “It’s not that. It just surprises me.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked the mother. “Henriette is a lovely girl and a good girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said George; “but then she is my cousin, and—” He + blushed a little with embarrassment. “I had never thought of her in that + way.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son’s. “Yes, George,” she said + tenderly. “I know. You are such a good boy.” + </p> + <p> + Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good boy; but + his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea of the truth + about the majority of men. She would never have got over the shock if he + had told her about himself, and so he had to pretend to be just what she + thought him. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “have you never felt the least + bit in love?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no—I don’t think so,” George stammered, becoming conscious of a + sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said his mother, “it is really time that you were settled in + life. Your father said that we should have seen to it before, and now it + is my duty to see to it. It is not good for you to live alone so long.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother, I have YOU,” said George generously. + </p> + <p> + “Some day the Lord may take me away,” was the reply. “I am getting old. + And, George, dear—” Here suddenly her voice began to tremble with + feeling—“I would like to see my baby grandchildren before I go. You + cannot imagine what it would mean to me.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so she went on + to the more worldly aspects of the matter. Henriette’s father was + well-to-do, and he would give her a good dowry. She was a charming and + accomplished girl. Everybody would consider him most fortunate if the + match could be arranged. Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame + Dupont had spoken, and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a great + deal of property and would surely help the young couple. + </p> + <p> + George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, even if + he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a course? He could + not explain that he already had a family—with stepchildren, so to + speak, who adored him. And what could he say to his mother’s obsession, to + which she came back again and again—her longing to see her + grandchildren before she died? Madame Dupont waited only long enough for + George to stammer out a few protestations, and then in the next breath to + take them back; after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. The + family lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement were + worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately afterwards George + learned of an opportunity to purchase the practice of a notary, who was + ready to retire from business in two months’ time. Henriette’s father + consented to advance a portion of her dowry for this purpose. + </p> + <p> + Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his father, and + this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did not attempt to deny, + either to himself of to any one else. George was a cautious young man, who + came of a frugal and saving stock. He had always been taught that it was + his primary duty to make certain of a reasonable amount of comfort. From + his earliest days, he had been taught to regard material success as the + greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed of engaging himself + to a girl without money. But when he had the good fortune to meet one who + possessed desirable personal qualities in addition to money, he was not in + the least barred from appreciating those qualities. They were, so to + speak, the sauce which went with the meat, and it seemed to him that in + this case the sauce was of the very best. + </p> + <p> + George—a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a + good-natured countenance—was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty + laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its + deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round world; + he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune of + possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat + sentimental turn—easily influenced by women and sensitive to their + charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had + learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed, was + to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + </p> + <p> + In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his + relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement + was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as he + placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had kissed + Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When he walked + arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he had walked + just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare the words of + the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he had taken Lizette + and her little family for a picnic upon one of the excursion steamers + which run down the River Seine. Immediately he decided that he would like + to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he persuaded an aunt of + Henriette’s to go with her as a chaperon. George took his bride-to-be to + the same little inn where he had lunch before. + </p> + <p> + Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful + and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and + did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to + tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident + which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found + himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. + There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which made + it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so sensible. + Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not have afforded to + marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been expected to lead a + continent life. And he had really loved Lizette; she was really a good + girl. Yet, if Henriette had got any idea of it, she would have been + horrified and indignant—she might even have broken off the + engagement. + </p> + <p> + And then, too, there was Henriette’s father, a personage of great dignity + and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French Parliament, from a + district in the provinces. He was a man of upright life, and a man who + made a great deal of that upright life—keeping it on a pedestal + where everyone might observe it. It was impossible to imagine M. Loches in + an undignified or compromising situation—such as the younger man + found himself facing in the matter of Lizette. + </p> + <p> + The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George became. + Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to break with the girl, + and be “good” until the time of his marriage. Dear little soft-eyed + Lizette—he did not dare to face her personally; he could never bear + to say good-by, he felt. Instead, he went to the father, who as a man + could be expected to understand the situation. George was embarrassed and + not a little nervous about it; for although he had never misrepresented + his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely free from the + possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, Lizette’s father behaved + decently, and was duly grateful for the moderate sum of money which George + handed him in parting. He promised to break the news gently to Lizette, + and George went away with his mind made up that he would never see her + again. + </p> + <p> + This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous in doing + it. But the truth was that he had grown used to intimacy with a woman, and + was restless without it. And that, he told himself, was why he yielded to + the shameful temptation the night of that fatal supper party. + </p> + <p> + He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that he had + been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that he had proved + himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. So keen was his feeling + that it was several days before he could bring himself to see Henriette + again; and when he went, it was with a mind filled with a brand-new set of + resolutions. It was the last time that he would ever fall into error. He + would be a new man from then on. He thanked God that there was no chance + of his sin being known, that he might have an opportunity to prove his new + determination. + </p> + <p> + So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of + them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with + Henriette’s mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance. + George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he was + really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always been as + good as he should have been; he said that her purity and sweetness had + awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life had been full of + blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of ideas as to what + the blunders of a tender and generous young man like George might be. So + she only loved him the more for his humility, and was flattered to have + such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such moods of exaltation. + When he told her that all men were bad, and that no man was worthy of such + a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and wiped away tears from her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the + real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new + resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really + mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his + past. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young + girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with + unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young man + could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the + importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter, + he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He made + haste to shy off from the subject of his “badness” and to turn the + conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + </p> + <p> + “If I am going to be so good,” he said, “don’t forget that you will have + to be good also!” + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” said Henriette, who was still serious. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to try hard,” he persisted. “You will find that you have a + very jealous husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I?” said Henriette, beaming with happiness—for when a woman is + very much in love she doesn’t in the least object to the man’s being + jealous. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” smiled George. “I’ll always be watching you.” + </p> + <p> + “Watching me?” echoed the girl with a surprised look. + </p> + <p> + And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be no + need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it at + such a time. That was one of the ideas which he had brought with him from + his world of evil. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious husband; + nothing could ever change that fact, for there was something in his own + conscience which he could not get out, and which would make it impossible + for him to be at ease as a married man. It was the memory of something + which had happened earlier in his life before he met Lizette. There had + been one earlier experience, with the wife of his dearest friend. She had + been much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an interest in + George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years the intrigue + continued, and George considered it a good solution of a young man’s + problem. There had been no danger of contamination, for he knew that his + friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a jealous man who watched his + wife, and did not permit her to contract those new relations which are + always dangerous. As for George, he helped in this worthy work, keeping + the woman in terror of some disease. He told her that almost all men were + infected, for he hoped by this means to keep her from deceiving him. + </p> + <p> + I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want anyone to + think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to point out that people + feel differently about these matters in France. In judging the unfortunate + young man, we must judge him by the customs of his own country, and not by + ours. In France, they are accustomed to what is called the MARIAGE DE + CONVENANCE. The young girl is not permitted to go about and make her own + friends and decide which one of them she prefers for her husband; on the + contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training often is of a religious + nature, and her marriage is a matter of business, to be considered and + decided by her parents and those of the young man. Now, whatever we may + think right, it is humanly certain that where marriages are made in that + way, the need of men and women for sympathy and for passionate interest + will often lead to the forming of irregular relationships after marriage. + It is not possible to present statistics as to the number of such + irregular relationships in Parisian society; but in the books which he + read and in the plays which he saw, George found everything to encourage + him to think that it was a romantic and delightful thing to keep up a + secret intrigue with the wife of his best friend. + </p> + <p> + It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling the + truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it is not + customary to tell this about men, either in real life or in novels. There + is a great deal of concealment in the world about matters of sex; and in + such matters the truth-telling man is apt to suffer in reputation in + comparison with the truth-concealing one. + </p> + <p> + Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. It had + happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and this had so + affected the guilty pair that they had felt their relationship was no + longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse her grief alone, and George + had been so deeply affected that he had avoided affairs and entanglements + with women until his meeting with Lizette. + </p> + <p> + All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a deeper + impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it was now working in + his mind and marring his happiness. Here was a girl who loved him with a + noble and unselfish and whole-hearted love—and yet he would never be + able to trust her as she deserved, but would always have suspicions + lurking in the back of his mind. He would be unable to have his friends + intimate in his home, because of the memory of what he had once done to a + friend. It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it is that Nature often + finds ways of punishing us, without our even being aware of it. + </p> + <p> + That was all for the future, however. At present, George was happy. He put + his black sin behind him, feeling that he had obtained absolution by his + confession to Henriette. Day by day, as he realized his good fortune, his + round face beamed with more and yet more joy. + </p> + <p> + He went for a little trip to Henriette’s home in the country. It was a + simple village, and they took walks in the country, and stopped to refresh + themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of M. Loches’ tenants. Here was + a rosy and buxom peasant woman, with a nursing child in her arms. She was + destined a couple of years later to be the foster-mother of Henriette’s + little girl and to play an important part in her life. But the pair had no + idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud and happy mother, and + Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to childish delight. Then + suddenly she looked up and saw that George was watching her, and as she + read his thoughts a beautiful blush suffused her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in a kind of + ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; he had found its + supreme happiness, which was love. He was really getting quite mad about + Henriette, he told himself. He could hardly believe that the day was + coming when he would be able to clasp her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + But in the blue sky of George’s happiness there was one little cloud of + storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so small that at first + he paid no attention to it at all. + </p> + <p> + He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated it with + salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or two, when this + had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He remembered suddenly he + had heard about the symptoms of an unmentionable, dreadful disease, and a + vague terror took possession of him. + </p> + <p> + For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, it was + absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the thought would + not be put away, and finally he went to a school friend, who was a man of + the world, and got him to talk on the subject. Of course, George had to be + careful, so that his friend should not suspect that he had any special + purpose in mind. + </p> + <p> + The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; but one + was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. There were other + diseases which fellows got, which nearly every fellow had, and to which + none of them paid any attention. But one seldom met anyone who had the red + plague that George dreaded. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” he added, “according to the books, it isn’t so uncommon. I + suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap naturally wouldn’t tell, + when he knew it would damn him for life.” + </p> + <p> + George had a sick sensation inside of him. “Is it as bad as that?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the other, “Should you want to have anything to do with + a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with him or travel with + him? You wouldn’t even want to shake hands with him!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I suppose not,” said George, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” continued the other, “an old fellow who used to live out in + the country near me. He was not so very old, either, but he looked it. He + had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. People said he had locomotor + ataxia, but that really meant syphilis. We boys used to poke all kinds of + fun at him because one windy day his hat and his wig were blown off + together, and we discovered that he was as bald as an egg. We used to make + jokes about his automobile, as we called it. It had a little handle in + front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to push, instead of + an engine.” + </p> + <p> + “How horrible!” remarked George with genuine feeling. + </p> + <p> + “I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after,” continued the + friend, quite carelessly. “He could not steer any more, and also he lost + his voice. When you met him he would look at you as it he thought he was + talking, but all he could say was ‘Ga-ga-ga’.” + </p> + <p> + George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told himself + over and over again that he was a fool, but still he could not get the + hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself brooding over it all day + and lying awake at night, haunted by images of himself in a wheel-chair, + and without any hair on his head. He realized that the sensible thing + would be for him to go to a doctor and make certain about his condition; + but he could not bring himself to face the ordeal—he was ashamed to + admit to a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + </p> + <p> + He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy face. He + had less appetite, and his moods of depression became so frequent that he + could not hide then even from Henriette. She asked him once or twice if + there were not something the matter with him, and he laughed—a + forced and hurried laugh—and told her that he had sat up too late + the night before, worrying over the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a + cruel thing it was that a man who stood in the very gateway of such a + garden of delight should be tormented and made miserable by this loathsome + idea! + </p> + <p> + The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George purchased a + medical book, dealing with the subject of the disease. Then, indeed, he + opened up a chamber of horrors; he made up his mind an abiding place of + ghastly images. In the book there were pictures of things so awful that he + turned white, and trembled like a leaf, and had to close the volume and + hide it in the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish the pictures + from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the description of the + first symptom of the disease, which seemed to correspond exactly with his + own. So at last he made up his mind he must ascertain definitely the truth + about his condition. + </p> + <p> + He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard somewhere a + story about a young fellow who had fallen into the hands of a quack, and + been ruined forever. So he decided that he would consult only the best + authority. + </p> + <p> + He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a bookstore, + and found that the author of one of these books was practicing in Paris as + a specialist. Two or three days elapsed before he was able to get up the + courage to call on this doctor. And oh, the shame and horror of sitting in + his waiting-room with the other people, none of whom dared to look each + other in the eyes! They must all be afflicted, George thought, and he + glanced at them furtively, looking for the various symptoms of which he + had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like himself—merely victims + of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of dread pulled from off their + backs? + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the doctor, + signaling to him. His turn had come! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every + appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock coat he + wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. Confused and nervous + as George was, he got a vague impression of the physician’s richly + furnished office, with its bronzes, marbles and tapestries. + </p> + <p> + The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair before his + desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the perspiration from + his forehead, stammered out a few words, explaining his errand. Of course, + he said, it could not be true, but it was a man’s duty not to take any + chances in such a matter. “I have not been a man of loose life,” he added; + “I have not taken so many chances as other men.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance was all + that was necessary. Instead of discussing such questions, he would make an + examination. “We do not say positively in these cases until we have made a + blood test. That is the one way to avoid the possibility of mistake.” + </p> + <p> + A drop of blood was squeezed out of George’s finger on to a little glass + plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and the victim sat alone + in the office, deriving no enjoyment from the works of art which + surrounded him, but feeling like a prisoner who sits in the dock with his + life at stake while the jury deliberates. + </p> + <p> + The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in his + office-chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor?” asked George. He was trembling with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” was the reply, “there is no doubt whatever.” + </p> + <p> + George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. “No doubt + whatever? In what sense?” + </p> + <p> + “In the bad sense,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how George + turned page with terror. “Come,” he said, after a silence, “you must have + known the truth pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, sir!” exclaimed George. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the other, “you have syphilis.” + </p> + <p> + George was utterly stunned. “My God!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and observed his + condition. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. Out of every seven men you meet + upon the street, in society, or at the theater, there is at least one who + has been in your condition. One out of seven—fifteen per cent!” + </p> + <p> + George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. “I know + what I am going to do.” + </p> + <p> + “And I know also,” said the doctor, with a smile. “There is your + prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have it put + up.” + </p> + <p> + George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does.” + </p> + <p> + “No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know what I am + going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “Five times out of ten, in the chair where you are + sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each one believes + himself more unhappy than all the others; but after thinking it over, and + listening to me, they understand that this disease is a companion with + whom one can live. Just as in every household, one gets along at the cost + of mutual concessions, that’s all. Come, sir, I tell you again, there is + nothing about it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly natural, + perfectly common; it is an accident which can happen to any one. It is a + great mistake that people speak if this as the ‘French Disease,’ for there + is none which is more universal. Under the picture of this disease, + addressing myself to those who follow the oldest profession in the world, + I would write the famous phrase: ‘Here is your master. It is, it was, or + it must be.’” + </p> + <p> + George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of his coat, + stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. “But, sir,” he + exclaimed, “I should have been spared!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” inquired the other. “Because you are a man of position, because you + are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of art in my room. Do you + imagine that such things have been presented to me by chimney-sweeps?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor,” cried George, with a moan, “I have never been a libertine. + There was never any one, you understand me, never any one could have been + more careful in his pleasures. If I were to tell you that in all my life I + have only had two mistresses, what would you answer to that?” + </p> + <p> + “I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to bring you + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” cried George. “It could not have been either of those women.” + He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, and then about + Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how much he adored her. He could + really use such a word—he loved her most tenderly. She was so good—and + he had thought himself so lucky! + </p> + <p> + As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. “I had + everything,” he exclaimed, “everything a man needed! All who knew me + envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me off to that + miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My future is ruined, my whole + existence poisoned! What is to become of me? Everybody will avoid me—I + shall be a pariah, a leper!” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, “Come, now! Would it + not be better that I should take myself out of the way? At least, I should + not suffer any more. You see that there could not be any one more unhappy + than myself—not any one, I tell you, sir, not any one!” Completely + overcome, he began to weep in his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + The doctor got up, and went to him. “You must be a man,” he said, “and not + cry like a child.” + </p> + <p> + “But sir,” cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, “if I + had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with chorus + girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had deserved + it.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, “No, no! You would not say it. + However, it is of no matter—go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I had + deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And now, + when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting things, + the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned—” + </p> + <p> + “What is all this you are telling me?” asked the doctor, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know, I know!” cried the other, and repeated what his friend had + told him about the man in a wheel-chair. “And they used to call me + handsome Raoul! That was my name—handsome Raoul!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear sir,” said the doctor, cheerfully, “wipe your eyes one last + time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and hear me + dry-eyed.” + </p> + <p> + George obeyed mechanically. “But I give you fair warning,” he said, “you + are wasting your time.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you—” began the other. + </p> + <p> + “I know exactly what you are going to tell me!” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here—run + along.” + </p> + <p> + “Since I am here,” said the patient submissively, “I will hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the + perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it is your duty to tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in Paris, + alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just saying—wheel-chairs. + One doesn’t see so many of them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s true,” said George. + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” added the doctor, “a good many people who ride in them are + not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why you should + be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred thousand. The + disease is serious, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “You admit that it is a serious disease?” argued George. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “One of the most serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you have the good fortune—” + </p> + <p> + “The GOOD fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected with + one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” exclaimed George, “but the remedies are worse than the + disease.” + </p> + <p> + “You deceive yourself,” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + “You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?” + </p> + <p> + “You can be.” + </p> + <p> + “And that I am not condemned?” + </p> + <p> + “I swear it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was told—” + </p> + <p> + The doctor laughed, contemptuously. “You were told, you were told! I’ll + wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, naturally,” said George. “But I don’t see what they have to do with + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Instead of teaching you such things,” was the reply, “it would have been + a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause of + diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the + contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the most + important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned a + little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way + subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the + name of this vile disease. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” pursued the doctor, “you publish romances about adultery!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said George, “that’s what the readers want.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t want the truth about venereal diseases,” exclaimed the other. + “If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that adultery was + romantic and interesting.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. + There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take her + as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive you. + “Take that from me,” added the doctor, “and teach it to your son, when you + have one.” + </p> + <p> + George’s attention was caught by this last sentence. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that I shall be able to have children?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Healthy children?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long + time, conscientiously, you have little to fear.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s certain?” + </p> + <p> + “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” + </p> + <p> + George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. “Why, then,” he + exclaimed, “I shall be able to marry!” + </p> + <p> + “You will be able to marry,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would not + expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “In three or four years,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried George in consternation. “In three or four years? Not + before?” + </p> + <p> + “Not before.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just + now—” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, yourself—but + you will be dangerous to others.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” the young man cried, in despair, “I am to be married a month from + now.” + </p> + <p> + “That is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have + been published! I have given my word!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are a great one!” the doctor laughed. “Just now you were + looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor, it is necessary!” + </p> + <p> + “But I forbid it.” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I + could be cured, naturally I didn’t want to commit suicide. And as soon as + I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular + life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” persisted George, with blind obstinacy. “Why, Doctor, if I + didn’t marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something you + don’t understand. I, for my part—it is not that I am anxious to be + married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette’s little + brothers adored me. But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother + is crazy about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of + chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has the + family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a regular dragoon + for his principles—severe, violent. He never makes a joke of serious + things, and I tell you it would cost me dear, terribly dear. And, besides, + I have given my word.” + </p> + <p> + “You must take back your word.” + </p> + <p> + “You still insist?” exclaimed George, in despair. “But then, suppose that + it were possible, how could I take back my signature which I put at the + bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to pay in two months for the + attorney’s practice I have purchased!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the doctor, “all these things—” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I should + never have disposed of my wife’s dowry until after the honeymoon!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the doctor, again, “all these considerations are foreign to + me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, and I can only tell you + this: If you marry before three or four years, you will be a criminal.” + </p> + <p> + George broke out with a wild exclamation. “No sir, you are not merely a + physician! You are also a confessor! You are not merely a scientist; and + it is not enough for you that you observe me as you would some lifeless + thing in your laboratory, and say, ‘You have this; science says that; now + go along with you.’ All my existence depends upon you. It is your duty to + listen to me, because when you know everything you will understand me, and + you will find some way to cure me within a month.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” protested the doctor, “I wear myself out telling you that such + means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as much as any + one can be certain, in less than three or four years.” + </p> + <p> + George was almost beside himself. “I tell you you must find some means! + Listen to me, sir—if I don’t get married I don’t get the dowry! And + will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have signed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the doctor, dryly, “if that is the question, it is very simple—I + will give you a plan to get out of the affair. You will go and get + acquainted with some rich man; you will do everything you can to gain his + confidence; and when you have succeeded, you will plunder him.” + </p> + <p> + George shook his head. “I am not in any mood for joking.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not joking,” replied his adviser. “Rob that man, assassinate him + even—that would be no worse crime than you would commit in taking a + young girl in good health in order to get a portion of her dowry, when at + the same time you would have to expose her to the frightful consequences + of the disease which you would give her.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightful consequences?” echoed George. + </p> + <p> + “Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, you were saying to me just now—” + </p> + <p> + “Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, suppressed a little + by our remedies, the disease remains mysterious, menacing, and in its sum, + sufficiently grave. So it would be an infamy to expose your fiancee in + order to avoid an inconvenience, however great that might be.” + </p> + <p> + But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that this + misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best attention? + </p> + <p> + Said the other: “I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not absolutely + certain, it is probable. And there is another truth which I wish to tell + you now: our remedies are not infallible. In a certain number of cases—a + very small number, scarcely five per cent—they have remained without + effect. You might be one of those exceptions, your wife might be one. What + then?” + </p> + <p> + “I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should have to + expect the worst catastrophes.” + </p> + <p> + George sat in a state of complete despair. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what to do, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you only one thing: don’t marry. You have a most serious + blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one will ever come to + claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless creditor will come all at + once, presenting a brutal demand for immediate payment. Come now—you + are a business man. Marriage is a contract; to marry without saying + anything—that means to enter into a bargain by means of passive + dissimulation. That’s the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it ought + to come under the law.” + </p> + <p> + George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could think of + nothing to say to it. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “Go to your father-in-law and tell him frankly the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” cried the young man, wildly, “there will be no question then of + three or four years’ delay. He will refuse his consent altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “If that is the case,” said the doctor, “don’t tell him anything.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have to give him a reason, or I don’t know what he will do. He is + the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, and again my + fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From everything I have said + to you, you may perhaps think I am a mercenary man. It is true that I want + to get along in the world, that is only natural. But Henriette has such + qualities; she is so much better than I, that I love her, really, as + people love in novels. My greatest grief—it is not to give up the + practice I have bought—although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow + to me; my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only see + her, if you only knew her—then you would understand. I have her + picture here—” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph to the + doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am ridiculous. That happens to me, + sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place—I love her so!” His voice + broke. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” said the doctor, feelingly, “that is exactly why you ought + not to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he cried, “if I back out without saying anything they will guess + the truth, and I shall be dishonored.” + </p> + <p> + “One is not dishonored because one is ill.” + </p> + <p> + “But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, yesterday—I + should have laughed at anyone who had got into such a plight; I should + have avoided him, I should have despised him!” And suddenly George broke + down again. “Oh!” he cried, “if I were the only one to suffer; but she—she + is in love with me. I swear it to you! She is so good; and she will be so + unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered, “She would be unhappier later on.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a scandal!” George exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “You will avoid one far greater,” the other replied. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his seat. He + took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and laid them quietly + upon the doctor’s desk—paying the fee in cash, so that he would not + have to give his name and address. He took up his gloves, his cane and his + hat, and rose. + </p> + <p> + “I will think it over,” he said. “I thank you, Doctor. I will come back + next week as you have told me. That is—probably I will.” + </p> + <p> + He was about to leave. + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. “No,” he said, + “I shan’t see you next week, and you won’t even think it over. You came + here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice of me, with the + intention of paying no heed to it, unless it conformed to your wishes. A + superficial honesty has driven you to take that chance in order to satisfy + your conscience. You wanted to have somebody upon whom you could put off, + bye and bye, the consequences of an act whose culpability you understand! + No, don’t protest! Many of those who come here think and act as you think, + and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against my will has + generally been the source of such calamities that now I am always afraid + of not having been persuasive enough, and it even seems to me that I am a + little to blame for these misfortunes. I should have been able to prevent + them; they would not have happened if those who are the authors of them + knew what I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to me, sir, that you + are going to break off that marriage!” + </p> + <p> + George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. “I cannot swear to + you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again that I will think it over.” + </p> + <p> + “That WHAT over?” + </p> + <p> + “What you have told me.” + </p> + <p> + “What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new objections; and I + have answered those which you have presented to me; therefore, your mind + ought to be made up.” + </p> + <p> + Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he had made + inquiry about these matters before he had come to the doctor. But he said + that he was not al all certain that he had this disease. The doctor + declared it, and perhaps it was true, but the most learned physicians were + sometimes deceived. + </p> + <p> + He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. “Dr. + Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is no longer + contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. Today you produce + new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I want to do what’s right, but + surely I have the right to think it over. And when I think it over, I + realize that all the evils with which you threaten me are only probable + evils. In spite of your desire to terrify me, you have been forced to + admit that possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome consequence + for my wife.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, “Go on. I + will answer you afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + And George blundered ahead in his desperation. “Your remedies are + powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you speak to befall + me, I would have to be among the rare exceptions—also my wife would + have to be among the number of those rare exceptions. If a mathematician + were to apply the law of chance to these facts, the result of his + operation would show but slight chance of a catastrophe, as compared with + the absolute certainty of a series of misfortunes, sufferings, troubles, + tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which the breaking of my engagement + would cause. So I say that the mathematician—who is, even more than + you, a man of science, a man of a more infallible science—the + mathematician would conclude that wisdom was not with you doctors, but + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe it, sir!” exclaimed the other. “But you deceive yourself.” + And he continued, driving home his point with a finger which seemed to + George to pierce his very soul. “Twenty cases identical with your own have + been patiently observed, from the beginning to the end. Nineteen times the + woman was infected by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen times out of + twenty! You believe that the disease is without danger, and you take to + yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the chance of your + being one of those exceptions, for whom our remedies are without effect. + Very well; it is necessary that you should know the disease which your + wife, without being consulted, will run a chance of contracting. Take that + book, sir; it is the work of my teacher. Read it yourself. Here, I have + marked the passage.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to take it. + </p> + <p> + “You do not wish to read it?” the other continued. “Listen to me.” And in + a voice trembling with passion, he read: “‘I have watched the spectacle of + an unfortunate young woman, turned into a veritable monster by means of a + syphilitic infection. Her face, or rather let me say what was left of her + face, was nothing but a flat surface seamed with scars.’” + </p> + <p> + George covered his face, exclaiming, “Enough, sir! Have mercy!” + </p> + <p> + But the other cried, “No, no! I will go to the very end. I have a duty to + perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility of your nerves.” + </p> + <p> + He went on reading: “‘Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the ridge of + the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.’” But then at the young man’s + protests, his resolution failed him. “Come,” he said, “I will stop. I am + sorry for you—you who accept for another person, for the woman you + say you love, the chance of a disease which you cannot even endure to hear + described. Now, from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who am + speaking, it is the book. ‘From a miserable scoundrel who was not afraid + to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary eruption.’ All that was + established later on—‘and who, moreover, had thought it best not to + let his wife be treated for fear of awakening her suspicions!’” + </p> + <p> + The doctor closed the book with a bang. “What that man has done, sir, is + what you want to do.” + </p> + <p> + George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the doctor in + the eye. “I should deserve all those epithets and still more brutal ones + if I should marry, knowing that my marriage would cause such horrors. But + that I do not believe. You and your teachers—you are specialists, + and consequently you are driven to attribute everything to the disease you + make the subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional case, + holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be talked + about enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that argument before,” said the doctor, with an effort at + patience. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go on, I beg you,” pleaded George. “You have told me that out of + every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have told me that there are + one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and going, alert, and apparently + well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said the doctor, “that there are one hundred thousand who + are actually at this moment not visibly under the influence of the + disease. But many thousands have passed into our hospitals, victims of the + most frightful ravages that our poor bodies can support. These—you + do not see them, and they do not count for you. But again, if it concerned + no one but yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I declare to + you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, is that you + have not the right to expose a human creature to such chances—rare, + as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. What have you to answer + to that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” stammered George, brought to his knees at last. “You are right + about that. I don’t know what to think.” + </p> + <p> + “And in forbidding you marriage,” continued the doctor, “is it the same as + if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told you that you could + never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out to you every hope; but I + demand of you a delay of three or four years, because it will take me that + time to find out if you are among the number of those unfortunate ones + whom I pity with all my heart, for whom the disease is without mercy; + because during that time you will be dangerous to your wife and to your + children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you.” + </p> + <p> + Here the doctor’s voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving eloquence. + “Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young for such things not + to move you; you are not insensible to duty. It is impossible that I + shan’t be able to find a way to your heart, that I shan’t be able to make + you obey me. My emotion in speaking to you proves that I appreciate your + suffering, that I suffer with you. It is in the name of my sincerity that + I implore you. You have admitted it—that you have not the right to + expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your wife that you + strike; you may attack in her your own children. I exclude you for a + moment from my thought—you and her. It is in the name of these + innocents that I implore you; it is the future, it is the race that I + defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out of the twenty households of which + I spoke, only fifteen had children; these fifteen had twenty-eight. Do you + know how many out of these twenty-eight survived? Three, sir! Three out of + twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a murderer of children. Herod + reigns in France, and over all the earth, and begins each year his + massacre of the innocents; and if it be not blasphemy against the + sacredness of life, I say that the most happy are those who have + disappeared. Visit our children’s hospitals! We know too well the child of + syphilitic parents; the type is classical; the doctors can pick it out + anywhere. Those little old creatures who have the appearance of having + already lived, and who have kept the stigmata of all out infirmities, of + all our decay. They are the victims of fathers who have married, being + ignorant of what you know—things which I should like to go and cry + out in the public places.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: “I have told you + all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the pros and cons; sum + up the possible misfortunes and the certain miseries. But disregard + yourself, and consider that there are in one side of the scales the + misfortunes of others, and in the other your own. Take care that you are + just.” + </p> + <p> + George was at last overcome. “Very well,” he said, “I give way. I won’t + get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a delay of six months. + More than that, I cannot do.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor exclaimed, “I need three years—I need four years!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Doctor!” persisted George. “You can cure me in less time than that.” + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “No! No! No!” + </p> + <p> + George caught him by the hand, imploringly. “Yes! Science in all + powerful!” + </p> + <p> + “Science is not God,” was the reply. “There are no longer any miracles.” + </p> + <p> + “If only you wanted to do it!” cried the young man, hysterically. “You are + a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some new plan with me; + give me double the dose, ten times the does; make me suffer. I give myself + up to you; I will endure everything—I swear it! There ought to be + some way to cure me within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I can’t + answer for myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my wife, in + the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for them!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. “Enough, sir!” he cried. + “Enough!” + </p> + <p> + But nothing could stop the wretched man. “On my knees!” he cried. “I put + myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only you would do it! I would bless + you; I would adore you, as one adores a god! All my gratitude, all my life—half + my fortune! For mercy’s sake, Doctor, do something; invent something; make + some discovery—have pity!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered gravely, “Do you wish me to do more for you than for + the others?” + </p> + <p> + George answered, unblushingly, ‘answered, unblushingly, “Yes!” He was + beside himself with terror and distress. + </p> + <p> + The other’s reply was delivered in a solemn tone. “Understand, sir, for + every one of out patients we do all that we can, whether it be the + greatest personage, or the last comer to out hospital clinic. We have no + secrets in reserve for those who are more fortunate, or less fortunate + than the others, and who are in a hurry to be cured.” + </p> + <p> + George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and then + suddenly bowed his head. “Good-by, Doctor,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Au revoir, sir,” the other corrected—with what proved to be + prophetic understanding. For George was destined to see him again—even + though he had made up his mind to the contrary! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to make; but + there was never very much doubt what his decision would be. One the one + hand was the definite certainty that if he took the doctor’s advice, he + would wreck his business prospects, and perhaps also lose the woman he + loved. On the other hand were vague and uncertain possibilities which it + was difficult for him to make real to himself. It was all very well to + wait a while to be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four + years—that was simply preposterous! + </p> + <p> + He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this time who + would not be so particular, who would be willing to take some trouble to + cure him quickly. He began to notice the advertisements which were + scattered over the pages of the newspapers he read. There were apparently + plenty of doctors in Paris who could cure him, who were willing to + guarantee to cure him. After much hesitation, he picked out one whose + advertisement sounded the most convincing. + </p> + <p> + The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not + encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. The + doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with + anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was + evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter + with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, he could + cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great discoveries made—new + methods which had not reached the bulk of the profession. He laughed at + the idea of three or four years. That was the way with those specialists! + When one got forty francs for a consultation, naturally, one was glad to + drag out the case. There were tricks in the medical trade, as in all + others. A doctor had to live; when he had a big name, he had to live + expensively. + </p> + <p> + The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the + shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would + surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six + months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there + was no need for him to worry himself—things would come out all + right. So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from + his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter settled. + “Henriette,” he said, “I have to tell you something very important—something + rather painful. I hope you won’t let it disturb you too much.” + </p> + <p> + She was gazing at him in alarm. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had + begun the matter so precipitately, “for some time I’ve not been feeling + quite well. I’ve been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no!” exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a + possibility—you understand it is nothing very serious—but it + might be—I might possibly have lung trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “George!” cried the girl in horror. + </p> + <p> + He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be all + right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he + thought—to be so much worried! + </p> + <p> + “George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have been + working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so much—” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is + necessary. I shall be all right—the doctor assured me there was no + doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is + the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am + perfectly well.” + </p> + <p> + Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!” + </p> + <p> + “We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being + married to a consumptive.” + </p> + <p> + The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a consumptive; + she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was willing to take her + chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But George insisted—he + was sure that he ought not to marry for six months. + </p> + <p> + “Did the doctor advise that?” asked Henriette. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “but I made up my mind after talking to him that I must + do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to forgive me, and to believe + that I know best.” + </p> + <p> + George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had to give + way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue persisting. + </p> + <p> + George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped this + would settle the matter without further discussion. But in this he was + disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence with long arguments + and protestations from Henriette’s father and from his own mother. It + seemed such a singular whim. Everybody persisted in diagnosing his + symptoms, in questioning him about what the doctor had said, who the + doctor was, how he had come to consult him—all of which, of course, + was very embarrassing to George, who could not see why they had to make + such a fuss. He took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he + could imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house—and + it was all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look of dismay + on his poor mother’s face. After all, however, he told himself that he was + not deceiving her, for the disease he had was quite as serious as + tuberculosis. + </p> + <p> + It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that could be + done about it; the marriage had been put off for six months, and in the + meantime he and Henriette had to control their impatience and make the + best of their situation. Six months was a long time; but what if it had + been three or four years, as the other doctor had demanded? That would + have been a veritable sentence of death. + </p> + <p> + George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and careful in his + habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor prescribed for him; and + day by day he watched, and to his great relief saw the troublesome + symptoms gradually disappearing. He began to take heart, and to look + forward to life with his former buoyancy. He had had a bad scare, but now + everything was going to be all right. + </p> + <p> + Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was cured. He + really was cured, so far as he could see. He was sorry, now, that he had + asked for so long a delay from Henriette; but the new date for the wedding + had been announced, and it would be awkward to change it again. George + told himself that he was being “extra careful,” and he was repaid for the + inconvenience by the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. He was + relieved that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent any more + tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. Sometimes he + had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had had to do; but he told + himself that it was for Henriette’s sake. She loved him as much as he + loved her. She would have suffered needless agonies had she known the + truth; she would never have got over it—so it would have been a + crime to tell her. + </p> + <p> + He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he had + thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any physical harm + that the dread disease might do to him. How could he possibly persuade + himself to give her up, when he knew that the separation would break her + heart and ruin her whole life? No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was + his duty to use his own best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly as + possible. After that he would be true to her, he would take no more + chances of a loathsome disease. + </p> + <p> + The secret he was hiding made him feel humble—made him unusually + gentle in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, and she + was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his sufferings were + because of his love for her, and the delay which he had imposed out of his + excess of conscientiousness. So she loved him more and more, and never was + there a happier bride than Henriette Loches, when at last the great day + arrived. + </p> + <p> + They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned to live in + the home which had belonged to George’s father. The investment in the + notary’s practice had proven a good one, and so life held out every + promise for the young couple. They were divinely happy. + </p> + <p> + After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings that she + was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that the cup of his + earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped far into the background of + his thoughts, like an evil dream which he had forgotten. He put away the + medicines in the bottom of his trunk and dismissed the whole matter from + his mind. Henriette was well—a very picture of health, as every one + agreed. The doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he + declared, and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy as + she attended her daughter-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Henriette went for the summer to her father’s place in the provinces, + which she and George had visited before their marriage. They drove out one + day to the farm where they had stopped. The farmer’s wife had a week-old + baby, the sight of which made Henriette’s heart leap with delight. He was + such a very healthy baby that George conceived the idea that this would be + the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette herself should not be + able to do it. + </p> + <p> + They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As George paced + the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his evil dreams came back + to him. He remembered all the dreadful monstrosities of which he had read—infants + that were born of syphilitic parents. His heart stood still when the nurse + came into the room to tell him the tidings. + </p> + <p> + But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a fool, he + told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed at the wonderful + little mite of life which was the fruit of his love. It was a perfect + child, the doctor said—a little small, to be sure, but that was a + defect which would soon be remedied. George kneeled by the bedside and + kissed the hand of his wife, and went out of the room feeling as if he had + escaped from a tomb. + </p> + <p> + All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about the house + again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the baby did not gain + quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and it was decided that the + country air would be better for her. So George and his mother paid a visit + to the farm in the country, and arranged that the country woman should put + her own child to nurse elsewhere and should become the foster-mother of + little Gervaise. + </p> + <p> + George paid a good price for the service, far more than would have been + necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted with the idea of + taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of her district. George came + home and told his wife about this and had a merry time as he pictured the + woman boasting about it to the travelers who stopped at her door. “Yes, + ma’am, a great piece of luck I’ve got, ma’am. I’ve got the daughter of the + daughter of our deputy—at your service ma’am. My! But she is as fat + as out little calf—and so clever! She understands everything. A + great piece of luck for me, ma’am. She’s the daughter of the daughter of + our deputy!” Henriette was vastly entertained, discovering in her husband + a new talent, that of an actor. + </p> + <p> + As for George’s mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from staying in the + country with the child. She went twice a week, to make sure that all went + well. Henriette and she lived with the child’s picture before them; they + spent their time sewing on caps and underwear—all covered with laces + and frills and pink and blue ribbons. Every day, when George came home + from his work, he found some new article completed, and was ravished by + the scent of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky man he was! + </p> + <p> + You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole city of + Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his early sins. There + was, for instance, the deception he had practiced upon his friend, away + back in the early days. Now he had friends of his own, and he could not + keep these friends from visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the fear + that some one of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even in the + midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was hanging + upon his every word, trembling with delight when she heard his latchkey in + the door—still he could not drive away the horrible thought that + perhaps all this might be deception. + </p> + <p> + There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend of + Henriette’s before her marriage; he had even been in love with her at one + time. And now he came sometimes to the house—once or twice when + George was away! What did that mean? George wondered. He brooded over it + all day, but dared not drop any hint to Henriette. But he took to setting + little traps to catch her; for instance, he would call her up on the + telephone, disguising his voice. “Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame + Dupont?” And when she answered, “It is I, sir,” all unsuspecting, he would + inquire, “Is George there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” she replied. “Who is this speaking?” + </p> + <p> + He answered, “It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?” He wanted to + see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, “Very well, Gustave. How + are you?”—in a tone which would betray too great intimacy! + </p> + <p> + But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound like + Gustave’s. She asked in bewilderment, “What?” and then again, “What?” + </p> + <p> + So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, had to + burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he came home and + teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on his side. Henriette had + guessed the real meaning of his joke! She did not really mind—she + took his jealousy as a sign of love, and was pleased with it. It is not + until a third party come upon the scene that jealousy begins to be + annoying. + </p> + <p> + So she had a merry time teasing George. “You are a great fellow! You have + no idea how well I understand you—and after only a year of + marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “You know me?” said the husband, curiously. (It is always so fascinating + when anybody thinks she know us better than we know ourselves!) “Tell me, + what do you think about me?” + </p> + <p> + “You are restless,” said Henriette. “You are suspicious. You pass your + time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise schemes to get them + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you think that, do you?” said George, pleased to be talked about. + </p> + <p> + “I am not annoyed,” she answered. “You have always been that way—and + I know that it’s because at bottom you are timid and disposed to suffer. + And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for not having confidence in a + wife’s intimate friends—lady-killer that you are!” + </p> + <p> + George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, so he + laughed gayly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said—“upon my word I + don’t. But it is a trick I would not advise everybody to try.” + </p> + <p> + There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George’s having things to + conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the six months’ delay in + the marriage—about which Henriette would never stop talking. She + begrudged the time, because she had got the idea that little Gervaise was + six months younger than she otherwise would have been. “That shows your + timidity again,” she would say. “The idea of your having imagined yourself + a consumptive!” + </p> + <p> + Poor George had to defend himself. “I didn’t tell you half the truth, + because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had the beginning of + chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly whenever I took a breath, a + deep breath—look, like this. Yes—I felt—here and there, + on each side of the chest, a heaviness—a difficulty—” + </p> + <p> + “The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!” + exclaimed Henriette. “And making our baby six months younger than she + ought to be!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” laughed George, “that means that we shall have her so much the + longer! She will get married six months later!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me,” responded the other, “let us not talk about such things! I + am already worried, thinking she will get married some day.” + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said George, “I see myself mounting with her on my arm the + staircase of the Madeleine.” + </p> + <p> + “Why the Madeleine?” exclaimed his wife. “Such a very magnificent church!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—I see her under her white veil, and myself all dressed + up, and with an order.” + </p> + <p> + “With an order!” laughed Henriette. “What do you expect to do to win an + order?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that—but I see myself with it. Explain it as you will, + I see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I were there—the + Swiss guard with his white stockings and the halbard, and the little + milliner’s assistants and the scullion lined up staring.” + </p> + <p> + “It is far off—all that,” said Henriette. “I don’t like to talk of + it. I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up—but then I change + my mind and think I don’t. I know your mother doesn’t. Do you know, I + don’t believe she ever thinks about anything but her little Gervaise.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said the father. “The child can certainly boast of having + a grandmother who loves her.” + </p> + <p> + “Also, I adore your mother,” declared Henriette. “She makes me forget my + misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so good!” + </p> + <p> + “We are all like that in our family,” put in George. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” laughed the wife. “Well, anyhow—the last time that we went + down in the country with her—you had gone out, I don’t know where + you had gone—” + </p> + <p> + “To see the sixteenth-century chest,” suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” laughed Henriette; “your famous chest!” (You must excuse this + little family chatter of theirs—they were so much in love with each + other!) + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let’s talk about that,” objected George. “You were saying—?” + </p> + <p> + “You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Or at the wine merchant’s! Go on, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was all alone + with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the baby—all + sorts of nonsense, pretty little words—stupid, if you like, but + tender. I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I wanted to weep.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she called her ‘my dear little Savior’?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly! Did you hear her?” + </p> + <p> + “No—but that is what she used to call me when I was little.” + </p> + <p> + “It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized her, and + laughed!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “And then another time, when I went into her room—mother’s room—she + didn’t hear me because the door was open, but I saw her. She was in + ecstasy before the little boots which the baby wore at baptism—you + know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say then?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the threshold a great + kiss to the dear grandmother!” + </p> + <p> + Henriette sat for a moment in thought. “It didn’t take her very long,” she + remarked, “today when she got the letter from the nurse. I imagine she + caught the eight-fifty-nine train!” + </p> + <p> + “Any yet,” laughed George, “it was really nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said his wife. “Yet after all, perhaps she was right—and + perhaps I ought to have gone with her.” + </p> + <p> + “How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are + told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply + playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I’ll bet you + something. What would you like to bet? You don’t want to? Come, I’ll bet + you a lovely necklace—you know, with a big pearl.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I should + be too much afraid of winning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as you + love her—my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her + EXACT age?” + </p> + <p> + Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and + eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. Then + we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” Then, + too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase again. + </p> + <p> + “If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk now,” + said Henriette. + </p> + <p> + He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and + pay some calls?” + </p> + <p> + Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + </p> + <p> + “Run along, little wife,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do in the + meantime. You won’t be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in + my papers. Bye-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Bye-bye,” said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so + kisses before she went away to dress. + </p> + <p> + Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big + armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. + Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to + be, since the letter had come from the baby’s nurse? Madame Dupont had + gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph at + once—but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + </p> + <p> + George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for a + moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put his + geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But then + suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced about, and + started up with an exclamation, “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was thrown + back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he cried. “We didn’t get any telegram from you; we + were not expecting you till tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Still his mother did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “Henriette was just going out,” he exclaimed nervously; “I had better call + her.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. “I did not + want Henriette to be here when I arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s the matter?” cried George. + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read something + terrible in the mother’s manner, and he found himself trembling violently. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought back the child and the nurse,” said Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “What! Is the little one sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing dangerous—for the moment, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “We must send and get the doctor!” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the doctor’s,” was the reply. “He said it was + necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up on the + bottle.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to ask the next + question. Try as he would, he could not keep his voice from weakening. + “Well, now, what is her trouble?” + </p> + <p> + The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At last she said, + faintly, “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them spoke. + “Why?” he inquired at last. + </p> + <p> + “Because—he—the nurse’s doctor—had frightened me so—” + </p> + <p> + “Truly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is a disease—” again she stopped. + </p> + <p> + George cried, in a voice of agony, “and then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be satisfied + with our ordinary doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he answer?” + </p> + <p> + “He said that if we had the means it would really be better to consult a + specialist.” + </p> + <p> + George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she was + not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. “And—where + did he send you?” + </p> + <p> + His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. “Here,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself from + tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first consulted about + his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + It was all George could do to control his voice. “You—you went to + see him?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his mother. “You know him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered. “Or—that is—I have met him, I think. I + don’t know.” And then to himself, “My God!” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. “He is coming to talk to you,” said the mother, at + last. + </p> + <p> + George was hardly able to speak. “Then he is very much disturbed?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but he wants to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, ‘Madame, it is impossible + for me to continue to attend this child unless I have had this very day a + conversation with the father.’ So I said ‘Very well,’ and he said he would + come at once.” + </p> + <p> + George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “My poor little + daughter!” he whispered to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the mother, her voice breaking, “she is, indeed, a poor little + daughter!” + </p> + <p> + A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? Hearing + the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were all a-quiver + with the strain she had been under. A servant came in and spoke to her, + and she said to George, “It is the doctor. If you need me, I shall be in + the next room.” + </p> + <p> + Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an + executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and he stood + for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost overcome with + emotion. Then he said, “Good-day, doctor.” As the man stared at him, + surprised and puzzled, he added, “You don’t recognize me?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him to break + out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. “You!” he exclaimed. “It is + you!” + </p> + <p> + At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, “You got + married, and you have a child! After all that I told you! You are a + wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” cried George, “let me explain to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word!” exclaimed the other. “There can be no explanation for what + you have done.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. Finally, + stretching out his arms, he pleaded, “You will take care of my little + daughter all the same, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + The other turned away with disgust. “Imbecile!” he said. + </p> + <p> + George did not hear the word. “I was able to wait only six months,” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, “That is enough, + sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong even to let you see + my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I have nothing + to do here but with the present and with the future—with the infant + and with the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “She isn’t in danger?” cried George. + </p> + <p> + “The nurse is in danger of being contaminated.” + </p> + <p> + But George had not been thinking about the nurse. “I mean my child,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing.” + </p> + <p> + George waited; after a while he began, “You were saying about the nurse. + Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better than I.” + </p> + <p> + “As you wish,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible distress. “I + have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so that my wife—so that + no one will know. If my wife learned that it is I who am the cause—! + It is for her that I implore you! She—she isn’t to blame.” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor: “I will do everything in my power that she may be kept + ignorant of the true nature of the disease.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how I thank you!” murmured George. “How I thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will consent to + lie.” + </p> + <p> + “And my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother knows the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “I pray you, sir—we have enough to talk about, and very serious + matters.” + </p> + <p> + So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered and greeted + the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to keep the signs of grief + and terror from her face. She signed to the doctor to take a seat, and + then seated herself by a little table near him. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dupont,” he began, “I have prescribed a course of treatment for + the child. I hope to be able to improve its condition, and to prevent any + new developments. But my duty and yours does not stop there; if there is + still time, it is necessary to protect the health of the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “The woman must stop nursing the child.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean we have to change the nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, either by + that nurse or by any other nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “But why, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave her milk.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle—our little one—she + will die!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly George burst out into sobs. “Oh, my poor little daughter! My + God, my God!” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor, “If the feeding is well attended to, with sterilized milk—” + </p> + <p> + “That can do very well for healthy infants,” broke in Madame Dupont. “But + at the age of three months one cannot take from the breast a baby like + ours, frail and ill. More than any other such an infant has need of a + nurse—is that not true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the doctor admitted, “that is true. But—” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of the nurse, + you understand perfectly well that my choice is made.” + </p> + <p> + Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose head was + buried in his arms. “Madame,” he said, “your love for that baby has just + caused you to utter something ferocious! It is not for you to choose. It + is not for you to choose. I forbid the nursing. The health of that woman + does not belong to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried the grandmother, wildly, “nor does the health of out child + belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope is in giving it + more care than any other child; and you would wish that I put it upon a + mode of nourishment which the doctors condemn, even for vigorous infants! + You expect that I will let myself be taken in like that? I answer you: she + shall have the milk which she needs, my poor little one! If there was a + single thing that one could do to save her—I should be a criminal to + neglect it!” And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious scorn, “The nurse! + The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty—we shall take care of + her, repay her. But our child before all! No sir, no! Everything that can + be done to save our baby I shall do, let it cost what it will. To do what + you say—you don’t realize it—it would be as if I should kill + the child!” In the end the agonized woman burst into tears. “Oh, my poor + little angel! My little savior!” + </p> + <p> + George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these last + words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with his foot, he + tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent physical pain. “Oh, + oh, oh!” he cried. “My little child! My little child!” And then, in a + horrified whisper to himself, “I am a wretch! A criminal!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the doctor, “you must calm yourself; you must both calm + yourselves. You will not help out the situation by lamentations. You must + learn to take it with calmness.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort recovered + her self-control. “You are right, sir,” she said, in a low voice. “I ask + your pardon; but if you only knew what that child means to me! I lost one + at that age. I am an old woman, I am a widow—I had hardly hoped to + live long enough to be a grandmother. But, as you say—we must be + calm.” She turned to the young man, “Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor + way to show our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us + talk, Doctor, and seriously—coldly. But I declare to you that + nothing will ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when I know + that it might kill her. That is all I can say.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor replied: “This isn’t the first time that I find myself in the + present situation. Madame, I declare to you that always—ALWAYS, you + understand—persons who have rejected my advice have had reason to + repent it cruelly.” + </p> + <p> + “The only thing of which I should repent—” began the other. + </p> + <p> + “You simply do not know,” interrupted the doctor, “what such a nurse is + capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness—legitimate + bitterness, you understand—joined to the rapacity, the cupidity, the + mischief-making impulse—might inspire these people to do. For them + the BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an enemy; and when they find + themselves in position to avenge their inferiority, they are ferocious.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could the woman do?” + </p> + <p> + “What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against you.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is much too stupid to have that idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Others will put it into her mind.” + </p> + <p> + “She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and stupidity? + Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “such a thing was never heard of! + Do you mean that?” + </p> + <p> + “I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there has been + certainty, the parents have lost their case.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like ours—not + when it is a question of saving the life of a poor little innocent!” + </p> + <p> + “Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented.” + </p> + <p> + Here George broke in. “I can give you the dates of the decisions.” He rose + from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be useful. “I have the books,” + he said, and took one from the case and brought it to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “All of that is no use—” interposed the mother. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor said to George, “You will be able to convince yourself. The + parents have been forced once or twice to pay the nurse a regular income, + and at other times they have had to pay her an indemnity, of which the + figure has varied between three and eight thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. “Never fear, sir! If there + should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We shall be able to pay + and choose the best—and he would demand, without doubt, which of the + two, the nurse or the child, has given the disease to the other.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor was staring at her in horror. “Do you not perceive that would + be a monstrous thing to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I would not have to say it,” was the reply. “The lawyer would see to + it—is not that his profession? My point is this: by one means or + another he would make us win our case.” + </p> + <p> + “And the scandal that would result,” replied the other. “Have you thought + of that?” + </p> + <p> + Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. “Doctor, + permit me to give you a little information. In cases of this sort, the + names are never printed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to print the + judgment?” + </p> + <p> + “What won’t they stoop to,” exclaimed Madame Dupont—“those filthy + journals!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the other, “and see what a scandal? What a shame it would be to + you!” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is right, mother,” exclaimed the young man. + </p> + <p> + But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. “We will prevent the woman from + taking any steps; we will give her what she demands from us.” + </p> + <p> + “But then,” said the other, “you will give yourselves up to the risk of + blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up for over twelve + years.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will permit me, Doctor,” said George, timidly, “she could be made + to sign a receipt.” + </p> + <p> + “For payment in full?” asked the doctor, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Even so.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” added his mother, “she would be more than delighted to go back + to her country with a full purse. She would be able to buy a little house + and a bit of ground—in that country one doesn’t need so much in + order to live.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse entered. She + was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly bursting with health. + When she spoke one got the impression that her voice was more than she + could contain. It did not belong in a drawing-room, but under the open sky + of her country home. “Sir,” she said, addressing the doctor, “the baby is + awake.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go and see her,” was the reply; and then to Madame Dupont, “We + will take up this conversation later on.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the mother. “Will you have need of the nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Madame,” the doctor answered. + </p> + <p> + “Nurse,” said the mother, “sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I wish to + speak to you.” As the doctor went out, she took her son to one side and + whispered to him, “I know the way to arrange everything. If we let her + know what is the matter, and if she accepts, the doctor will have nothing + more to say. Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Obviously,” replied the son. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs when she + goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the child.” + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand francs?” said the other. “Is that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I will see,” was the reply. “If she hesitates, I will go further. Let me + attend to it.” + </p> + <p> + George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the nurse. “You + know,” she said, “that our child is a little sick?” + </p> + <p> + The other looked at her in surprise. “Why no, ma’am!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the grandmother. + </p> + <p> + “But, ma’am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always kept her + proper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not saying anything to the contrary,” said Madame Dupont, “but the + child is sick, the doctors have said it.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting ready to + scold her. “Humph,” she said, “that’s a fine thing—the doctors! If + they couldn’t always find something wrong you’d say they didn’t know their + business.” + </p> + <p> + “But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that our + child has some little pimples.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ma’am,” said the nurse, “that’s the heat—it’s nothing but the + heat of the blood breaking out. You don’t need to bother yourself; I tell + you it’s only the child’s blood. It’s not my fault; I swear to you that + she had not lacked anything, and that I have always kept her proper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not reproaching you—” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She’s tiny—the + little one—she’s a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she’s a city child! + And she’s getting along all right, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” persisted Madame Dupont, “I tell you—she has got a cold in her + head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried the nurse, angrily, “if she has, it’s because the doctor + scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A + cold in the head? Yes, that’s true; but if she has caught cold, I can’t + say when, I don’t know anything about it—nothing, nothing at all. I + have always kept her well covered; she’s always had as much as three + covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; + you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!” + </p> + <p> + “But once more I tell you,” cried Madame Dupont, “we are not putting any + blame on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried the woman, more vehemently. “I know what that kind of talk + means. It’s no use—when you’re a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you imagining now?” demanded the other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right. It’s no use when you’re a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat to you once more,” cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty + controlling her impatience, “we have nothing whatever to blame you for.” + </p> + <p> + But the nurse began to weep. “If I had known that anything like this was + coming to me—” + </p> + <p> + “We have nothing to blame you for,” declared the other. “We only wish to + warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child.” + </p> + <p> + The woman pouted. “A cold in the head!” she exclaimed. “Well, if I catch + it, it won’t be the first time. I know how to blow my nose.” + </p> + <p> + “But you might also get the pimples.” + </p> + <p> + At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac + rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, we + ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? Pimples—what + difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t have a white + complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in the fields, in + the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream on our muzzles! No + offense, ma’am—but I say if you’re looking for an excuse to get rid + of me, you must get a better one than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head. + </p> + <p> + “But speak!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “But then—explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must; I wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, + for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George here + has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a month, if + I came to Paris.” And then, turning upon the other, she went on—“But, + sir, isn’t it only natural? Don’t I have to put my own child away + somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? We’re + nothing but poor country people, we are.” + </p> + <p> + “You are making a mistake, nurse,” broke in George. “It is nothing at all + of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far from wanting to reproach + you, that, on the contrary, I think she had not promised enough, and I + want to make you, for my part, another promise. When you go away, when + baby is old enough to be weaned, by way of thanking you, we wish to give + you—” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, “We wish to give you,—over and + above your wages, you understand—we wish to give you five hundred + francs, and perhaps a thousand, if the little one is altogether in good + health. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + The nurse stared at her, stupefied. “You will give me five hundred francs—for + myself?” She sought to comprehend the words. “But that was not agreed, you + don’t have to do that at all.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” admitted Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “But then,” whispered the nurse, half to herself, “that’s not natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the other hurried on, “it is because the baby will have need of + extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will have to give it + medicines; your task will be a little more delicate, a little more + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; then it’s so that I will be sure to take care of her? I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s agreed?” exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + </p> + <p> + “Yes ma’am,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one + another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you + could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of + care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the + nursing. That’s all right, is it? + </p> + <p> + “But, my lady,” cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, “you spoke + just now of a thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, a thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing her + to one side. “It would be a mistake,” he whispered, “if we did not make + her sign an agreement to all that.” + </p> + <p> + His mother turned to the nurse. “In order that there may be no + misunderstanding about the sum—you see how it is, I had forgotten + already that I had spoken of a thousand francs—we will draw up a + little paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, ma’am,” said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so + important a transaction. “Why, it’s just as you do when you rent a house!” + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the doctor,” said the other. “Come, nurse, it is agreed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. But all the same, as she went out she + hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at George and + his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, and she meant to find + out if she could. + </p> + <p> + The doctor seated himself in George’s office chair, as if to write a + prescription. “The child’s condition remains the same,” he said; “nothing + disturbing.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said Madame Dupont, gravely, “from now on, you will be able to + devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without any scruple. + During your absence we have arranged matters nicely. The nurse has been + informed about the situation, and she does not mind. She has agreed to + accept an indemnity, and the amount has been stated.” + </p> + <p> + But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he might. + He replied: “The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably contract in + feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such consequences + might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as death. So I say + that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay the damage.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” exclaimed the other, “she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, + and she has the right—” + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health. + And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her + husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain + that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life of + the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised. Such + things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a bargain + of this sort isn’t possible. If the evil has not been done, you must do + everything to avoid it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” protested the mother, wildly, “you do not defend our interests!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” was the reply, “I defend those who are weakest.” + </p> + <p> + “If we had called in our own physician, who knows us,” she protested, “he + would have taken sides with us.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. “I doubt it,” he said, + “but there is still time to call him.” + </p> + <p> + George broke in with a cry of distress. “Sir, I implore you!” + </p> + <p> + And the mother in turn cried. “Don’t abandon us, sir! You ought to make + allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to + me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us! + Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest—it is not she who is + the weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so + emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and + cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir—I pray + you!” + </p> + <p> + “I pity her,” said the doctor, “I would like to save her—and I will + do everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, + with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and + robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as that.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. “Very Well!” she + exclaimed. “I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!” + </p> + <p> + Said the doctor in a solemn voice: “There is already some one here who + regrets that he did not listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” moaned George, “to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of us.” + </p> + <p> + But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. “Very well!” she cried. “If it + is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for it in + this life, and all the punishments in the life to come—I accept it + all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is + frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I + believe in eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to + lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up—I will do everything + to save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the + worse for me!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered: “That responsibility is one which I cannot let you + take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I refuse + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, completely—something + which you have not done, I feel sure.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Madame Dupont, wildly. “You, a doctor, called into a family + which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you its most + terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries—you would betray them?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a betrayal,” replied the man, sternly. “It is something which + the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a + family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either I + give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “You threaten! You threaten!” cried the woman, almost frantic. “You abuse + the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you whose + attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe in you, + and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death of the + child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of the + child—that also means her death!” + </p> + <p> + She flung up her hands like a mad creature. “And yet there is no other + means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice + myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it—if only + you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones—if only I + might serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should + infect me—this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it—with + what joys, with what delights—however disgusting, however frightful + it might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without + fear, without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to the + child the milk which would preserve its life!” + </p> + <p> + She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her and + flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and tears + with hers. + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control his + distress. “Oh, the poor people!” he murmured to himself. “The poor, poor + people!” + </p> + <p> + The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong character, + got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, “Come, sir, tell + us what we have to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in + order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not + exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, in + truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything—I + swear it to you—that your baby may recover as quickly as possible + its perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave + you until tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Doctor, thank you,” said Madame Dupont, faintly. + </p> + <p> + The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not + bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was + gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she + repelled him—without violence, but firmly. + </p> + <p> + Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. “Forgive me!” he + said, in a broken voice. “Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each + other?” + </p> + <p> + His mother answered: “God has punished you for your debauch by striking at + your child.” + </p> + <p> + But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that. + “Impossible!” he said. “There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or + unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your God!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his mother, sadly, “you believe in nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in no such God as that,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the + nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there for + some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. “Madame,” she said, + “I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at once, and + have only the five hundred francs.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. “What is that you are + saying? You want to return to your home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “But,” cried George, “only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened since then?” demanded Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought it over?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “In the last ten minutes?” exclaimed George. + </p> + <p> + “There must be something else,” his mother added. “Evidently there must be + something else.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” insisted the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “But I say yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better wait and try it.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go back at once to my home.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, now,” cried Madame Dupont, “tell us why?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you. I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought what over?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried the mother, “what a stupid reply! ‘I have thought it over! I + have thought it over!’ Thought WHAT over, I want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know how to tell us what?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” exclaimed Madame Dupont, “you are an imbecile!” + </p> + <p> + George stepped between his mother and the nurse. “Let me talk to her,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + The woman came back to her old formula: “I know that we’re only poor + country people.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, nurse,” said the young man. “Only a little while ago you + were afraid that we would send you away. You were satisfied with the wages + which my mother had fixed. In addition to those wages we had promised you + a good sum when you returned to your home. Now you tell us that you want + to go away. You see? All at once. There must be some reason; let us + understand it. There must certainly be a reason. Has anybody done anything + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the woman, dropping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it over.” + </p> + <p> + George burst out, “Don’t go on repeating always the same thing—‘I + have thought it over!’ That’s not telling us anything.” Controlling + himself, he added, gently, “Come, tell me why you want to go away?” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. “Well?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, I have thought—” + </p> + <p> + George exclaimed in despair, “It’s as if one were talking to a block of + wood!” + </p> + <p> + His mother took up the conversation again. “You must realize, you have not + the right to go away.” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, “I WANT to go.” + </p> + <p> + “But I will not let you leave us.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted George angrily, “let her go; we cannot fasten her here.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” cried the exasperated mother, “since you want to go, + go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you are as stupid as + the animals on your farm!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say that I am not,” answered the woman. + </p> + <p> + “I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will pay your + railroad fare for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The other drew back with a look of anger. “Oho!” she cried. “We’ll see + about that!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll see about it!” cried George. “And you will get out of here at + once. Take yourself off—I will have no more to do with you. Good + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “No, George,” protested his mother, “don’t lose control of yourself.” And + then, with a great effort at calmness, “That cannot be serious, nurse! + Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my five + hundred francs.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” cried George, in consternation. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are telling me?” exclaimed Madame Dupont. + </p> + <p> + “Five hundred francs?” repeated her son. + </p> + <p> + “What five hundred francs?” echoed the mother. + </p> + <p> + “The five hundred francs you promised me,” said the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied with you! + That was our promise.” + </p> + <p> + “No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now I am + leaving, and I want them.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. “In the first place,” she said, + “kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, “You have nothing to do but give me my money, and I + will say nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + George went almost beside himself with rage at this. “Oh, it’s like that?” + he shouted. “Very well; I’ll show you!” And he sprang to the door and + opened it. + </p> + <p> + But the nurse never budged. “Give me my five hundred francs!” she said. + </p> + <p> + George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. “You clear + out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!” + </p> + <p> + The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. “Come now, you—you + can talk to me a little more politely, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” shouted George, completely beside himself. “Will you go, or + must I go out and look for a policeman?” + </p> + <p> + “A policeman!” demanded the woman. “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief.” + </p> + <p> + “A thief? I? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that you are demanding money which doesn’t belong to you.” + </p> + <p> + “More than that,” broke in Madame Dupont, “you are destroying that poor + little baby! You are a wicked woman!” + </p> + <p> + “I will put you out myself!” shouted George, and seized her by the arm + again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” retorted the nurse. “Then you really want me + to tell you why I am going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, tell me!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + His mother added, “Yes, yes!” + </p> + <p> + She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and + seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been + about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. + She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, + shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried loudly, + “Very well! I’m going away because I don’t want to catch a filthy disease + here!” + </p> + <p> + “HUSH!” cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched as + if she would choke her. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent!” cried George, wild with terror. + </p> + <p> + But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, “Oh, you need not be + troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world knows + it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They heard + every word your doctor said!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” screamed George. + </p> + <p> + Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. “Hold your tongue!” she + hissed. + </p> + <p> + But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her + rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, + “Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat—that you will + never be able to raise it—that it’s rotten because it’s father has a + filthy disease he got from a woman of the street!” + </p> + <p> + She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from + Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall + forward upon the floor, convulsed. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but + she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, + of the most profound terror. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, like a + maniac. “Don’t touch me!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter-in-law. + Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be brought to listen + to any one. She rushed into the other room, and when the older woman + followed her, shrieked out to be left alone. Afterwards, she fled to her + own room and barred herself in, and George and his mother waited + distractedly for hours until she should give some sign. + </p> + <p> + Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard about the + door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit of insanity might + attempt some harm to her child. + </p> + <p> + The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of her + outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she had recovered + her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also she wanted her wages and + her railroad fare home. She wanted them at once, and she would not leave + until she got them. George and his mother, in the midst of all their + anguish of mind, had to go through a disgusting scene with this coarse and + angry woman. + </p> + <p> + They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused to + accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so much paper, and + might be some trick that they were playing on her. She kept repeating her + old formula, “I am nothing but a poor country woman.” Nor would she be + contented with the promise that she would receive the money the next day. + She seemed to be afraid that if she left the house she would be + surrendering her claim. So at last the distracted George to sally forth + and obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in full for all + claims and they strove to persuade themselves that this made them safe; + but in their hearts they had no real conviction of safety. What was the + woman’s signature, or her pledged word, against the cupidity of her + husband and relatives. Always she would have the dreadful secret to hold + over them, and so they would live under the shadow of possible blackmail. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was white, her + eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a voice choked with sobs. + She wished to return at once to her father’s home, and to take little + Gervaise with her. Madame Dupont cried out in horror at this proposition, + and argued and pleaded and wept—but all to no purpose. The girl was + immovable. She would not stay under her husband’s roof, and she would take + her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse her. + </p> + <p> + The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no difference. + Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at once. + </p> + <p> + So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the hideous + story. Never before in her life had she discussed such subjects with any + one, but now in her agitation she told her father all. As George had + declared to the doctor, Monsieur Loches was a person of violent temper; at + this revelation, at the sight of his daughter’s agony, he was almost + beside himself. His face turned purple, the veins stood out on his + forehead; a trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill George—there + was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be permitted to live. + </p> + <p> + The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a calming + effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, she did not want + George to be killed. She clung to her father, beseeching him to promise + her that he would not do such a thing; and all that day and evening she + watched him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. + </p> + <p> + There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and which helped + to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own sufferings. The + infant must be fed and cared for—the unhappy victim of other + people’s sins, whose life was now imperiled. A dry nurse must be found at + once, a nurse competent to take every precaution and give the child every + chance. This nurse must be informed of the nature of the trouble—another + matter which required a great deal of anxious thought. + </p> + <p> + That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the child’s + welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of it. It was + impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could not endure to see + her, but the poor grandmother would come and sit for hours in the nursery, + watching the child and the nurse, in silent agony. + </p> + <p> + This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at home, + suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. Truly, in these + days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand-fold in agonized and + impotent regret. He looked back upon the course of his life, and traced + one by one the acts which had led him and those he loved into this + nightmare of torment. He would have been willing to give his life if he + could have undone those acts. But avenging nature offered him no such easy + deliverance as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the Jehovah + of the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern times has + availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of the fathers + shall be visited upon the children. + </p> + <p> + George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He poured out + all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him just once, to give + him a chance to plead his defense. It was not much of a defense, to be + sure; it was only that he had done no worse than the others did—only + that he was a wretched victim of ignorance. But he loved her, he had + proven that he loved her, and he pleaded that for the sake of their child + she would forgive him. + </p> + <p> + When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose advice he + had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to intercede for him—which + the doctor, of course, refused to do. It was an extra-medical matter, he + said, and George was absurd to expect him to meddle in it. + </p> + <p> + But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been interceding—he + had gone farther in pleading George’s cause than he was willing to have + George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid him a visit—his purpose + being to ask the doctor to continue attendance upon the infant, and also + to give Henriette a certificate which she could use in her suit for a + divorce from her husband. + </p> + <p> + So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question between + the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, but refused the + second. In the first place, he said, there was a rule of professional + secrecy which would prevent him. And when the father-in-law requested to + know if the rule of professional secrecy compelled him to protect a + criminal against honest people, the doctor answered that even if his + ethics permitted it, he would still refuse the request. “I would reproach + myself forever,” he said, “if I had aided you to obtain such a divorce.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” cried the old man, vehemently, “because you profess such and such + theories, because the exercise of your profession makes you the constant + witness of such miseries—therefore it is necessary that my daughter + should continue to bear that man’s name all her life!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered, gently, “Sir, I understand and respect your grief. + But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide about these + matters now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” declared the other, controlling himself with an + effort. “I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I have + discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. Surely, sir, you + cannot desire that my daughter should continue to live with a man who has + struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a blow.” + </p> + <p> + “If I refuse your request,” the doctor answered, “it is in the interest of + your daughter.” Then, seeing the other’s excitement returning, he + continued, “In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, I know that you will + probably be abusing me before five minutes has passed. But that will not + trouble me. I have seen many cases. And since I have made the mistake of + letting myself be trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you the + reason for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may prove + in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “And have you not reflected upon this—that at the same time you will + be publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to the + contagion? With such an admission, an admission officially registered in + the public records, do you believe that she will find it easy to re-marry + later on?” + </p> + <p> + “She will never re-marry,” said the father. + </p> + <p> + “She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the same thing + five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you you will not obtain + that divorce, because I will most certainly refuse you the necessary + certificate.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” cried the other, “I will find other means of establishing proofs. + I will have the child examined by another doctor!” + </p> + <p> + The other answered. “Then you do not find that that poor little one has + been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of its life? Your + granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish to add to that a + certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will follow her all her life?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. “You mean that if the victims seek + to defend themselves, they will be struck the harder! You mean that the + law gives me no weapon against a man who, knowing his condition, takes a + young girl, sound, trusting, innocent, and befouls her with the result of + his debauches—makes her the mother of a poor little creature, whose + future is such that those who love her the most do not know whether they + ought to pray for her life, or for her immediate deliverance? Sir,” he + continued, in his orator’s voice, “that man has inflicted upon the woman + he has married a supreme insult. He has made her the victim of the most + odious assault. He has degraded her—he has brought her, so to speak, + into contact with the woman of the streets. He has created between her and + that common woman I know not what mysterious relationship. It is the + poisoned blood of the prostitute which poisons my daughter and her child; + that abject creature, she lives, she lives in us! She belongs to our + family—he has given her a seat at our hearth! He has soiled the + imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he has soiled her body. + He has united forever in her soul the idea of love which she has placed so + high, with I know not what horrors of the hospitals. He has tainted her in + her dignity and her modesty, in her love as well as in her baby. He has + struck her down with physical and moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with + vileness. And yet the law is such, the customs of society are such, that + the woman cannot separate herself from that man save by the aid of legal + proceedings whose scandal will fall upon herself and upon her child!” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, and now + he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + </p> + <p> + “Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I learned the + truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty to find that monster + and to put a bullet into his head, as one does to a mad dog. I don’t know + what weakness, what cowardice, has held me back, and decided me to appeal + to the law. Since the law will not protect me, I will seek justice for + myself. Perhaps his death will be a good warning for the others!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no affair of + his and that he would not try to interfere. But he remarked, quietly: “You + will be tried for your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be acquitted!” cried the other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You will make + the scandal greater, the miseries greater—that is all. And how do + you know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you will find yourself + confronting another court, a higher and more severe one? How do you know + but that your daughter, seized at last by pity for the man you have + killed, will not demand to know by what right you have acted so, by what + right you have made an orphan of her child? How can you know but that her + child also may some day demand an accounting of you?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of crushed + despair. “Tell me then,” he said, in a faint voice, “what ought I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive!” + </p> + <p> + For a while the doctor sat looking at him. “Sir,” he said, at last, “tell + me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have the right to be + inflexible. But are you really so certain that it was not your duty, once + upon a time, to save your daughter from the possibility of such + misfortune?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried the other. “My duty? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you certainly + took precautions to inform yourself about the financial condition of your + future son-in-law. You demanded that he should prove to you that his + stocks and bonds were actual value, listed on the exchange. Also, you + obtained some information about his character. In fact, you forgot only + one point, the most important of all—that was, to inquire if he was + in good health. You never did that.” + </p> + <p> + The father-in-law’s voice had become faint. “No,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because that is not the custom.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father of a + family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take as much + precaution as a business concern which accepts an employee.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” was the reply, “there should be a law.” The man spoke as + a deputy, having authority in these matters. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor cried, “No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We have too + many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice that people should + know a little better what syphilis is. The custom would establish itself + very quickly for a suitor to add to all the other documents which he + presents, a certificate of a doctor, as proof that he could be received + into a family without bringing a pestilence with him. That would be very + simple. Once let the custom be established, then the suitor would go to + the doctor for a certificate of health, just as he goes to the priest for + a certificate that he has confessed; and by that means you would prevent a + great deal of suffering in the world. Or let me put it another way, sir. + Nowadays, before you conclude a marriage, you get the lawyers of the two + families together. It would be of at least equal importance to get their + two doctors together. You see, sir, your inquiry concerning your + son-in-law was far from complete. So your daughter may fairly ask you, why + you, being a man, being a father who ought to know these things, did not + take as much care of her health as you took of her fortune. So it is, sir, + that I say to you, forgive!” + </p> + <p> + But Monsieur Loches said again, “Never!” + </p> + <p> + And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. “Come, sir,” he + began, finally, “since it is necessary to employ the last argument, I will + do so. To be so severe and so pitiless—are you yourself without + sin?” + </p> + <p> + The other answered, “I have never had a shameful disease.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not ask you that,” interrupted the doctor. “I ask you if you have + never exposed yourself to the chance of having it.” And then, reading the + other’s face, he went on, in a tone of quiet certainty. “Yes, you have + exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was not virtue that you had; it was good + fortune. That is one of the things which exasperate me the most—that + term ‘shameful disease’ which you have just used. Like all other diseases, + that is one of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful to be unfortunate—even + if one has deserved it.” The doctor paused, and then with some excitement + he went on: “Come, sir, come, we must understand each other. Among men the + most exacting, among those who with their middle-class prudery dare not + pronounce the name of syphilis, or who make the most terrifying faces, the + most disgusted, when they consent to speak of it—who regard the + syphilitic as sinners—I should wish to know how many there are who + have never exposed themselves to a similar misadventure. They and they + alone have the right to speak. How many are there? Among a thousand men, + are there four? Very well, then. Excepting those four, between all the + rest and the syphilitic there is nothing but the difference of chance.” + </p> + <p> + There came into the doctor’s voice at this moment a note of intense + feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to him every day. + “I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving of sympathy, because they + are suffering. If they have committed a fault, they have at least the plea + that they are expiating it. No, sir, let me hear no more of that + hypocrisy. Recall your own youth, sir. That which afflicts your + son-in-law, you have deserved it just as much as he—more than he, + perhaps. Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which + the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less fortunate than + himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that not so?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the feeling of a + thief before the bar. There was nothing that he could answer. “Sir,” he + stammered, “as you present this thing to me—” + </p> + <p> + “But am I not right?” insisted the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are,” the other admitted. “But—I cannot say all that to + my daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “You can give her other arguments,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “What arguments, in God’s name?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation would be + a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one in the world who + would be devoted enough to help her save her child. You will say to her + that out of the ruins of her first happiness she can build herself another + structure, far stronger. And, sir, you will add to that whatever your good + heart may suggest—and we will arrange so that the next child of the + pair shall be sound and vigorous.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise that + George himself had manifested. “Is that possible?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The doctor cried: “Yes, yes, yes—a thousand times yes! There is a + phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would wish to post + upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious mistress, who only + demands that one should recognize her power. She is terrible for those who + think her insignificant, and gentle with those who know how dangerous she + is. You know that kind of mistress—who is only vexed when she is + neglected. You may tell this to your daughter—you will restore her + to the arms of her husband, from whom she has no longer anything to fear, + and I will guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two years from + now.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his resolution. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” he said, “I do not know that I can ever go so far as + forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, and that + I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of some time—I + cannot venture to say how long—my poor child should make up her mind + to a reconciliation.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said the other. “But let me add this: If you have another + daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you committed when you + married off the first.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the old man, “I did not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, surely!” cried the other. “You did not know! You are a father, and + you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed the responsibility + and the honor of making our laws—and you did not know! You are + ignorant about syphilis, just as you probably are ignorant about + alcoholism and tuberculosis.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” exclaimed the other, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the doctor, “I will leave you out, if you wish. I am + talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don’t know how many more, + who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who call themselves + representatives of the people. They are not able to find a single hour to + discuss these three cruel gods, to which egotism and indifference make + every day such frightful human sacrifices. They have not sufficient + leisure to combat this ferocious trinity, which destroys every day + thousands of lives. Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the + manufacture of poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as one + has fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of the + little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, one puts one’s + conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of the working-class, and + publishing little pamphlets and sermons. Imbeciles!...Tuberculosis! + Everybody knows the true remedy, which would be the paying of sufficient + wages, and the tearing down of the filthy tenements into which the + laborers are packed—those who are the most useful and the most + unfortunate among our population! But needless to say, no one wants that + remedy, so we go round begging the workingmen not to spit on the + sidewalks. Wonderful! But syphilis—why do you not occupy yourself + with that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to attend to all + sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to the public + health?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Doctor,” responded Monsieur Loches, “you fall into the French + habit of considering the government as the cause of all evils. Show us the + way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a matter about which you are + informed, and we are ignorant, begin by telling us what measures you + believe to be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” exclaimed the other. “That’s fine, indeed! It was about eighteen + years ago that a project of that nature, worked out by the Academy of + Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, was sent to the proper minister. + We have not yet heard his reply.” + </p> + <p> + “You really believe,” inquired Monsieur Loches, in some bewilderment, “you + believe that there are some measures—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” broke in the doctor, “before we get though, you are going to + suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened today. When + I received your card I did not know that you were the father-in-law of + George Dupont. I say that you were a deputy, and I thought that you wanted + to get some information about these matters. There was a woman patient + waiting to see me, and I kept her in my waiting-room—saying to + myself, This is just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk + to.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: “Be reassured, I will take + care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that is apparent to the + eye. She is simply an illustration of the argument I have been advancing—that + our worst enemy is ignorance. Ignorance—you understand me? Since I + have got you here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have managed to + cure a little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is a thing which + drives me to distraction—we MUST do something about these + conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is very + seriously infected. I told her—well, wait; you shall see for + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman whom + Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging on old age, + small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly dressed, and yet + with a suggestion of refinement about her. She stood near the door, + twisting her hands together nervously, and shrinking from the gaze of the + strange gentleman. The doctor began in an angry voice. “Did I not tell you + to come and see me once every eight days? Is that not true?” + </p> + <p> + The woman answered, in a faint voice, “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he exclaimed, “and how long has it been since you were here?” + </p> + <p> + “Three months, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under such + conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You discourage me, you + discourage me.” There was a pause. Then, seeing the woman’s suffering, he + began, in a gentler tone, “Come now, what is the reason that you have not + come? Didn’t you know that you have a serious disease—most serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” replied the woman, “I know that very well—since my + husband died of it.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor’s voice bore once again its note of pity. “Your husband died of + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “He took no care of himself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And was not that a warning to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” the woman replied, “I would ask nothing better than to come as + often as you told me, but the cost is too great.” + </p> + <p> + “How—what cost? You were coming to my free clinic.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied the woman, “but that’s during working hours, and then + it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I have to + wait my turn, It is in the morning—sometimes I lose a whole day—and + then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. It is things + like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any + longer. Then, too, sir—” the woman stopped, hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” demanded the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, sir,” she stammered. “You have been too good to me already.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” commanded the other. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured the woman, “I know I ought not to put on airs, but you + see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband’s misfortune, we + were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always managed + to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to stand + around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one’s + miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; + I argue with myself—but all the same, it’s hard, sir; I assure you, + it is truly hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor woman!” said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then + he asked: “It was your husband who brought you the disease?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Everything which happened to us came from him. + We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half crazy. + He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here and there + for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not undergo treatment?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we + hadn’t a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “How was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn’t been a + resident six months, one has no right to free medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that true?” broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor, “that’s the rule.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” said the woman, “it was not our fault.” + </p> + <p> + “You never had children?” inquired the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I was never able to bring one to birth,” was the answer. “My husband was + taken just at the beginning of our marriage—it was while he was + serving in the army. You know, sir—there are women about the + garrisons—” She stopped, and there was a long silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the doctor, “that’s all right. I will arrange it with you. + You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings.” And + as the poor creature started to express her gratitude, he slipped a coin + into her hand. “Come, come; take it,” he said gruffly. “You are not going + to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. Hush!” And + he pushed her out of the door. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the deputy. “You heard her story, sir,” he said. “Her + husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who + compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons—you + heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and + look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our + soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other + social types. You don’t care very much about soldiers, perhaps—they + belong to the lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let + me show you what is going on among our college students—among the + men our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who + prey upon them! Perhaps, who knows—I can show you the very woman who + was the cause of all the misery in your own family!” + </p> + <p> + And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and + took him by the hand. “Promise me, sir,” he said, earnestly, “that you + will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a + chance that I must not let go—the first time in my life that I ever + got hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and + let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to + remedy these frightful evils!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was + wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the + things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his + friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful + story—or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his + mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the use + of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to spend + them for? + </p> + <p> + All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was + reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a + separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to + depend upon her in every little thing—until now, when her + companionship was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. + He would come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would + be his mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when + Henriette was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that + had happened to him through the day! + </p> + <p> + There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear + how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother the + news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no + complaints against the price, however high—only sometimes he + wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such + discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself. + </p> + <p> + A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one day + in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as + familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was + only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized—it was the + girl who had been the cause of all his misery! + </p> + <p> + He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and + she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, “Why, how do you do?” + </p> + <p> + George had to face her. “How do you do?” he responded, weakly. + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much + welcome in his clasp. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she asked. + Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, “What’s the matter? You + don’t seem glad to see me.” + </p> + <p> + The girl—Therese was her name—had a little package under her + arm, as if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George + had met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his + lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half + realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you never come to see me again?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + George hesitated. “I—I—” he stammered—“I’ve been married + since then.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Oh! So that’s it!” And then, as they came to a bench under + some trees, “Won’t you sit down a while?” There was allurement in her + glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he had + ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken + completely. + </p> + <p> + She quickly saw that something was wrong. “You don’t seem very cheerful,” + she said. “What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you know what + you did to me?” + </p> + <p> + “What I did to you?” Therese repeated wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “You must know!” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. “Why—” she + stammered. + </p> + <p> + There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was low + and trembling. “You ruined my whole life,” he said—“not only mine, + but my family’s. How could you do it?” + </p> + <p> + She strove to laugh it off. “A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!” + </p> + <p> + For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he + repeated, “How could you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Some one did it to me first,” was the response. “A man!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said George, “but he didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell whether he knew or not?” + </p> + <p> + “You knew?” he inquired, wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + Therese hesitated. “Yes, I knew,” she said at last, defiantly. “I have + known for years.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m not the only man.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “I guess not!” + </p> + <p> + There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, “I don’t want to blame + you; there’s nothing to be gained by that; it’s done, and can’t be undone. + But sometimes I wonder about it. I should like to understand—why did + you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? That’s easy enough. I did it because I have to live.” + </p> + <p> + “You live that way?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why of course. What did you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were a—a—” He hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I was respectable,” laughed Therese. “Well, that’s just a + little game I was playing on you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t give you any money!” he argued. + </p> + <p> + “Not that time,” she said, “but I thought you would come back.” + </p> + <p> + He sat gazing at her. “And you earn your living that way still?” he asked. + “When you know what’s the matter with you! When you know—” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do? I have to live, don’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be some way, + some place—” + </p> + <p> + “The reformatory, perhaps,” she sneered. “No, thanks! I’ll go there when + the police catch me, not before. I know some girls that have tried that.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you afraid?” cried the man. “And the things that will happen + to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor—or read a book?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it all. If it comes to me, I’ll go over the + side of one of the bridges some dark night.” + </p> + <p> + George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to him—to + meet this girl under such different circumstances! It was as if he were + watching a play from behind the scenes instead of in front. If only he had + had this new view in time—how different would have been his life! + And how terrible it was to think of the others who didn’t know—the + audience who were still sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, + interested in it! + </p> + <p> + His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and the life + she lived. “Tell me a little about it,” he said. “How you came to be doing + this.” And he added, “Don’t think I want to preach; I’d really like to + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s a common story,” she said—“nothing especially romantic. I + came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had died, and I had no + friends, and I didn’t know what to do. I got a place as a nursemaid. I was + seventeen years old then, and I didn’t know anything. I believed what I + was told, and I believed my employer. His wife was ill in a hospital, and + he said he wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked him, and I was + sorry for him—and then the first thing I knew I had a baby. And then + the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a fool, of course. If + I had been in her place should have done just what she did.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of things about + which she was no longer able to suffer. “So, there I was—on the + street,” she went on. “You have always had money, a comfortable home, + education, friends to help you—all that. You can’t imagine how it is + to be in the world without any of these things. I lived on my savings as + long as I could; then I had to leave my baby in a foundling’s home, and I + went out to do my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I have + no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt bitter + towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of which he was a + victim also. There was nothing to be gained by hating each other. Just as + the doctor said, what was needed was enlightenment. “Listen,” he said, + “why don’t you try to get cured?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got the price,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “I know a doctor—one of the really + good men. He has a free clinic, and I’ve no doubt he would take you in if + I asked him to.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU ask him?” echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + </p> + <p> + The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to playing the + role of the good Samaritan. “I—I need not tell him about us,” he + stammered. “I could just say that I met you. I have had such a wretched + time myself, I feel sorry for anybody that’s in the same plight. I should + like to help you if I could.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. “I have treated you + badly, I guess,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the doctor’s + address. “Here it is,” he said, in a business-like way, because he felt + that otherwise he could become sentimental. He was half tempted to tell + the woman what had happened to him, and all about Henriette and the sick + child; but he realized that that would not do. So he rose and shook hands + with her and left. + </p> + <p> + The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He decided to + tell him the truth—having already made so many mistakes trying to + conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat the woman, making the condition + that George promise not to see her again. + </p> + <p> + The young man was rather shocked at this. “Doctor,” he exclaimed, “I + assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in mind would be utterly + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the other, “you think so. But I think, young man, that I + know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman have once + committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time they + spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and forbearing + to each other, the better for them both.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor,” cried George. “I love Henriette! I could not possibly love + anyone else. It would be horrible to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor. “But you are not living with Henriette. You are + wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next.” + </p> + <p> + There was no need for anybody to tell George that. “What do you think?” he + asked abruptly. “Is there any hope for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I think there is,” said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had + become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to the + Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing + Henriette, and talking to her about the child’s health and her own future. + He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the young + wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + </p> + <p> + George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to + call at the physician’s office—he could read them in the faces of + the people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, + the doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman, + whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at college. + The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man remembered how + pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be, thought George, + that this old man was a victim of syphilis? + </p> + <p> + But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the + consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he + stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. “Perhaps you + can’t understand,” he said, “just what it means to us—the hopes we + had of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! + We were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college—and + now just see!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t despair, sir,” said the doctor, “we’ll try to cure him.” And he + added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard, + “Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?” + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know what he had?” cried the other. “He didn’t dare tell me, + sir—he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the + disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went + secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed him, and didn’t cure him. You + know how it is, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Such things ought not to be permitted,” cried the old man. “What is our + government about that it allows such things to go on? Take the conditions + there at the college where my poor boy was ruined. At the very gates of + the building these women are waiting for the lads! Ought they to be + permitted to debauch young boys only fifteen years old? Haven’t we got + police enough to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “One would think so,” said the doctor, patiently. + </p> + <p> + “But is it that the police don’t want to?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest—they don’t know. + Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your son’s. And some + day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these conditions.” + </p> + <p> + So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to think about. + How much he could have told them about what had happened to that young + fellow when only fifteen years old! It had not been altogether the fault + of the women who were lurking outside of the college gates; it was a fact + that the boy’s classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had literally + made his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + </p> + <p> + It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all over the + world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak and foolish; that a + fellow was not a man unless he led a life of debauchery like the rest. And + what did they know about these dreadful diseases? They had the most + horrible superstitions—ideas of cures so loathsome that they could + not be set down in print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those of + savages in the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing and + jesting about one another’s condition. They might be afflicted with + diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects upon their whole + lives and upon their families—diseases which cause tens of thousands + of surgical operations upon women, and a large percentage of blindness and + idiocy in children—and you might hear them confidently express the + opinion that these diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + </p> + <p> + And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped down by + a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superstition of sex-prudery! + George went out from the doctor’s office trembling with excitement over + this situation. Oh, why had not some one warned him in time? Why didn’t + the doctors and the teachers lift up their voices and tell young men about + these frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in the highways and preach it + himself—except that he dared not, because he could not explain to + the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden topic. + </p> + <p> + These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his mother—to + whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. He was moved to + mention to her the interview he had overheard in the doctor’s office. In a + sudden burst of grief he told her of his struggles and temptations; he + pleaded with her to go to Henriette once more—to tell her these + things, and try to make her realize that he alone was not to blame for + them, that they were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only + difference between her husband and other men was that he had had the + misfortune to be caught. + </p> + <p> + There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. After + all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her father’s home, so far + as the physical side of things went; but she knew that all her friends + were gossiping and speculating about her separation from her husband, and + sooner or later she would have to make up her mind, either to separate + permanently from George or to return to him. There was not much happiness + for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom deep in her + heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the rest of her life, + and the home in which poor little Gervaise would be brought up would not + be a cheerful one. + </p> + <p> + George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back to his + home. They might live separate lives for as long as Henriette wished. They + would have no more children until the doctor declared it was quite safe; + and in the meantime he would be humble and patient, and would try his best + to atone for the wrong that he had done her. + </p> + <p> + To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She told the + girl some things which through bitter experience she had learned about the + nature and habits of men; things that should be told to every girl before + marriage, but which almost all of them are left to find out afterwards, + with terrible suffering and disillusionment. Whatever George’s sins may + have been, he was a man who had been chastened by suffering, and would + know how to value a woman’s love for the rest of his life. Not all men + knew that—not even those who had been fortunate in escaping from the + so-called “shameful disease.” + </p> + <p> + Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this time had + had time to think things over, and had come to the conclusion that the + doctor was right. He had noted his son-in-law’s patience and penitence, + and had also made sure that in spite of everything Henriette still loved + him. The baby apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, with his + strong sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to separate a child + permanently from its father. So in the end he cast the weight of his + influence in favor of a reconciliation, and Henriette returned to her + husband, upon terms which the doctor laid down. + </p> + <p> + The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not been + allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now thoroughly awake + to the importance of the duty he owed his daughter. In fact, he had become + somewhat of a “crank” upon the whole subject. He had attended several of + the doctor’s clinics, and had read books and pamphlets on the subject of + syphilis, and was now determined that there should be some practical steps + towards reform. + </p> + <p> + At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average legislator, that + the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prostitution, and to + enforce them more strictly. He echoed the cry of the old man whom George + had heard in the doctor’s office: “Are there not enough police?” + </p> + <p> + “We must go to the source,” he declared. “We must proceed against these + miserable women—veritable poisoners that they are!” + </p> + <p> + He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor was quick + to answer his arguments. “Poisoners?” he said. “You forget that they have + first been poisoned. Every one of these women who communicates the disease + has first received it from some man.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. But the + doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had seen it tried so + many times—such a law could never be enforced. What must come first + was education, and by this means a modification of morals. People must + cease to treat syphilis as a mysterious evil, of which not even the name + could be pronounced. + </p> + <p> + “But,” objected the other, “one cannot lay it bare to children in our + educational institutions!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent to + awaken.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. “You + believe that you are preventing these curiosities from awakening?” he + demanded. “I appeal to those—both men and women—who have + passed through colleges and boarding schools! Such curiosities cannot be + smothered, and they satisfy themselves as best they can, basely, vilely. I + tell you, sir, there is nothing immoral about the act which perpetuates + life by means of love. But we organize around it, so far as concerns our + children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. The worthy + citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical comedies, where + they listen to things which would make a monkey blush; but it is forbidden + to discuss seriously before the young that act of love which people seem + to think they should only know of through blasphemies and profanations! + Either that act is a thing of which people can speak without blushing—or + else, sir, it is a matter for the innuendoes of the cabaret and the + witticisms of the messroom! Pornography is admitted, but science is not! I + tell you, sir, that is the thing which must be changed! We must elevate + the soul of the young man by taking these facts out of the realm of + mystery and of slang. We must awaken in him a pride in that creative power + with which each one of us is endowed. We must make him understand that he + is a sort of temple in which is prepared the future of the race, and we + must teach him that he must transmit, intact, the heritage entrusted to + him—the precious heritage which has been built out of the tears and + miseries and sufferings of an interminable line of ancestors!” + </p> + <p> + So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove that the + prostitute was what she was, not because of innate vileness, but because + of economic conditions. It happened that the deputy came to one of the + clinics where he met Therese. The doctor brought her into his consulting + room, after telling her that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend + of the director of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for a + position on the stage to which she aspired. “Tell him all about yourself,” + he said, “how you live, and what you do, and what you would like to do. + You will get him interested in you.” + </p> + <p> + So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a + matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been obliged + to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was surprised that Monsieur + Loches showed horror. “What could I do?” she demanded. “How could I have + taken care of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you ever miss it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It would have + died of hunger with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” he said, “it was your child—” + </p> + <p> + “It was the father’s child, too, wasn’t it? Much attention he paid to it! + If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would have put it out to + nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty francs a month I could have + earned as a servant, could I have paid for a baby? That’s the situation a + girl faces—so long as I wanted to remain honest, it was impossible + for me to keep my child. You answer, perhaps, ‘You didn’t stay honest + anyway.’ That’s true. But then—when you are hungry, and a nice young + fellow offers you dinner, you’d have to be made of wood to refuse him. Of + course, if I had had a trade—but I didn’t have any. So I went on the + street—You know how it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us about it,” said the doctor. “This gentleman is from the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” said the girl. “I never supposed there was anyone who didn’t + know about such things. Well, I took the part of a little working-girl. A + very simple dress—things I had made especially for that—a + little bundle in a black napkin carried in my hand—so I walked along + where the shops are. It’s tiresome, because to do it right, you have to + patter along fast. Then I stop before a shop, and nine times out of ten, + there you are! A funny thing is that the men—you’d imagine they had + agreed on the words to approach you with. They have only two phrases; they + never vary them. It’s either, ‘You are going fast, little one.’ Or it’s, + ‘Aren’t you afraid all alone?’ One thing or the other. One knows pretty + well what they mean. Isn’t it so?” The girl paused, then went on. “Again, + I would get myself up as a young widow. There, too, one has to walk fast: + I don’t know why that should be so, but it is. After a minute or two of + conversation, they generally find out that I am not a young widow, but + that doesn’t make any difference—they go on just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the men?” asked the deputy. “Clerks? Traveling salesmen?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” she responded. “I keep a lookout for gentlemen—like + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “They SAY they are gentlemen,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I can see it,” was the response. “Sometimes they wear orders. + It’s funny—if they have on a ribbon when you first notice them, they + follow you, and presto—the ribbon is gone! I always laugh over that. + I’ve watched them in the glass of the shop windows. They try to look + unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their + thumb—as one shells little peas, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, “Well, at + last the police got after me, That’s a story that I’ve never been able to + understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty disease, and then I was to be + shut in prison for it! That was a little too much, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor, grimly, “you revenged yourself on them—from + what you have told me.” + </p> + <p> + The other laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I had my innings.” She turned to + Monsieur Loches. “You want me to tell you that? Well, just on the very day + I learned that the police were after me, I was coming home furious, + naturally. It was on the Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the place—and + whom do you think I met? My old master—the one who got me into + trouble, you know. There it was, God’s own will! I said to myself, ‘Now, + my good fellow, here’s the time where you pay me what you owe me, and with + interest, too!’ I put on a little smile—oh, it didn’t take very + long, you may be sure!” + </p> + <p> + The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice trembling + with agitation: “When I had left him, I was seized with a rage. A sort of + madness got into my blood. I took on all the men who offered themselves, + for whatever they offered me, for nothing, if they didn’t offer me + anything. I took as many as I could, the youngest ones and the handsomest + ones. Just so! I only gave them back what they had given to me. And since + that time I haven’t really cared about anyone any more. I just turned it + all into a joke.” She paused, and then looking at the deputy, and reading + in his face the horror with which he was regarding her, “Oh, I am not the + only one!” she exclaimed. “There are lots of other women who do the same. + To be sure, it is not for vengeance—it is because they must have + something to eat. For even if you have syphilis, you have to eat, don’t + you? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a long + silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had heard enough + for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the woman, the cause of all + George Dupont’s misfortunes, and turning to Monsieur Loches, said: “It was + on purpose that I brought that wretched prostitute before you. In her the + whole story is summed up—not merely the story of your son-in-law, + but that of all the victims of the red plague. That woman herself is a + victim, and she is a symbol of the evil which we have created and which + falls upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to her story, I only + ask you, Monsieur Loches—when next you are proposing new laws in the + Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which that poor woman has + exposed to you!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 1157-h.htm or 1157-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/5/1157/ + +Produced by John P. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Damaged Goods + A novelization of the play "Les Avaries" + +Author: Upton Sinclair + Eugene Brieux + +Posting Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #1157] +Release Date: January, 1998 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + + + + +Produced by John P. Roberts, III + + + + + +DAMAGED GOODS + +The Great Play "Les Avaries" of Eugene Brieux + +Novelized with the approval of the author + +by Upton Sinclair + + + +THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX'S PLAY, "LES AVARIES," OR, TO GIVE IT +ITS ENGLISH TITLE, "DAMAGED GOODS," HAS INITIATED A MOVEMENT IN THIS +COUNTRY WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.--New York Times + + + ++++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten script from M. +Brieux.+++ + + + + +PREFACE + +My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as closely as +possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I have tried, as it +were, to take the play to pieces, and build a novel out of the same +material. I have not felt at liberty to embellish M. Brieux's ideas, and +I have used his dialogue word for word wherever possible. Unless I have +mis-read the author, his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to +place a number of most important facts before the minds of the public, +and to drive them home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able +to assist him, this bit of literary carpentering will be worth while. I +have to thank M. Brieux for his kind permission to make the attempt, and +for the cordial spirit which he has manifested. + +Upton Sinclair + + + + +PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + +DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee on +March 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before members of +the Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed by public press and +pulpit as the greatest contribution ever made by the Stage to the cause +of humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the producer, who had the courage to +present the play, with the aid of his co-workers, in the face of most +savage criticism from the ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a +repetition of the performance. + +Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before the +general public, it was arranged that the highest officials in the United +States should pass judgment upon the manner in which the play teaches +its vital lesson. A special guest performance for members of the +Cabinet, members of both houses of Congress, members of the United +States Supreme Court, representatives of the Diplomatic corps and others +prominent in national life was given in Washington, D.C. + +Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April 6, +1913), the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with the most +distinguished audience ever assembled in America, including exclusively +the foremost men and women of the Capital. The most noted clergymen of +Washington were among the spectators. + +The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous endorsement +of the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett and his co-workers +were presenting it. + +This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York performances +until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision on the part of Mr. +Bennett to offer the play in every city in America where citizens feel +that the ultimate welfare of the community is dependent upon a higher +standard of morality and clearer understanding of the laws of health. + + +The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, said: + +The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; with all +the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all the earnestness +and power of a vital truth. + +In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a great +social evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. Dr. Donald C. +Macleod, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, mounted the rostrum +usually occupied by the leader of the orchestra, and announced that the +nature of the performance, the sacredness of the play, and the character +of the audience gave to the play the significance of a tremendous sermon +in behalf of mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that +a divine blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont +Avenue Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow +their heads in a prayer for the proper reception of the message to be +presented from the stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the Bernard Shaw preface +to the play, and asked that there be no applause during the performance, +a suggestion which was rigidly followed, thus adding greatly to the +effectiveness and the seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + +The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is +reflected in such comments as the following expressions voiced after the +performance: + +RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION--If I could preach +from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as convincing, as +far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance of DAMAGED GOODS must +be, I would consider that I had achieved the triumph of my life. + +COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH--I was deeply impressed by what I saw, and +I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, a matinee one +day for father and son and the next day for mother and daughter. + +REV. EARLE WILFLEY--I am confirmed in the opinion that we must take up +our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems brought to the +fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these diseases are increasing is +enough to make us get busy on a campaign against them. + +SURGEON GENERAL BLUE--It was a most striking and telling lesson. For +years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It is high time +that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding them and crusaded +against them in a proper manner. + +MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS--The play was a powerful presentation of a very +important question and was handled in a most admirable manner. The +drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and is bound to do +considerable good in conveying information of a very serious nature. + +MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU--There can be no doubt but that the performance +will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the good for which it +was created. Fortunately, we do not have the prudery in South America +that you of the north possess, and have open minds to consider these +serious questions. + +JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT--I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS will +have considerable effect in educating the people of the nature of the +danger that surrounds them. + +SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA--There can be no denial of the fact that it is +time to look at the serious problems presented in the play with an open +mind. + + +Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as "incomparably the greatest +writer France has produced since Moliere," and perhaps no writer ever +wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of the race. To quote from +an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the INDEPENDENT: + +Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured by laws +and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble is caused +by ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment and franker +recognition of existing conditions. All this may be needed, but still we +may well doubt its effectiveness as a remedy. The drunken Helot argument +is not a strong one, and those who lead a vicious life know more about +its risks than any teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also +urges the requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many +clergymen now insist upon and which doubtless will be made compulsory +before long in many of our States. + +Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will +be criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. The +conditions of society and the moral standards of France are so different +from those of America that his point of view and his proposals for +reform will not meet with general acceptance, but it is encouraging to +find a dramatist who realizes the importance of being earnest and who +uses his art in defense of virtue instead of its destruction. + + +Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in the play +and the belief in the highest seriousness of its purpose: + +There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the glamour, in +the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, and suggestions the +threat to life lies. + +This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such clean, +artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could possibly be +impressed in no other manner. + +Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There is no +sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of the theme. +The doctor appears in his ideal function, as the modern high-priest of +truth. Around him writhe the victims of ignorance and the criminals +of conventional cruelty. Kind, stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet +human-hearted, he towers over all, as the master. + +This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the world of +ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a mistaken modesty +has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is the physician. + +The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is that it is +the decentest play that has been in New York for a year. It is so decent +that it is religious.--HEARST'S MAGAZINE. + + +The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of the veil +of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject of the penalty +of sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on this hidden danger, that +fathers and mothers, young men and young women, may know the terrible +price that must be paid, not only by the generation that violates the +law, but by the generations to come. It is a serious question just how +the education of men and women, especially young men and young women, in +the vital matters of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is +sure, however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often been +followed in the past--not to carry it on at all but to ignore it.--THE +OUTLOOK. + + +It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of "thesis drama,"--an +argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, cumulative, between science +and common sense, on one side, and love, of various types, on the other. +It is what Mr. Bernard Shaw has called a "drama of discussion"; it +has the splendid movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved--and +undiluted--by Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many +audiences at the Fulton Theater were astonished at the play's showing +of sheer strength as acted drama. Possibly it might not interest the +general public; probably it would be inadvisable to present it to them. +But no thinking person, with the most casual interest in current social +evils, could listen to the version of Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, +and their associates, without being gripped by the power of Brieux's +message.--THE DIAL. + + +It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of this +play, which is one of France's most valuable contributions to the drama. +Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over ten years ago. Antoine +produced it at his theater and Paris immediately censored it, but soon +thought better of it and removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 +it was played in Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was +thronged with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last +spring and eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have welcomed it. +--THE INDEPENDENT. + + +A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth Church, +Brooklyn. + +23 Monroe Street Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + +Mr. Richard Bennett, New York City, N.Y. My Dear Mr. Bennett: + +During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I have +experienced many exciting hours under the influence of reformer, orator +and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I do not know that I +have ever passed through a more thrilling, terrible, and yet hopeful +experience than last evening, while I listened to your interpretation of +Eugene Brieux' "DAMAGED GOODS." + +I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It is not +too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the people of our +country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, this conspiracy of +silence is ended. No young man who sees "Damaged Goods" will ever be the +same again. If I wanted to build around an innocent boy buttresses of +fire and granite, and lend him triple armour against temptation and the +assaults of evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. +That which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to +accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a work for +which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of gratitude. + +I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases and +Heredity in connection with your great reform. + +With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, Faithfully yours, + +Newell Dwight Hillis + + + + +CHAPTER I + +It was four o'clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the door +and came down the steps to the street. The first faint streaks of dawn +were in the sky, and he noticed this with annoyance, because he knew +that his hair was in disarray and his whole aspect disorderly; yet he +dared not take a cab, because he feared to attract attention at home. +When he reached the sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no +one had seen him leave the house, then started down the street, his eyes +upon the sidewalk before him. + +George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men in this +world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase means. The fumes +of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober now, quite free from +excitement. He saw what he had done, and it seemed to him something +black and disgusting. + +Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had to +traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid was +up, before the baker's boy called with the rolls; otherwise, what +explanation could he give?--he who had always been such a moral man, who +had been pointed out by mothers as an example to their sons. + +George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she could +know about his night's adventure. He thought again and again, with a +pang of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be possible that a man who was +engaged, whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon +to possess the love of a beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could +have been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into +such a low action? + +He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying +to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them. +He had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a +thing in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted +the invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law +school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led "fast" +lives--but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend's rooms for a +lark without harm! + +He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had +come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that +she was all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when +first he had noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun +to go to his head--he was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot +drink wine at all. He had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on +the way he had lost his head. + +Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he +who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them, +because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long +time to persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her +married friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take +off his shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck +George particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was, +he had not forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the +dangers of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, "This +girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such +a thing." + +But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He +was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in the bitter +words about "Time's moving finger having writ." His mind, seeking some +explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that +night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a +decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He +had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her up when he +became engaged; but now for a while he felt that he would have to break +his resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat in +the working-class portion of Paris. + +It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as his +father--that of notary--that he had made the acquaintance of the young +working girl. It may not be easy to believe, but Lizette had really been +a decent girl. She had a family to take care of, and was in need. There +was a grandmother in poor health, a father not much better, and three +little brothers; so Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and +he felt quite virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of +these unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered +proper to take such things if one paid for them. + +All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They adored +him, and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had not been so +foolish as to give them his true name). + +Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control +her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she +deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her +relatives also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never +trusted out alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his +little "family," so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. +He interested her in church affairs--mass and vespers were her regular +occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother +went with her to the services. The simple people were proud to see their +name engraved upon the brass plate of the pew. + +The reason for all these precautions was George's terror of disease. +He had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men +encounter in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George's +heart; he had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, +for one, would protect himself. + +That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; +such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably +ever occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do +such a thing. The French have a phrase, "l'homme moyen sensuel"--the +average sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble +idealisms, no particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude +was a purely selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same +time to keep out of trouble. + +He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed +upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, +he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the +amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to +keep regular hours, preparing for his law examinations. But all the +time he was longing for adventures. And, of course, this could not go +on forever, for the motive of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the +sexual urge in a full-blooded young man. + +The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been +for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George +was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted +mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the +mother broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had +been that his son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense +suffering he had been able to think about the matter, and had named the +girl whom he wished George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some +interest to learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother +told him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches. + +He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. "It +doesn't please you?" asked his mother, with a tone disappointment. + +"Why no, mother," he answered. "It's not that. It just surprises me." + +"But why?" asked the mother. "Henriette is a lovely girl and a good +girl." + +"Yes, I know," said George; "but then she is my cousin, and--" He +blushed a little with embarrassment. "I had never thought of her in that +way." + +Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son's. "Yes, George," she said +tenderly. "I know. You are such a good boy." + +Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good boy; +but his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea of the +truth about the majority of men. She would never have got over the shock +if he had told her about himself, and so he had to pretend to be just +what she thought him. + +"Tell me," she continued, after a pause, "have you never felt the least +bit in love?" + +"Why no--I don't think so," George stammered, becoming conscious of a +sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + +"Because," said his mother, "it is really time that you were settled in +life. Your father said that we should have seen to it before, and now it +is my duty to see to it. It is not good for you to live alone so long." + +"But, mother, I have YOU," said George generously. + +"Some day the Lord may take me away," was the reply. "I am getting +old. And, George, dear--" Here suddenly her voice began to tremble with +feeling--"I would like to see my baby grandchildren before I go. You +cannot imagine what it would mean to me." + +Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so she went +on to the more worldly aspects of the matter. Henriette's father was +well-to-do, and he would give her a good dowry. She was a charming and +accomplished girl. Everybody would consider him most fortunate if the +match could be arranged. Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame +Dupont had spoken, and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a +great deal of property and would surely help the young couple. + +George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, even if +he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a course? He could +not explain that he already had a family--with stepchildren, so to +speak, who adored him. And what could he say to his mother's obsession, +to which she came back again and again--her longing to see her +grandchildren before she died? Madame Dupont waited only long enough for +George to stammer out a few protestations, and then in the next breath +to take them back; after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. +The family lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement +were worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately afterwards +George learned of an opportunity to purchase the practice of a notary, +who was ready to retire from business in two months' time. Henriette's +father consented to advance a portion of her dowry for this purpose. + +Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his father, and +this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did not attempt to +deny, either to himself of to any one else. George was a cautious young +man, who came of a frugal and saving stock. He had always been taught +that it was his primary duty to make certain of a reasonable amount of +comfort. From his earliest days, he had been taught to regard material +success as the greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed +of engaging himself to a girl without money. But when he had the good +fortune to meet one who possessed desirable personal qualities in +addition to money, he was not in the least barred from appreciating +those qualities. They were, so to speak, the sauce which went with the +meat, and it seemed to him that in this case the sauce was of the very +best. + +George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a +good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty +laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its +deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round +world; he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune +of possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat +sentimental turn--easily influenced by women and sensitive to their +charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had +learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed, +was to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + +In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his +relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement +was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as +he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had +kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When +he walked arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he +had walked just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare +the words of the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he +had taken Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the +excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately he +decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he +persuaded an aunt of Henriette's to go with her as a chaperon. George +took his bride-to-be to the same little inn where he had lunch before. + +Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful +and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and +did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to +tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident +which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found +himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. +There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which +made it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so +sensible. Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not +have afforded to marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been +expected to lead a continent life. And he had really loved Lizette; she +was really a good girl. Yet, if Henriette had got any idea of it, she +would have been horrified and indignant--she might even have broken off +the engagement. + +And then, too, there was Henriette's father, a personage of great +dignity and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French Parliament, +from a district in the provinces. He was a man of upright life, and a +man who made a great deal of that upright life--keeping it on a pedestal +where everyone might observe it. It was impossible to imagine M. Loches +in an undignified or compromising situation--such as the younger man +found himself facing in the matter of Lizette. + +The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George became. +Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to break with +the girl, and be "good" until the time of his marriage. Dear little +soft-eyed Lizette--he did not dare to face her personally; he could +never bear to say good-by, he felt. Instead, he went to the father, +who as a man could be expected to understand the situation. George was +embarrassed and not a little nervous about it; for although he had never +misrepresented his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely +free from the possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, Lizette's +father behaved decently, and was duly grateful for the moderate sum of +money which George handed him in parting. He promised to break the news +gently to Lizette, and George went away with his mind made up that he +would never see her again. + +This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous in +doing it. But the truth was that he had grown used to intimacy with a +woman, and was restless without it. And that, he told himself, was why +he yielded to the shameful temptation the night of that fatal supper +party. + +He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that he had +been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that he had proved +himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. So keen was his +feeling that it was several days before he could bring himself to see +Henriette again; and when he went, it was with a mind filled with a +brand-new set of resolutions. It was the last time that he would ever +fall into error. He would be a new man from then on. He thanked God +that there was no chance of his sin being known, that he might have an +opportunity to prove his new determination. + +So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of +them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with +Henriette's mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance. +George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he +was really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always +been as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and +sweetness had awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life +had been full of blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of +ideas as to what the blunders of a tender and generous young man like +George might be. So she only loved him the more for his humility, and +was flattered to have such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such +moods of exaltation. When he told her that all men were bad, and that +no man was worthy of such a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and +wiped away tears from her eyes. + +It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the +real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new +resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really +mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his +past. + +It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young +girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with +unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young +man could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the +importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter, +he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He +made haste to shy off from the subject of his "badness" and to turn the +conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + +"If I am going to be so good," he said, "don't forget that you will have +to be good also!" + +"I will try," said Henriette, who was still serious. + +"You will have to try hard," he persisted. "You will find that you have +a very jealous husband." + +"Will I?" said Henriette, beaming with happiness--for when a woman is +very much in love she doesn't in the least object to the man's being +jealous. + +"Yes, indeed," smiled George. "I'll always be watching you." + +"Watching me?" echoed the girl with a surprised look. + +And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be +no need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it +at such a time. That was one of the ideas which he had brought with him +from his world of evil. + +The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious +husband; nothing could ever change that fact, for there was something in +his own conscience which he could not get out, and which would make it +impossible for him to be at ease as a married man. It was the memory of +something which had happened earlier in his life before he met Lizette. +There had been one earlier experience, with the wife of his dearest +friend. She had been much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an +interest in George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years +the intrigue continued, and George considered it a good solution of a +young man's problem. There had been no danger of contamination, for he +knew that his friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a jealous +man who watched his wife, and did not permit her to contract those new +relations which are always dangerous. As for George, he helped in this +worthy work, keeping the woman in terror of some disease. He told her +that almost all men were infected, for he hoped by this means to keep +her from deceiving him. + +I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want anyone +to think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to point out that +people feel differently about these matters in France. In judging the +unfortunate young man, we must judge him by the customs of his own +country, and not by ours. In France, they are accustomed to what is +called the MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. The young girl is not permitted to go +about and make her own friends and decide which one of them she prefers +for her husband; on the contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training +often is of a religious nature, and her marriage is a matter of +business, to be considered and decided by her parents and those of the +young man. Now, whatever we may think right, it is humanly certain that +where marriages are made in that way, the need of men and women for +sympathy and for passionate interest will often lead to the forming of +irregular relationships after marriage. It is not possible to present +statistics as to the number of such irregular relationships in Parisian +society; but in the books which he read and in the plays which he saw, +George found everything to encourage him to think that it was a romantic +and delightful thing to keep up a secret intrigue with the wife of his +best friend. + +It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling the +truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it is not +customary to tell this about men, either in real life or in novels. +There is a great deal of concealment in the world about matters of sex; +and in such matters the truth-telling man is apt to suffer in reputation +in comparison with the truth-concealing one. + +Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. It had +happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and this had so +affected the guilty pair that they had felt their relationship was no +longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse her grief alone, and +George had been so deeply affected that he had avoided affairs and +entanglements with women until his meeting with Lizette. + +All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a deeper +impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it was now working +in his mind and marring his happiness. Here was a girl who loved him +with a noble and unselfish and whole-hearted love--and yet he would +never be able to trust her as she deserved, but would always have +suspicions lurking in the back of his mind. He would be unable to have +his friends intimate in his home, because of the memory of what he had +once done to a friend. It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it +is that Nature often finds ways of punishing us, without our even being +aware of it. + +That was all for the future, however. At present, George was happy. He +put his black sin behind him, feeling that he had obtained absolution +by his confession to Henriette. Day by day, as he realized his good +fortune, his round face beamed with more and yet more joy. + +He went for a little trip to Henriette's home in the country. It was +a simple village, and they took walks in the country, and stopped to +refresh themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of M. Loches' tenants. +Here was a rosy and buxom peasant woman, with a nursing child in her +arms. She was destined a couple of years later to be the foster-mother +of Henriette's little girl and to play an important part in her life. +But the pair had no idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud +and happy mother, and Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to +childish delight. Then suddenly she looked up and saw that George was +watching her, and as she read his thoughts a beautiful blush suffused +her cheeks. + +As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in a kind +of ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; he had found +its supreme happiness, which was love. He was really getting quite mad +about Henriette, he told himself. He could hardly believe that the day +was coming when he would be able to clasp her in his arms. + +But in the blue sky of George's happiness there was one little cloud of +storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so small that at first +he paid no attention to it at all. + +He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated it with +salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or two, when this +had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He remembered suddenly he +had heard about the symptoms of an unmentionable, dreadful disease, and +a vague terror took possession of him. + +For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, it was +absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the thought would +not be put away, and finally he went to a school friend, who was a man +of the world, and got him to talk on the subject. Of course, George had +to be careful, so that his friend should not suspect that he had any +special purpose in mind. + +The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; but one +was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. There were other +diseases which fellows got, which nearly every fellow had, and to which +none of them paid any attention. But one seldom met anyone who had the +red plague that George dreaded. + +"And yet," he added, "according to the books, it isn't so uncommon. +I suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap naturally wouldn't +tell, when he knew it would damn him for life." + +George had a sick sensation inside of him. "Is it as bad as that?" he +asked. + +"Of course," said the other, "Should you want to have anything to do +with a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with him or +travel with him? You wouldn't even want to shake hands with him!" + +"No, I suppose not," said George, feebly. + +"I remember," continued the other, "an old fellow who used to live out +in the country near me. He was not so very old, either, but he looked +it. He had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. People said he had +locomotor ataxia, but that really meant syphilis. We boys used to poke +all kinds of fun at him because one windy day his hat and his wig were +blown off together, and we discovered that he was as bald as an egg. +We used to make jokes about his automobile, as we called it. It had a +little handle in front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to +push, instead of an engine." + +"How horrible!" remarked George with genuine feeling. + +"I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after," continued the +friend, quite carelessly. "He could not steer any more, and also he lost +his voice. When you met him he would look at you as it he thought he was +talking, but all he could say was 'Ga-ga-ga'." + +George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told himself +over and over again that he was a fool, but still he could not get the +hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself brooding over it all day +and lying awake at night, haunted by images of himself in a wheel-chair, +and without any hair on his head. He realized that the sensible thing +would be for him to go to a doctor and make certain about his condition; +but he could not bring himself to face the ordeal--he was ashamed to +admit to a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + +He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy face. He +had less appetite, and his moods of depression became so frequent that +he could not hide then even from Henriette. She asked him once or twice +if there were not something the matter with him, and he laughed--a +forced and hurried laugh--and told her that he had sat up too late the +night before, worrying over the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a +cruel thing it was that a man who stood in the very gateway of such +a garden of delight should be tormented and made miserable by this +loathsome idea! + +The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George purchased +a medical book, dealing with the subject of the disease. Then, indeed, +he opened up a chamber of horrors; he made up his mind an abiding place +of ghastly images. In the book there were pictures of things so awful +that he turned white, and trembled like a leaf, and had to close the +volume and hide it in the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish +the pictures from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the +description of the first symptom of the disease, which seemed to +correspond exactly with his own. So at last he made up his mind he must +ascertain definitely the truth about his condition. + +He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard somewhere +a story about a young fellow who had fallen into the hands of a quack, +and been ruined forever. So he decided that he would consult only the +best authority. + +He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a +bookstore, and found that the author of one of these books was +practicing in Paris as a specialist. Two or three days elapsed before he +was able to get up the courage to call on this doctor. And oh, the shame +and horror of sitting in his waiting-room with the other people, none of +whom dared to look each other in the eyes! They must all be afflicted, +George thought, and he glanced at them furtively, looking for the +various symptoms of which he had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like +himself--merely victims of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of +dread pulled from off their backs? + +And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the doctor, +signaling to him. His turn had come! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every +appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock coat +he wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. Confused and +nervous as George was, he got a vague impression of the physician's +richly furnished office, with its bronzes, marbles and tapestries. + +The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair before +his desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the perspiration +from his forehead, stammered out a few words, explaining his errand. Of +course, he said, it could not be true, but it was a man's duty not +to take any chances in such a matter. "I have not been a man of loose +life," he added; "I have not taken so many chances as other men." + +The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance was all +that was necessary. Instead of discussing such questions, he would make +an examination. "We do not say positively in these cases until we have +made a blood test. That is the one way to avoid the possibility of +mistake." + +A drop of blood was squeezed out of George's finger on to a little glass +plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and the victim sat +alone in the office, deriving no enjoyment from the works of art which +surrounded him, but feeling like a prisoner who sits in the dock with +his life at stake while the jury deliberates. + +The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in his +office-chair. + +"Well, doctor?" asked George. He was trembling with terror. + +"Well," was the reply, "there is no doubt whatever." + +George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. "No doubt +whatever? In what sense?" + +"In the bad sense," said the other. + +He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how George +turned page with terror. "Come," he said, after a silence, "you must +have known the truth pretty well." + +"No, no, sir!" exclaimed George. + +"Well," said the other, "you have syphilis." + +George was utterly stunned. "My God!" he exclaimed. + +The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and observed his +condition. "Don't trouble yourself, sir. Out of every seven men you meet +upon the street, in society, or at the theater, there is at least one +who has been in your condition. One out of seven--fifteen per cent!" + +George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. "I know +what I am going to do." + +"And I know also," said the doctor, with a smile. "There is your +prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have it put +up." + +George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, "No, sir." + +"Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does." + +"No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know what I +am going to do." + +Said the doctor: "Five times out of ten, in the chair where you are +sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each one believes +himself more unhappy than all the others; but after thinking it over, +and listening to me, they understand that this disease is a companion +with whom one can live. Just as in every household, one gets along at +the cost of mutual concessions, that's all. Come, sir, I tell you again, +there is nothing about it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly +natural, perfectly common; it is an accident which can happen to any +one. It is a great mistake that people speak if this as the 'French +Disease,' for there is none which is more universal. Under the picture +of this disease, addressing myself to those who follow the oldest +profession in the world, I would write the famous phrase: 'Here is your +master. It is, it was, or it must be.'" + +George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of his +coat, stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. "But, sir," he +exclaimed, "I should have been spared!" + +"Why?" inquired the other. "Because you are a man of position, because +you are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of art in my +room. Do you imagine that such things have been presented to me by +chimney-sweeps?" + +"But, Doctor," cried George, with a moan, "I have never been a +libertine. There was never any one, you understand me, never any one +could have been more careful in his pleasures. If I were to tell you +that in all my life I have only had two mistresses, what would you +answer to that?" + +"I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to bring +you to me." + +"No, sir!" cried George. "It could not have been either of those women." +He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, and then about +Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how much he adored her. He +could really use such a word--he loved her most tenderly. She was so +good--and he had thought himself so lucky! + +As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. "I had +everything," he exclaimed, "everything a man needed! All who knew me +envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me off to that +miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My future is ruined, my whole +existence poisoned! What is to become of me? Everybody will avoid me--I +shall be a pariah, a leper!" + +He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, "Come, now! Would +it not be better that I should take myself out of the way? At least, I +should not suffer any more. You see that there could not be any one +more unhappy than myself--not any one, I tell you, sir, not any one!" +Completely overcome, he began to weep in his handkerchief. + +The doctor got up, and went to him. "You must be a man," he said, "and +not cry like a child." + +"But sir," cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, +"if I had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with +chorus girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had +deserved it." + +The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, "No, no! You would not say it. +However, it is of no matter--go on." + +"I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I +had deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And +now, when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting +things, the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned--" + +"What is all this you are telling me?" asked the doctor, laughing. + +"Oh, I know, I know!" cried the other, and repeated what his friend +had told him about the man in a wheel-chair. "And they used to call me +handsome Raoul! That was my name--handsome Raoul!" + +"Now, my dear sir," said the doctor, cheerfully, "wipe your eyes one +last time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and +hear me dry-eyed." + +George obeyed mechanically. "But I give you fair warning," he said, "you +are wasting your time." + +"I tell you--" began the other. + +"I know exactly what you are going to tell me!" cried George. + +"Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here--run +along." + +"Since I am here," said the patient submissively, "I will hear you." + +"Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the +perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you." + +"Of course, it is your duty to tell me that." + +"I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in +Paris, alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just +saying--wheel-chairs. One doesn't see so many of them." + +"No, that's true," said George. + +"And besides," added the doctor, "a good many people who ride in them +are not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why +you should be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred +thousand. The disease is serious, nothing more." + +"You admit that it is a serious disease?" argued George. + +"Yes." + +"One of the most serious?" + +"Yes, but you have the good fortune--" + +"The GOOD fortune?" + +"Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected +with one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control." + +"Yes, yes," exclaimed George, "but the remedies are worse than the +disease." + +"You deceive yourself," replied the other. + +"You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?" + +"You can be." + +"And that I am not condemned?" + +"I swear it to you." + +"You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was +told--" + +The doctor laughed, contemptuously. "You were told, you were told! I'll +wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls." + +"Yes, naturally," said George. "But I don't see what they have to do +with it." + +"Instead of teaching you such things," was the reply, "it would have +been a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause +of diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the +contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the +most important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every +newspaper." + +This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned +a little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way +subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the +name of this vile disease. + +"And yet," pursued the doctor, "you publish romances about adultery!" + +"Yes," said George, "that's what the readers want." + +"They don't want the truth about venereal diseases," exclaimed the +other. "If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that +adultery was romantic and interesting." + +He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. +There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take +her as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive +you. "Take that from me," added the doctor, "and teach it to your son, +when you have one." + +George's attention was caught by this last sentence. + +"You mean that I shall be able to have children?" he cried. + +"Certainly," was the reply. + +"Healthy children?" + +"I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long +time, conscientiously, you have little to fear." + +"That's certain?" + +"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred." + +George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. "Why, then," +he exclaimed, "I shall be able to marry!" + +"You will be able to marry," was the reply. + +"You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would +not expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?" + +"In three or four years," said the doctor. + +"What!" cried George in consternation. "In three or four years? Not +before?" + +"Not before." + +"How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just +now--" + +Said the doctor: "The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, +yourself--but you will be dangerous to others." + +"But," the young man cried, in despair, "I am to be married a month from +now." + +"That is impossible." + +"But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have +been published! I have given my word!" + +"Well, you are a great one!" the doctor laughed. "Just now you were +looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month." + +"But, Doctor, it is necessary!" + +"But I forbid it." + +"As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I +could be cured, naturally I didn't want to commit suicide. And as soon +as I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular +life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married." + +"No," said the doctor. + +"Yes, yes!" persisted George, with blind obstinacy. "Why, Doctor, if I +didn't marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something +you don't understand. I, for my part--it is not that I am anxious to be +married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette's little +brothers adored me. But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother +is crazy about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of +chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has the +family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a regular dragoon +for his principles--severe, violent. He never makes a joke of serious +things, and I tell you it would cost me dear, terribly dear. And, +besides, I have given my word." + +"You must take back your word." + +"You still insist?" exclaimed George, in despair. "But then, suppose +that it were possible, how could I take back my signature which I put at +the bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to pay in two months for +the attorney's practice I have purchased!" + +"Sir," said the doctor, "all these things--" + +"You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I should +never have disposed of my wife's dowry until after the honeymoon!" + +"Sir," said the doctor, again, "all these considerations are foreign to +me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, and I can only +tell you this: If you marry before three or four years, you will be a +criminal." + +George broke out with a wild exclamation. "No sir, you are not merely a +physician! You are also a confessor! You are not merely a scientist; and +it is not enough for you that you observe me as you would some lifeless +thing in your laboratory, and say, 'You have this; science says that; +now go along with you.' All my existence depends upon you. It is +your duty to listen to me, because when you know everything you will +understand me, and you will find some way to cure me within a month." + +"But," protested the doctor, "I wear myself out telling you that such +means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as much as any +one can be certain, in less than three or four years." + +George was almost beside himself. "I tell you you must find some means! +Listen to me, sir--if I don't get married I don't get the dowry! And +will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have signed?" + +"Oh," said the doctor, dryly, "if that is the question, it is very +simple--I will give you a plan to get out of the affair. You will go +and get acquainted with some rich man; you will do everything you can to +gain his confidence; and when you have succeeded, you will plunder him." + +George shook his head. "I am not in any mood for joking." + +"I am not joking," replied his adviser. "Rob that man, assassinate him +even--that would be no worse crime than you would commit in taking a +young girl in good health in order to get a portion of her dowry, +when at the same time you would have to expose her to the frightful +consequences of the disease which you would give her." + +"Frightful consequences?" echoed George. + +"Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful." + +"But, sir, you were saying to me just now--" + +"Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, suppressed a +little by our remedies, the disease remains mysterious, menacing, and +in its sum, sufficiently grave. So it would be an infamy to expose your +fiancee in order to avoid an inconvenience, however great that might +be." + +But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that this +misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best attention? + +Said the other: "I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not absolutely +certain, it is probable. And there is another truth which I wish to +tell you now: our remedies are not infallible. In a certain number of +cases--a very small number, scarcely five per cent--they have remained +without effect. You might be one of those exceptions, your wife might be +one. What then?" + +"I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should have to +expect the worst catastrophes." + +George sat in a state of complete despair. + +"Tell me what to do, then," he said. + +"I can tell you only one thing: don't marry. You have a most serious +blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one will ever come to +claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless creditor will come all +at once, presenting a brutal demand for immediate payment. Come now--you +are a business man. Marriage is a contract; to marry without saying +anything--that means to enter into a bargain by means of passive +dissimulation. That's the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it +ought to come under the law." + +George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could think +of nothing to say to it. + +"What shall I do?" he asked. + +The other answered, "Go to your father-in-law and tell him frankly the +truth." + +"But," cried the young man, wildly, "there will be no question then of +three or four years' delay. He will refuse his consent altogether." + +"If that is the case," said the doctor, "don't tell him anything." + +"But I have to give him a reason, or I don't know what he will do. He +is the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, and again my +fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From everything I have said +to you, you may perhaps think I am a mercenary man. It is true that I +want to get along in the world, that is only natural. But Henriette has +such qualities; she is so much better than I, that I love her, really, +as people love in novels. My greatest grief--it is not to give up the +practice I have bought--although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow to +me; my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only see +her, if you only knew her--then you would understand. I have her picture +here--" + +The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph to the +doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with embarrassment. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, "I am ridiculous. That happens to me, +sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place--I love her so!" His voice +broke. + +"My dear boy," said the doctor, feelingly, "that is exactly why you +ought not to marry her." + +"But," he cried, "if I back out without saying anything they will guess +the truth, and I shall be dishonored." + +"One is not dishonored because one is ill." + +"But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, yesterday--I +should have laughed at anyone who had got into such a plight; I should +have avoided him, I should have despised him!" And suddenly George +broke down again. "Oh!" he cried, "if I were the only one to suffer; but +she--she is in love with me. I swear it to you! She is so good; and she +will be so unhappy!" + +The doctor answered, "She would be unhappier later on." + +"It will be a scandal!" George exclaimed. + +"You will avoid one far greater," the other replied. + +Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his seat. He +took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and laid them quietly +upon the doctor's desk--paying the fee in cash, so that he would not +have to give his name and address. He took up his gloves, his cane and +his hat, and rose. + +"I will think it over," he said. "I thank you, Doctor. I will come back +next week as you have told me. That is--probably I will." + +He was about to leave. + +The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. "No," he +said, "I shan't see you next week, and you won't even think it over. You +came here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice of me, with the +intention of paying no heed to it, unless it conformed to your wishes. +A superficial honesty has driven you to take that chance in order to +satisfy your conscience. You wanted to have somebody upon whom you could +put off, bye and bye, the consequences of an act whose culpability you +understand! No, don't protest! Many of those who come here think and act +as you think, and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against +my will has generally been the source of such calamities that now I am +always afraid of not having been persuasive enough, and it even seems to +me that I am a little to blame for these misfortunes. I should have been +able to prevent them; they would not have happened if those who are the +authors of them knew what I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to +me, sir, that you are going to break off that marriage!" + +George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. "I cannot swear +to you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again that I will think it +over." + +"That WHAT over?" + +"What you have told me." + +"What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new objections; and +I have answered those which you have presented to me; therefore, your +mind ought to be made up." + +Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he had +made inquiry about these matters before he had come to the doctor. But +he said that he was not al all certain that he had this disease. The +doctor declared it, and perhaps it was true, but the most learned +physicians were sometimes deceived. + +He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. "Dr. +Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is no longer +contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. Today you produce +new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I want to do what's right, +but surely I have the right to think it over. And when I think it +over, I realize that all the evils with which you threaten me are only +probable evils. In spite of your desire to terrify me, you have been +forced to admit that possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome +consequence for my wife." + +The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, "Go on. +I will answer you afterwards." + +And George blundered ahead in his desperation. "Your remedies are +powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you speak to +befall me, I would have to be among the rare exceptions--also my +wife would have to be among the number of those rare exceptions. If a +mathematician were to apply the law of chance to these facts, the result +of his operation would show but slight chance of a catastrophe, as +compared with the absolute certainty of a series of misfortunes, +sufferings, troubles, tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which +the breaking of my engagement would cause. So I say that the +mathematician--who is, even more than you, a man of science, a man of +a more infallible science--the mathematician would conclude that wisdom +was not with you doctors, but with me." + +"You believe it, sir!" exclaimed the other. "But you deceive yourself." +And he continued, driving home his point with a finger which seemed to +George to pierce his very soul. "Twenty cases identical with your own +have been patiently observed, from the beginning to the end. Nineteen +times the woman was infected by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen +times out of twenty! You believe that the disease is without danger, and +you take to yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the +chance of your being one of those exceptions, for whom our remedies +are without effect. Very well; it is necessary that you should know the +disease which your wife, without being consulted, will run a chance of +contracting. Take that book, sir; it is the work of my teacher. Read it +yourself. Here, I have marked the passage." + +He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to take it. + +"You do not wish to read it?" the other continued. "Listen to me." +And in a voice trembling with passion, he read: "'I have watched the +spectacle of an unfortunate young woman, turned into a veritable monster +by means of a syphilitic infection. Her face, or rather let me say +what was left of her face, was nothing but a flat surface seamed with +scars.'" + +George covered his face, exclaiming, "Enough, sir! Have mercy!" + +But the other cried, "No, no! I will go to the very end. I have a +duty to perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility of your +nerves." + +He went on reading: "'Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the ridge +of the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.'" But then at the young man's +protests, his resolution failed him. "Come," he said, "I will stop. I am +sorry for you--you who accept for another person, for the woman you say +you love, the chance of a disease which you cannot even endure to hear +described. Now, from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who +am speaking, it is the book. 'From a miserable scoundrel who was not +afraid to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary eruption.' All +that was established later on--'and who, moreover, had thought it best +not to let his wife be treated for fear of awakening her suspicions!'" + +The doctor closed the book with a bang. "What that man has done, sir, is +what you want to do." + +George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the doctor in +the eye. "I should deserve all those epithets and still more brutal ones +if I should marry, knowing that my marriage would cause such horrors. +But that I do not believe. You and your teachers--you are specialists, +and consequently you are driven to attribute everything to the disease +you make the subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional +case, holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be +talked about enough." + +"I have heard that argument before," said the doctor, with an effort at +patience. + +"Let me go on, I beg you," pleaded George. "You have told me that out of +every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have told me that there are +one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and going, alert, and apparently +well." + +"It is true," said the doctor, "that there are one hundred thousand +who are actually at this moment not visibly under the influence of the +disease. But many thousands have passed into our hospitals, victims of +the most frightful ravages that our poor bodies can support. These--you +do not see them, and they do not count for you. But again, if it +concerned no one but yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I +declare to you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, +is that you have not the right to expose a human creature to such +chances--rare, as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. What +have you to answer to that?" + +"Nothing," stammered George, brought to his knees at last. "You are +right about that. I don't know what to think." + +"And in forbidding you marriage," continued the doctor, "is it the same +as if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told you that you +could never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out to you every hope; but +I demand of you a delay of three or four years, because it will take me +that time to find out if you are among the number of those unfortunate +ones whom I pity with all my heart, for whom the disease is without +mercy; because during that time you will be dangerous to your wife and +to your children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you." + +Here the doctor's voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving +eloquence. "Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young for such +things not to move you; you are not insensible to duty. It is impossible +that I shan't be able to find a way to your heart, that I shan't be +able to make you obey me. My emotion in speaking to you proves that I +appreciate your suffering, that I suffer with you. It is in the name of +my sincerity that I implore you. You have admitted it--that you have not +the right to expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your +wife that you strike; you may attack in her your own children. I exclude +you for a moment from my thought--you and her. It is in the name of +these innocents that I implore you; it is the future, it is the race +that I defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out of the twenty households +of which I spoke, only fifteen had children; these fifteen had +twenty-eight. Do you know how many out of these twenty-eight survived? +Three, sir! Three out of twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a +murderer of children. Herod reigns in France, and over all the earth, +and begins each year his massacre of the innocents; and if it be not +blasphemy against the sacredness of life, I say that the most happy are +those who have disappeared. Visit our children's hospitals! We know too +well the child of syphilitic parents; the type is classical; the doctors +can pick it out anywhere. Those little old creatures who have the +appearance of having already lived, and who have kept the stigmata of +all out infirmities, of all our decay. They are the victims of fathers +who have married, being ignorant of what you know--things which I should +like to go and cry out in the public places." + +The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: "I have told +you all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the pros and +cons; sum up the possible misfortunes and the certain miseries. But +disregard yourself, and consider that there are in one side of the +scales the misfortunes of others, and in the other your own. Take care +that you are just." + +George was at last overcome. "Very well," he said, "I give way. I +won't get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a delay of six +months. More than that, I cannot do." + +The doctor exclaimed, "I need three years--I need four years!" + +"No, Doctor!" persisted George. "You can cure me in less time than +that." + +The other answered, "No! No! No!" + +George caught him by the hand, imploringly. "Yes! Science in all +powerful!" + +"Science is not God," was the reply. "There are no longer any miracles." + +"If only you wanted to do it!" cried the young man, hysterically. "You +are a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some new plan with +me; give me double the dose, ten times the does; make me suffer. I give +myself up to you; I will endure everything--I swear it! There ought to +be some way to cure me within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I +can't answer for myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my +wife, in the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for +them!" + +The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. "Enough, sir!" he +cried. "Enough!" + +But nothing could stop the wretched man. "On my knees!" he cried. "I +put myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only you would do it! I would +bless you; I would adore you, as one adores a god! All my gratitude, all +my life--half my fortune! For mercy's sake, Doctor, do something; invent +something; make some discovery--have pity!" + +The doctor answered gravely, "Do you wish me to do more for you than for +the others?" + +George answered, unblushingly, 'answered, unblushingly, "Yes!" He was +beside himself with terror and distress. + +The other's reply was delivered in a solemn tone. "Understand, sir, +for every one of out patients we do all that we can, whether it be the +greatest personage, or the last comer to out hospital clinic. We have no +secrets in reserve for those who are more fortunate, or less fortunate +than the others, and who are in a hurry to be cured." + +George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and then +suddenly bowed his head. "Good-by, Doctor," he answered. + +"Au revoir, sir," the other corrected--with what proved to be prophetic +understanding. For George was destined to see him again--even though he +had made up his mind to the contrary! + + + +CHAPTER III + +George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to make; but +there was never very much doubt what his decision would be. One the one +hand was the definite certainty that if he took the doctor's advice, he +would wreck his business prospects, and perhaps also lose the woman he +loved. On the other hand were vague and uncertain possibilities which it +was difficult for him to make real to himself. It was all very well to +wait a while to be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four +years--that was simply preposterous! + +He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this time who +would not be so particular, who would be willing to take some trouble +to cure him quickly. He began to notice the advertisements which +were scattered over the pages of the newspapers he read. There were +apparently plenty of doctors in Paris who could cure him, who were +willing to guarantee to cure him. After much hesitation, he picked out +one whose advertisement sounded the most convincing. + +The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not +encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. +The doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with +anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was +evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter +with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, +he could cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great +discoveries made--new methods which had not reached the bulk of the +profession. He laughed at the idea of three or four years. That was +the way with those specialists! When one got forty francs for a +consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out the case. There were +tricks in the medical trade, as in all others. A doctor had to live; +when he had a big name, he had to live expensively. + +The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the +shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would +surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six +months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there +was no need for him to worry himself--things would come out all right. +So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his +shoulders. + +He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter +settled. "Henriette," he said, "I have to tell you something very +important--something rather painful. I hope you won't let it disturb you +too much." + +She was gazing at him in alarm. "What is it?" + +"Why," he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had +begun the matter so precipitately, "for some time I've not been feeling +quite well. I've been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?" + +"Why no!" exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + +"Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a +possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it might +be--I might possibly have lung trouble." + +"George!" cried the girl in horror. + +He put his hand upon hers. "Don't be frightened," he said. "It will be +all right, only I have to take care of myself." How very dear of her, he +thought--to be so much worried! + +"George, you ought to go away to the country!" she cried. "You have +been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so +much--" + +"I am going to take care of myself," he said. "I realize that it is +necessary. I shall be all right--the doctor assured me there was no +doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is +the trouble: I don't think it would be right for me to marry until I am +perfectly well." + +Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + +"I am sure we should put it off," he went on, "it would be only fair to +you." + +"But, George!" she protested. "Surely it can't be that serious!" + +"We ought to wait," he said. "You ought not to take the chance of being +married to a consumptive." + +The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a +consumptive; she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was +willing to take her chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But +George insisted--he was sure that he ought not to marry for six months. + +"Did the doctor advise that?" asked Henriette. + +"No," he replied, "but I made up my mind after talking to him that I +must do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to forgive me, and to +believe that I know best." + +George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had to give +way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue persisting. + +George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped this +would settle the matter without further discussion. But in this he was +disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence with long arguments +and protestations from Henriette's father and from his own mother. +It seemed such a singular whim. Everybody persisted in diagnosing his +symptoms, in questioning him about what the doctor had said, who the +doctor was, how he had come to consult him--all of which, of course, was +very embarrassing to George, who could not see why they had to make such +a fuss. He took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he could +imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house--and it was +all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look of dismay on +his poor mother's face. After all, however, he told himself that he +was not deceiving her, for the disease he had was quite as serious as +tuberculosis. + +It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that could be +done about it; the marriage had been put off for six months, and in the +meantime he and Henriette had to control their impatience and make the +best of their situation. Six months was a long time; but what if it had +been three or four years, as the other doctor had demanded? That would +have been a veritable sentence of death. + +George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and careful in +his habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor prescribed +for him; and day by day he watched, and to his great relief saw the +troublesome symptoms gradually disappearing. He began to take heart, +and to look forward to life with his former buoyancy. He had had a bad +scare, but now everything was going to be all right. + +Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was cured. He +really was cured, so far as he could see. He was sorry, now, that he +had asked for so long a delay from Henriette; but the new date for the +wedding had been announced, and it would be awkward to change it again. +George told himself that he was being "extra careful," and he was repaid +for the inconvenience by the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. +He was relieved that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent +any more tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. +Sometimes he had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had had to +do; but he told himself that it was for Henriette's sake. She loved him +as much as he loved her. She would have suffered needless agonies had +she known the truth; she would never have got over it--so it would have +been a crime to tell her. + +He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he had +thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any physical harm +that the dread disease might do to him. How could he possibly persuade +himself to give her up, when he knew that the separation would break her +heart and ruin her whole life? No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was +his duty to use his own best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly +as possible. After that he would be true to her, he would take no more +chances of a loathsome disease. + +The secret he was hiding made him feel humble--made him unusually gentle +in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, and she +was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his sufferings were +because of his love for her, and the delay which he had imposed out of +his excess of conscientiousness. So she loved him more and more, and +never was there a happier bride than Henriette Loches, when at last the +great day arrived. + +They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned to live +in the home which had belonged to George's father. The investment in +the notary's practice had proven a good one, and so life held out every +promise for the young couple. They were divinely happy. + +After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings that +she was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that the cup of his +earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped far into the background +of his thoughts, like an evil dream which he had forgotten. He put away +the medicines in the bottom of his trunk and dismissed the whole matter +from his mind. Henriette was well--a very picture of health, as every +one agreed. The doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he +declared, and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy +as she attended her daughter-in-law. + +Henriette went for the summer to her father's place in the provinces, +which she and George had visited before their marriage. They drove out +one day to the farm where they had stopped. The farmer's wife had a +week-old baby, the sight of which made Henriette's heart leap with +delight. He was such a very healthy baby that George conceived the idea +that this would be the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette +herself should not be able to do it. + +They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As George paced +the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his evil dreams came back +to him. He remembered all the dreadful monstrosities of which he had +read--infants that were born of syphilitic parents. His heart stood +still when the nurse came into the room to tell him the tidings. + +But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a fool, +he told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed at the +wonderful little mite of life which was the fruit of his love. It was a +perfect child, the doctor said--a little small, to be sure, but that was +a defect which would soon be remedied. George kneeled by the bedside and +kissed the hand of his wife, and went out of the room feeling as if he +had escaped from a tomb. + +All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about the house +again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the baby did not gain +quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and it was decided that the +country air would be better for her. So George and his mother paid a +visit to the farm in the country, and arranged that the country woman +should put her own child to nurse elsewhere and should become the +foster-mother of little Gervaise. + +George paid a good price for the service, far more than would have been +necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted with the idea of +taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of her district. George came +home and told his wife about this and had a merry time as he pictured +the woman boasting about it to the travelers who stopped at her door. +"Yes, ma'am, a great piece of luck I've got, ma'am. I've got the +daughter of the daughter of our deputy--at your service ma'am. My! +But she is as fat as out little calf--and so clever! She understands +everything. A great piece of luck for me, ma'am. She's the daughter +of the daughter of our deputy!" Henriette was vastly entertained, +discovering in her husband a new talent, that of an actor. + +As for George's mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from staying in +the country with the child. She went twice a week, to make sure that all +went well. Henriette and she lived with the child's picture before them; +they spent their time sewing on caps and underwear--all covered with +laces and frills and pink and blue ribbons. Every day, when George +came home from his work, he found some new article completed, and was +ravished by the scent of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky +man he was! + +You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole city +of Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his early sins. +There was, for instance, the deception he had practiced upon his friend, +away back in the early days. Now he had friends of his own, and he could +not keep these friends from visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the +fear that some one of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even +in the midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was +hanging upon his every word, trembling with delight when she heard his +latchkey in the door--still he could not drive away the horrible thought +that perhaps all this might be deception. + +There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend of +Henriette's before her marriage; he had even been in love with her at +one time. And now he came sometimes to the house--once or twice when +George was away! What did that mean? George wondered. He brooded over +it all day, but dared not drop any hint to Henriette. But he took to +setting little traps to catch her; for instance, he would call her up on +the telephone, disguising his voice. "Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame +Dupont?" And when she answered, "It is I, sir," all unsuspecting, he +would inquire, "Is George there?" + +"No, sir," she replied. "Who is this speaking?" + +He answered, "It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?" He wanted to +see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, "Very well, Gustave. +How are you?"--in a tone which would betray too great intimacy! + +But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound like +Gustave's. She asked in bewilderment, "What?" and then again, "What?" + +So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, had to +burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he came home and +teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on his side. Henriette +had guessed the real meaning of his joke! She did not really mind--she +took his jealousy as a sign of love, and was pleased with it. It is +not until a third party come upon the scene that jealousy begins to be +annoying. + +So she had a merry time teasing George. "You are a great fellow! +You have no idea how well I understand you--and after only a year of +marriage!" + +"You know me?" said the husband, curiously. (It is always so fascinating +when anybody thinks she know us better than we know ourselves!) "Tell +me, what do you think about me?" + +"You are restless," said Henriette. "You are suspicious. You pass your +time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise schemes to get them +out." + +"Oh, you think that, do you?" said George, pleased to be talked about. + +"I am not annoyed," she answered. "You have always been that way--and I +know that it's because at bottom you are timid and disposed to suffer. +And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for not having confidence in a +wife's intimate friends--lady-killer that you are!" + +George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, so he +laughed gayly. "I don't know what you mean," he said--"upon my word I +don't. But it is a trick I would not advise everybody to try." + +There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George's having things +to conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the six months' delay +in the marriage--about which Henriette would never stop talking. She +begrudged the time, because she had got the idea that little Gervaise +was six months younger than she otherwise would have been. "That shows +your timidity again," she would say. "The idea of your having imagined +yourself a consumptive!" + +Poor George had to defend himself. "I didn't tell you half the truth, +because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had the beginning of +chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly whenever I took a breath, a +deep breath--look, like this. Yes--I felt--here and there, on each side +of the chest, a heaviness--a difficulty--" + +"The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!" +exclaimed Henriette. "And making our baby six months younger than she +ought to be!" + +"But," laughed George, "that means that we shall have her so much the +longer! She will get married six months later!" + +"Oh, dear me," responded the other, "let us not talk about such things! +I am already worried, thinking she will get married some day." + +"For my part," said George, "I see myself mounting with her on my arm +the staircase of the Madeleine." + +"Why the Madeleine?" exclaimed his wife. "Such a very magnificent +church!" + +"I don't know--I see her under her white veil, and myself all dressed +up, and with an order." + +"With an order!" laughed Henriette. "What do you expect to do to win an +order?" + +"I don't know that--but I see myself with it. Explain it as you will, I +see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I were there--the +Swiss guard with his white stockings and the halbard, and the little +milliner's assistants and the scullion lined up staring." + +"It is far off--all that," said Henriette. "I don't like to talk of it. +I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up--but then I change my +mind and think I don't. I know your mother doesn't. Do you know, I don't +believe she ever thinks about anything but her little Gervaise." + +"I believe you," said the father. "The child can certainly boast of +having a grandmother who loves her." + +"Also, I adore your mother," declared Henriette. "She makes me forget my +misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so good!" + +"We are all like that in our family," put in George. + +"Really," laughed the wife. "Well, anyhow--the last time that we went +down in the country with her--you had gone out, I don't know where you +had gone--" + +"To see the sixteenth-century chest," suggested the other. + +"Oh, yes," laughed Henriette; "your famous chest!" (You must excuse this +little family chatter of theirs--they were so much in love with each +other!) + +"Don't let's talk about that," objected George. "You were saying--?" + +"You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think--" + +"Or at the wine merchant's! Go on, go on." + +"Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was all +alone with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the baby--all +sorts of nonsense, pretty little words--stupid, if you like, but tender. +I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I wanted to weep." + +"Perhaps she called her 'my dear little Savior'?" + +"Exactly! Did you hear her?" + +"No--but that is what she used to call me when I was little." + +"It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized her, and +laughed!" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"And then another time, when I went into her room--mother's room--she +didn't hear me because the door was open, but I saw her. She was in +ecstasy before the little boots which the baby wore at baptism--you +know?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!" + +"And what did you say then?" + +"Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the threshold a +great kiss to the dear grandmother!" + +Henriette sat for a moment in thought. "It didn't take her very long," +she remarked, "today when she got the letter from the nurse. I imagine +she caught the eight-fifty-nine train!" + +"Any yet," laughed George, "it was really nothing at all." + +"Oh no," said his wife. "Yet after all, perhaps she was right--and +perhaps I ought to have gone with her." + +"How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are +told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply +playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I'll bet +you something. What would you like to bet? You don't want to? Come, I'll +bet you a lovely necklace--you know, with a big pearl." + +"No," said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. "I +should be too much afraid of winning." + +"Stop!" laughed her husband. "Don't you believe I love her as much as +you love her--my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her +EXACT age?" + +Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + +"Ah!" he exploded. "You see you don't know! She is ninety-one days and +eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. +Then we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months." +Then, too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase +again. + +"If only you hadn't put off our marriage, she would be able to walk +now," said Henriette. + +He rose suddenly. "Come," he said, "didn't you say you had to dress and +pay some calls?" + +Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + +"Run along, little wife," he said. "I have a lot of work to do in the +meantime. You won't be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in +my papers. Bye-bye." + +"Bye-bye," said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so +kisses before she went away to dress. + +Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big +armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. +Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to +be, since the letter had come from the baby's nurse? Madame Dupont had +gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph +at once--but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + +George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for +a moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put +his geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But +then suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced +about, and started up with an exclamation, "Mother!" + +Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was +thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her +countenance. + +"What's the matter?" he cried. "We didn't get any telegram from you; we +were not expecting you till tomorrow." + +Still his mother did not speak. + +"Henriette was just going out," he exclaimed nervously; "I had better +call her." + +"No!" said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. "I did +not want Henriette to be here when I arrived." + +"But what's the matter?" cried George. + +Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read something +terrible in the mother's manner, and he found himself trembling +violently. + +"I have brought back the child and the nurse," said Madame Dupont. + +"What! Is the little one sick?" + +"Yes." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"Nothing dangerous--for the moment, at least." + +"We must send and get the doctor!" cried George. + +"I have just come from the doctor's," was the reply. "He said it was +necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up on the +bottle." + +Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to ask +the next question. Try as he would, he could not keep his voice from +weakening. "Well, now, what is her trouble?" + +The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At last she +said, faintly, "I don't know." + +"You didn't ask?" + +"I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went." + +"Ah!" whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them spoke. +"Why?" he inquired at last. + +"Because--he--the nurse's doctor--had frightened me so--" + +"Truly?" + +"Yes. It is a disease--" again she stopped. + +George cried, in a voice of agony, "and then?" + +"Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be +satisfied with our ordinary doctor." + +"And what did he answer?" + +"He said that if we had the means it would really be better to consult a +specialist." + +George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she +was not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. +"And--where did he send you?" + +His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. "Here," +she said. + +And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself +from tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first +consulted about his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases! + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was all George could do to control his voice. "You--you went to see +him?" he stammered. + +"Yes," said his mother. "You know him?" + +"No, no," he answered. "Or--that is--I have met him, I think. I don't +know." And then to himself, "My God!" + +There was a silence. "He is coming to talk to you," said the mother, at +last. + +George was hardly able to speak. "Then he is very much disturbed?" + +"No, but he wants to talk to you." + +"To me?" + +"Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, 'Madame, it is impossible +for me to continue to attend this child unless I have had this very day +a conversation with the father.' So I said 'Very well,' and he said he +would come at once." + +George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. "My poor little +daughter!" he whispered to himself. + +"Yes," said the mother, her voice breaking, "she is, indeed, a poor +little daughter!" + +A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? Hearing +the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were all a-quiver +with the strain she had been under. A servant came in and spoke to her, +and she said to George, "It is the doctor. If you need me, I shall be in +the next room." + +Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an +executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and he +stood for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost overcome +with emotion. Then he said, "Good-day, doctor." As the man stared at +him, surprised and puzzled, he added, "You don't recognize me?" + +The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him to break +out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. "You!" he exclaimed. "It is +you!" + +At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, "You +got married, and you have a child! After all that I told you! You are a +wretch!" + +"Sir," cried George, "let me explain to you!" + +"Not a word!" exclaimed the other. "There can be no explanation for what +you have done." + +A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. Finally, +stretching out his arms, he pleaded, "You will take care of my little +daughter all the same, will you not?" + +The other turned away with disgust. "Imbecile!" he said. + +George did not hear the word. "I was able to wait only six months," he +murmured. + +The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, "That is enough, +sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong even to let you see +my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I have nothing +to do here but with the present and with the future--with the infant and +with the nurse." + +"She isn't in danger?" cried George. + +"The nurse is in danger of being contaminated." + +But George had not been thinking about the nurse. "I mean my child," he +said. + +"Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing." + +George waited; after a while he began, "You were saying about the nurse. +Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better than I." + +"As you wish," was the reply. + +The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible distress. +"I have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so that my wife--so that +no one will know. If my wife learned that it is I who am the cause--! It +is for her that I implore you! She--she isn't to blame." + +Said the doctor: "I will do everything in my power that she may be kept +ignorant of the true nature of the disease." + +"Oh, how I thank you!" murmured George. "How I thank you!" + +"Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will consent to +lie." + +"And my mother?" + +"Your mother knows the truth." + +"But--" + +"I pray you, sir--we have enough to talk about, and very serious +matters." + +So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered and +greeted the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to keep the +signs of grief and terror from her face. She signed to the doctor to +take a seat, and then seated herself by a little table near him. + +"Madame Dupont," he began, "I have prescribed a course of treatment for +the child. I hope to be able to improve its condition, and to prevent +any new developments. But my duty and yours does not stop there; if +there is still time, it is necessary to protect the health of the +nurse." + +"Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?" said she. + +"The woman must stop nursing the child." + +"You mean we have to change the nurse?" + +"Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, either by +that nurse or by any other nurse." + +"But why, sir?" + +"Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave her +milk." + +"But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle--our little one--she will +die!" + +And suddenly George burst out into sobs. "Oh, my poor little daughter! +My God, my God!" + +Said the doctor, "If the feeding is well attended to, with sterilized +milk--" + +"That can do very well for healthy infants," broke in Madame Dupont. +"But at the age of three months one cannot take from the breast a baby +like ours, frail and ill. More than any other such an infant has need of +a nurse--is that not true?" + +"Yes," the doctor admitted, "that is true. But--" + +"In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of the +nurse, you understand perfectly well that my choice is made." + +Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose head was +buried in his arms. "Madame," he said, "your love for that baby has just +caused you to utter something ferocious! It is not for you to choose. It +is not for you to choose. I forbid the nursing. The health of that woman +does not belong to you." + +"No," cried the grandmother, wildly, "nor does the health of out child +belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope is in giving +it more care than any other child; and you would wish that I put it +upon a mode of nourishment which the doctors condemn, even for vigorous +infants! You expect that I will let myself be taken in like that? I +answer you: she shall have the milk which she needs, my poor little one! +If there was a single thing that one could do to save her--I should be +a criminal to neglect it!" And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious +scorn, "The nurse! The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty--we +shall take care of her, repay her. But our child before all! No sir, +no! Everything that can be done to save our baby I shall do, let it cost +what it will. To do what you say--you don't realize it--it would be as +if I should kill the child!" In the end the agonized woman burst into +tears. "Oh, my poor little angel! My little savior!" + +George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these last +words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with his foot, he +tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent physical pain. "Oh, +oh, oh!" he cried. "My little child! My little child!" And then, in a +horrified whisper to himself, "I am a wretch! A criminal!" + +"Madame," said the doctor, "you must calm yourself; you must both calm +yourselves. You will not help out the situation by lamentations. You +must learn to take it with calmness." + +Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort recovered +her self-control. "You are right, sir," she said, in a low voice. "I ask +your pardon; but if you only knew what that child means to me! I lost +one at that age. I am an old woman, I am a widow--I had hardly hoped to +live long enough to be a grandmother. But, as you say--we must be calm." +She turned to the young man, "Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor way to +show our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us talk, +Doctor, and seriously--coldly. But I declare to you that nothing will +ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when I know that it might +kill her. That is all I can say." + +The doctor replied: "This isn't the first time that I find myself in +the present situation. Madame, I declare to you that always--ALWAYS, +you understand--persons who have rejected my advice have had reason to +repent it cruelly." + +"The only thing of which I should repent--" began the other. + +"You simply do not know," interrupted the doctor, "what such a nurse is +capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness--legitimate +bitterness, you understand--joined to the rapacity, the cupidity, the +mischief-making impulse--might inspire these people to do. For them the +BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an enemy; and when they find themselves +in position to avenge their inferiority, they are ferocious." + +"But what could the woman do?" + +"What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against you." + +"But she is much too stupid to have that idea." + +"Others will put it into her mind." + +"She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses." + +"And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and stupidity? +Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance." + +"Why, surely," exclaimed Madame Dupont, "such a thing was never heard +of! Do you mean that?" + +"I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there has +been certainty, the parents have lost their case." + +"But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like ours--not +when it is a question of saving the life of a poor little innocent!" + +"Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented." + +Here George broke in. "I can give you the dates of the decisions." He +rose from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be useful. "I have +the books," he said, and took one from the case and brought it to the +doctor. + +"All of that is no use--" interposed the mother. + +But the doctor said to George, "You will be able to convince yourself. +The parents have been forced once or twice to pay the nurse a regular +income, and at other times they have had to pay her an indemnity, of +which the figure has varied between three and eight thousand francs." + +Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. "Never fear, sir! If there +should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We shall be able to pay +and choose the best--and he would demand, without doubt, which of the +two, the nurse or the child, has given the disease to the other." + +The doctor was staring at her in horror. "Do you not perceive that would +be a monstrous thing to do?" + +"Oh, I would not have to say it," was the reply. "The lawyer would see +to it--is not that his profession? My point is this: by one means or +another he would make us win our case." + +"And the scandal that would result," replied the other. "Have you +thought of that?" + +Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. "Doctor, +permit me to give you a little information. In cases of this sort, the +names are never printed." + +"Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings." + +"That's true." + +"And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to print the +judgment?" + +"What won't they stoop to," exclaimed Madame Dupont--"those filthy +journals!" + +"Ah," said the other, "and see what a scandal? What a shame it would be +to you!" + +"The doctor is right, mother," exclaimed the young man. + +But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. "We will prevent the woman from +taking any steps; we will give her what she demands from us." + +"But then," said the other, "you will give yourselves up to the risk of +blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up for over twelve +years." + +"If you will permit me, Doctor," said George, timidly, "she could be +made to sign a receipt." + +"For payment in full?" asked the doctor, scornfully. + +"Even so." + +"And then," added his mother, "she would be more than delighted to go +back to her country with a full purse. She would be able to buy a little +house and a bit of ground--in that country one doesn't need so much in +order to live." + +At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse entered. She +was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly bursting with health. +When she spoke one got the impression that her voice was more than she +could contain. It did not belong in a drawing-room, but under the open +sky of her country home. "Sir," she said, addressing the doctor, "the +baby is awake." + +"I will go and see her," was the reply; and then to Madame Dupont, "We +will take up this conversation later on." + +"Certainly," said the mother. "Will you have need of the nurse?" + +"No, Madame," the doctor answered. + +"Nurse," said the mother, "sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I wish to +speak to you." As the doctor went out, she took her son to one side and +whispered to him, "I know the way to arrange everything. If we let +her know what is the matter, and if she accepts, the doctor will have +nothing more to say. Isn't that so?" + +"Obviously," replied the son. + +"I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs when +she goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the child." + +"Two thousand francs?" said the other. "Is that enough?" + +"I will see," was the reply. "If she hesitates, I will go further. Let +me attend to it." + +George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the nurse. "You +know," she said, "that our child is a little sick?" + +The other looked at her in surprise. "Why no, ma'am!" + +"Yes," said the grandmother. + +"But, ma'am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always kept +her proper." + +"I am not saying anything to the contrary," said Madame Dupont, "but the +child is sick, the doctors have said it." + +The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting ready +to scold her. "Humph," she said, "that's a fine thing--the doctors! If +they couldn't always find something wrong you'd say they didn't know +their business." + +"But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that our +child has some little pimples." + +"Ah, ma'am," said the nurse, "that's the heat--it's nothing but the heat +of the blood breaking out. You don't need to bother yourself; I tell you +it's only the child's blood. It's not my fault; I swear to you that she +had not lacked anything, and that I have always kept her proper." + +"I am not reproaching you--" + +"What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She's tiny--the +little one--she's a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she's a city child! +And she's getting along all right, I tell you." + +"No," persisted Madame Dupont, "I tell you--she has got a cold in her +head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat." + +"Well," cried the nurse, angrily, "if she has, it's because the doctor +scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong end first! A +cold in the head? Yes, that's true; but if she has caught cold, I can't +say when, I don't know anything about it--nothing, nothing at all. I +have always kept her well covered; she's always had as much as three +covers on her. The truth is, it was when you came, the time before last; +you were all the time insisting upon opening the windows in the house!" + +"But once more I tell you," cried Madame Dupont, "we are not putting any +blame on you." + +"Yes," cried the woman, more vehemently. "I know what that kind of talk +means. It's no use--when you're a poor country woman." + +"What are you imagining now?" demanded the other. + +"Oh, that's all right. It's no use when you're a poor country woman." + +"I repeat to you once more," cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty +controlling her impatience, "we have nothing whatever to blame you for." + +But the nurse began to weep. "If I had known that anything like this was +coming to me--" + +"We have nothing to blame you for," declared the other. "We only wish to +warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the child." + +The woman pouted. "A cold in the head!" she exclaimed. "Well, if I catch +it, it won't be the first time. I know how to blow my nose." + +"But you might also get the pimples." + +At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac +rattled. "Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain't city folks, +we ain't; we don't have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? +Pimples--what difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don't +have a white complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in +the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream +on our muzzles! No offense, ma'am--but I say if you're looking for an +excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that." + +"Excuse!" exclaimed the other. "What in the world do you mean?" + +"Oh, I know!" said the nurse, nodding her head. + +"But speak!" + +"It's no use, when you're only a poor country woman." + +"I don't understand you! I swear to you that I don't understand you!" + +"Well," sneered the other, "I understand." + +"But then--explain yourself." + +"No, I don't want to say it." + +"But you must; I wish it." + +"Well--" + +"Go ahead." + +"I'm only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the others, +for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks mean. Mr. George +here has been grumbling because you promised me thirty francs more a +month, if I came to Paris." And then, turning upon the other, she went +on--"But, sir, isn't it only natural? Don't I have to put my own child +away somewheres else? And then, can my husband live on his appetite? +We're nothing but poor country people, we are." + +"You are making a mistake, nurse," broke in George. "It is nothing at +all of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far from wanting +to reproach you, that, on the contrary, I think she had not promised +enough, and I want to make you, for my part, another promise. When you +go away, when baby is old enough to be weaned, by way of thanking you, +we wish to give you--" + +Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, "We wish to give you,--over and above +your wages, you understand--we wish to give you five hundred francs, and +perhaps a thousand, if the little one is altogether in good health. You +understand?" + +The nurse stared at her, stupefied. "You will give me five hundred +francs--for myself?" She sought to comprehend the words. "But that was +not agreed, you don't have to do that at all." + +"No," admitted Madame Dupont. + +"But then," whispered the nurse, half to herself, "that's not natural." + +"Yes," the other hurried on, "it is because the baby will have need of +extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will have to give +it medicines; your task will be a little more delicate, a little more +difficult." + +"Oh, yes; then it's so that I will be sure to take care of her? I +understand." + +"Then it's agreed?" exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + +"Yes ma'am," said the nurse. + +"And you won't come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one +another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you +could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of +care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the +nursing. That's all right, is it? + +"But, my lady," cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, "you spoke +just now of a thousand francs." + +"Very well, then, a thousand francs." + +George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing +her to one side. "It would be a mistake," he whispered, "if we did not +make her sign an agreement to all that." + +His mother turned to the nurse. "In order that there may be no +misunderstanding about the sum--you see how it is, I had forgotten +already that I had spoken of a thousand francs--we will draw up a little +paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us." + +"Very good, ma'am," said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so +important a transaction. "Why, it's just as you do when you rent a +house!" + +"Here comes the doctor," said the other. "Come, nurse, it is agreed?" + +"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. But all the same, as she went out she +hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at George +and his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, and she meant to +find out if she could. + +The doctor seated himself in George's office chair, as if to write +a prescription. "The child's condition remains the same," he said; +"nothing disturbing." + +"Doctor," said Madame Dupont, gravely, "from now on, you will be able +to devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without any scruple. +During your absence we have arranged matters nicely. The nurse has been +informed about the situation, and she does not mind. She has agreed to +accept an indemnity, and the amount has been stated." + +But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he +might. He replied: "The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably +contract in feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such +consequences might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as +death. So I say that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay +the damage." + +"But," exclaimed the other, "she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, +and she has the right--" + +"I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health. +And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her +husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain +that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life +of the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised. +Such things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a +bargain of this sort isn't possible. If the evil has not been done, you +must do everything to avoid it." + +"Sir," protested the mother, wildly, "you do not defend our interests!" + +"Madame," was the reply, "I defend those who are weakest." + +"If we had called in our own physician, who knows us," she protested, +"he would have taken sides with us." + +The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. "I doubt it," he said, +"but there is still time to call him." + +George broke in with a cry of distress. "Sir, I implore you!" + +And the mother in turn cried. "Don't abandon us, sir! You ought to make +allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to +me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us! +Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest--it is not she who is the +weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so +emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and +cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir--I pray you!" + +"I pity her," said the doctor, "I would like to save her--and I will do +everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, +with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and +robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as +that." + +Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. "Very Well!" she +exclaimed. "I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!" + +Said the doctor in a solemn voice: "There is already some one here who +regrets that he did not listen to me." + +"Yes," moaned George, "to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of +us." + +But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. "Very well!" she cried. "If +it is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for +it in this life, and all the punishments in the life to come--I accept +it all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is +frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I +believe in eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to +lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up--I will do everything to +save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the +worse for me!" + +The doctor answered: "That responsibility is one which I cannot let +you take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I +refuse it." + +"What will you do?" + +"I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, +completely--something which you have not done, I feel sure." + +"What?" cried Madame Dupont, wildly. "You, a doctor, called into a +family which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you +its most terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries--you would betray +them?" + +"It is not a betrayal," replied the man, sternly. "It is something which +the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a +family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either +I give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped." + +"You threaten! You threaten!" cried the woman, almost frantic. "You +abuse the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you +whose attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe +in you, and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death +of the child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of +the child--that also means her death!" + +She flung up her hands like a mad creature. "And yet there is no other +means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice +myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it--if only +you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones--if only I might +serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should infect +me--this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it--with what +joys, with what delights--however disgusting, however frightful it +might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without fear, +without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to the +child the milk which would preserve its life!" + +She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her +and flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and +tears with hers. + +The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control +his distress. "Oh, the poor people!" he murmured to himself. "The poor, +poor people!" + +The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong +character, got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, +"Come, sir, tell us what we have to do." + +"You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in +order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not +exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, +in truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything--I +swear it to you--that your baby may recover as quickly as possible its +perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave +you until tomorrow." + +"Thank you, Doctor, thank you," said Madame Dupont, faintly. + +The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not +bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was +gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she +repelled him--without violence, but firmly. + +Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. "Forgive me!" he +said, in a broken voice. "Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each +other?" + +His mother answered: "God has punished you for your debauch by striking +at your child." + +But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that. +"Impossible!" he said. "There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or +unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your God!" + +"Yes," said his mother, sadly, "you believe in nothing." + +"I believe in no such God as that," he answered. + +A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the +nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there +for some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. "Madame," she +said, "I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at +once, and have only the five hundred francs." + +Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. "What is that you are +saying? You want to return to your home?" + +"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. + +"But," cried George, "only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it." + +"What has happened since then?" demanded Madame Dupont. + +"I have thought it over." + +"Thought it over?" + +"Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband." + +"In the last ten minutes?" exclaimed George. + +"There must be something else," his mother added. "Evidently there must +be something else." + +"No!" insisted the nurse. + +"But I say yes!" + +"Well, I'm afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me." + +"You had better wait and try it." + +"I would rather go back at once to my home." + +"Come, now," cried Madame Dupont, "tell us why?" + +"I have told you. I have thought it over." + +"Thought what over?" + +"Well, I have thought." + +"Oh," cried the mother, "what a stupid reply! 'I have thought it over! I +have thought it over!' Thought WHAT over, I want to know!" + +"Well, everything." + +"Don't you know how to tell us what?" + +"I tell you, everything." + +"Why," exclaimed Madame Dupont, "you are an imbecile!" + +George stepped between his mother and the nurse. "Let me talk to her," +he said. + +The woman came back to her old formula: "I know that we're only poor +country people." + +"Listen to me, nurse," said the young man. "Only a little while ago you +were afraid that we would send you away. You were satisfied with the +wages which my mother had fixed. In addition to those wages we had +promised you a good sum when you returned to your home. Now you tell +us that you want to go away. You see? All at once. There must be some +reason; let us understand it. There must certainly be a reason. Has +anybody done anything to you?" + +"No, sir," said the woman, dropping her eyes. + +"Well, then?" + +"I have thought it over." + +George burst out, "Don't go on repeating always the same thing--'I have +thought it over!' That's not telling us anything." Controlling himself, +he added, gently, "Come, tell me why you want to go away?" + +There was a silence. "Well?" he demanded. + +"I tell you, I have thought--" + +George exclaimed in despair, "It's as if one were talking to a block of +wood!" + +His mother took up the conversation again. "You must realize, you have +not the right to go away." + +The woman answered, "I WANT to go." + +"But I will not let you leave us." + +"No," interrupted George angrily, "let her go; we cannot fasten her +here." + +"Very well, then," cried the exasperated mother, "since you want to go, +go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you are as stupid +as the animals on your farm!" + +"I don't say that I am not," answered the woman. + +"I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will pay +your railroad fare for yourself." + +The other drew back with a look of anger. "Oho!" she cried. "We'll see +about that!" + +"Yes, we'll see about it!" cried George. "And you will get out of here +at once. Take yourself off--I will have no more to do with you. Good +evening." + +"No, George," protested his mother, "don't lose control of yourself." +And then, with a great effort at calmness, "That cannot be serious, +nurse! Answer me." + +"I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my five +hundred francs." + +"WHAT?" cried George, in consternation. + +"What's that you are telling me?" exclaimed Madame Dupont. + +"Five hundred francs?" repeated her son. + +"What five hundred francs?" echoed the mother. + +"The five hundred francs you promised me," said the nurse. + +"We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?" + +"Yes." + +"When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied with +you! That was our promise." + +"No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now I am +leaving, and I want them." + +Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. "In the first place," she +said, "kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do you +understand?" + +The woman answered, "You have nothing to do but give me my money, and I +will say nothing more." + +George went almost beside himself with rage at this. "Oh, it's like +that?" he shouted. "Very well; I'll show you!" And he sprang to the door +and opened it. + +But the nurse never budged. "Give me my five hundred francs!" she said. + +George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. "You clear +out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as you can!" + +The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. "Come now, +you--you can talk to me a little more politely, eh?" + +"Will you go?" shouted George, completely beside himself. "Will you go, +or must I go out and look for a policeman?" + +"A policeman!" demanded the woman. "For what?" + +"To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief." + +"A thief? I? What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you are demanding money which doesn't belong to you." + +"More than that," broke in Madame Dupont, "you are destroying that poor +little baby! You are a wicked woman!" + +"I will put you out myself!" shouted George, and seized her by the arm +again. + +"Oh, it's like that, is it?" retorted the nurse. "Then you really want +me to tell you why I am going away?" + +"Yes, tell me!" cried he. + +His mother added, "Yes, yes!" + +She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind her and +seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the doorway. She had been +about to go out, when her attention had been caught by the loud voices. +She stood now, amazed, clasping her hands together, while the nurse, +shaking her fist first at Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried +loudly, "Very well! I'm going away because I don't want to catch a +filthy disease here!" + +"HUSH!" cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands clenched +as if she would choke her. + +"Be silent!" cried George, wild with terror. + +But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, "Oh, you need not +be troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All the world +knows it! Your other servants were listening with me at your door! They +heard every word your doctor said!" + +"Shut up!" screamed George. + +Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. "Hold your tongue!" she +hissed. + +But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and now her +rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in the air, shouting, +"Let me be, let me be! I know all about your brat--that you will never +be able to raise it--that it's rotten because it's father has a filthy +disease he got from a woman of the street!" + +She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek from +Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see her fall +forward upon the floor, convulsed. + +"My God!" cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift her, but +she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of disgust, of hatred, +of the most profound terror. "Don't touch me!" she screamed, like a +maniac. "Don't touch me!" + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter-in-law. +Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be brought to +listen to any one. She rushed into the other room, and when the older +woman followed her, shrieked out to be left alone. Afterwards, she fled +to her own room and barred herself in, and George and his mother waited +distractedly for hours until she should give some sign. + +Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard about +the door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit of insanity +might attempt some harm to her child. + +The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of +her outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she had +recovered her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also she wanted +her wages and her railroad fare home. She wanted them at once, and she +would not leave until she got them. George and his mother, in the midst +of all their anguish of mind, had to go through a disgusting scene with +this coarse and angry woman. + +They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused to +accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so much paper, +and might be some trick that they were playing on her. She kept +repeating her old formula, "I am nothing but a poor country woman." Nor +would she be contented with the promise that she would receive the money +the next day. She seemed to be afraid that if she left the house she +would be surrendering her claim. So at last the distracted George to +sally forth and obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + +The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in full for +all claims and they strove to persuade themselves that this made them +safe; but in their hearts they had no real conviction of safety. What +was the woman's signature, or her pledged word, against the cupidity of +her husband and relatives. Always she would have the dreadful secret +to hold over them, and so they would live under the shadow of possible +blackmail. + +Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was white, +her eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a voice choked with +sobs. She wished to return at once to her father's home, and to take +little Gervaise with her. Madame Dupont cried out in horror at this +proposition, and argued and pleaded and wept--but all to no purpose. The +girl was immovable. She would not stay under her husband's roof, and she +would take her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse +her. + +The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no difference. +Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at once. + +So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the hideous +story. Never before in her life had she discussed such subjects with +any one, but now in her agitation she told her father all. As George had +declared to the doctor, Monsieur Loches was a person of violent temper; +at this revelation, at the sight of his daughter's agony, he was almost +beside himself. His face turned purple, the veins stood out on his +forehead; a trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill +George--there was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be +permitted to live. + +The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a calming +effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, she did not want +George to be killed. She clung to her father, beseeching him to promise +her that he would not do such a thing; and all that day and evening she +watched him, unwilling to let him out of her sight. + +There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and which +helped to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own sufferings. +The infant must be fed and cared for--the unhappy victim of other +people's sins, whose life was now imperiled. A dry nurse must be found +at once, a nurse competent to take every precaution and give the +child every chance. This nurse must be informed of the nature of the +trouble--another matter which required a great deal of anxious thought. + +That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the child's +welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of it. It was +impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could not endure to +see her, but the poor grandmother would come and sit for hours in the +nursery, watching the child and the nurse, in silent agony. + +This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at home, +suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. Truly, in +these days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand-fold in agonized and +impotent regret. He looked back upon the course of his life, and traced +one by one the acts which had led him and those he loved into this +nightmare of torment. He would have been willing to give his life if he +could have undone those acts. But avenging nature offered him no such +easy deliverance as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the +Jehovah of the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern +times has availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of +the fathers shall be visited upon the children. + +George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He poured +out all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him just once, to +give him a chance to plead his defense. It was not much of a defense, to +be sure; it was only that he had done no worse than the others did--only +that he was a wretched victim of ignorance. But he loved her, he had +proven that he loved her, and he pleaded that for the sake of their +child she would forgive him. + +When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose advice +he had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to intercede for +him--which the doctor, of course, refused to do. It was an extra-medical +matter, he said, and George was absurd to expect him to meddle in it. + +But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been interceding--he +had gone farther in pleading George's cause than he was willing to have +George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid him a visit--his purpose being +to ask the doctor to continue attendance upon the infant, and also +to give Henriette a certificate which she could use in her suit for a +divorce from her husband. + +So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question between +the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, but refused the +second. In the first place, he said, there was a rule of professional +secrecy which would prevent him. And when the father-in-law requested +to know if the rule of professional secrecy compelled him to protect +a criminal against honest people, the doctor answered that even if +his ethics permitted it, he would still refuse the request. "I would +reproach myself forever," he said, "if I had aided you to obtain such a +divorce." + +"Then," cried the old man, vehemently, "because you profess such and +such theories, because the exercise of your profession makes you the +constant witness of such miseries--therefore it is necessary that my +daughter should continue to bear that man's name all her life!" + +The doctor answered, gently, "Sir, I understand and respect your grief. +But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide about these +matters now." + +"You are mistaken," declared the other, controlling himself with an +effort. "I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I have +discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. Surely, sir, you +cannot desire that my daughter should continue to live with a man who +has struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a blow." + +"If I refuse your request," the doctor answered, "it is in the interest +of your daughter." Then, seeing the other's excitement returning, he +continued, "In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, I know that you will +probably be abusing me before five minutes has passed. But that will not +trouble me. I have seen many cases. And since I have made the mistake +of letting myself be trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you +the reason for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may +prove in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis." + +"Precisely," said the other. + +"And have you not reflected upon this--that at the same time you will be +publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to the contagion? +With such an admission, an admission officially registered in the public +records, do you believe that she will find it easy to re-marry later +on?" + +"She will never re-marry," said the father. + +"She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the same +thing five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you you will +not obtain that divorce, because I will most certainly refuse you the +necessary certificate." + +"Then," cried the other, "I will find other means of establishing +proofs. I will have the child examined by another doctor!" + +The other answered. "Then you do not find that that poor little one has +been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of its life? Your +granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish to add to that a +certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will follow her all her life?" + +Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. "You mean that if the victims +seek to defend themselves, they will be struck the harder! You mean that +the law gives me no weapon against a man who, knowing his condition, +takes a young girl, sound, trusting, innocent, and befouls her with the +result of his debauches--makes her the mother of a poor little creature, +whose future is such that those who love her the most do not know +whether they ought to pray for her life, or for her immediate +deliverance? Sir," he continued, in his orator's voice, "that man has +inflicted upon the woman he has married a supreme insult. He has made +her the victim of the most odious assault. He has degraded her--he has +brought her, so to speak, into contact with the woman of the streets. He +has created between her and that common woman I know not what mysterious +relationship. It is the poisoned blood of the prostitute which poisons +my daughter and her child; that abject creature, she lives, she lives in +us! She belongs to our family--he has given her a seat at our hearth! He +has soiled the imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he +has soiled her body. He has united forever in her soul the idea of +love which she has placed so high, with I know not what horrors of the +hospitals. He has tainted her in her dignity and her modesty, in her +love as well as in her baby. He has struck her down with physical and +moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with vileness. And yet the law is +such, the customs of society are such, that the woman cannot separate +herself from that man save by the aid of legal proceedings whose scandal +will fall upon herself and upon her child!" + +Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, and +now he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + +"Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I learned the +truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty to find that +monster and to put a bullet into his head, as one does to a mad dog. I +don't know what weakness, what cowardice, has held me back, and decided +me to appeal to the law. Since the law will not protect me, I will seek +justice for myself. Perhaps his death will be a good warning for the +others!" + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no affair +of his and that he would not try to interfere. But he remarked, quietly: +"You will be tried for your life." + +"I shall be acquitted!" cried the other. + +"Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You will make +the scandal greater, the miseries greater--that is all. And how do you +know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you will find yourself +confronting another court, a higher and more severe one? How do you +know but that your daughter, seized at last by pity for the man you have +killed, will not demand to know by what right you have acted so, by what +right you have made an orphan of her child? How can you know but that +her child also may some day demand an accounting of you?" + +Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of crushed +despair. "Tell me then," he said, in a faint voice, "what ought I to +do?" + +"Forgive!" + +For a while the doctor sat looking at him. "Sir," he said, at last, +"tell me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have the right to +be inflexible. But are you really so certain that it was not your duty, +once upon a time, to save your daughter from the possibility of such +misfortune?" + +"What?" cried the other. "My duty? What do you mean?" + +"I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you certainly +took precautions to inform yourself about the financial condition of +your future son-in-law. You demanded that he should prove to you that +his stocks and bonds were actual value, listed on the exchange. Also, +you obtained some information about his character. In fact, you forgot +only one point, the most important of all--that was, to inquire if he +was in good health. You never did that." + +The father-in-law's voice had become faint. "No," he said. + +"But why not?" + +"Because that is not the custom." + +"Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father of a +family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take as much +precaution as a business concern which accepts an employee." + +"You are right," was the reply, "there should be a law." The man spoke +as a deputy, having authority in these matters. + +But the doctor cried, "No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We have +too many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice that people +should know a little better what syphilis is. The custom would establish +itself very quickly for a suitor to add to all the other documents +which he presents, a certificate of a doctor, as proof that he could +be received into a family without bringing a pestilence with him. That +would be very simple. Once let the custom be established, then the +suitor would go to the doctor for a certificate of health, just as he +goes to the priest for a certificate that he has confessed; and by that +means you would prevent a great deal of suffering in the world. Or let +me put it another way, sir. Nowadays, before you conclude a marriage, +you get the lawyers of the two families together. It would be of at +least equal importance to get their two doctors together. You see, sir, +your inquiry concerning your son-in-law was far from complete. So your +daughter may fairly ask you, why you, being a man, being a father who +ought to know these things, did not take as much care of her health as +you took of her fortune. So it is, sir, that I say to you, forgive!" + +But Monsieur Loches said again, "Never!" + +And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. "Come, sir," he +began, finally, "since it is necessary to employ the last argument, I +will do so. To be so severe and so pitiless--are you yourself without +sin?" + +The other answered, "I have never had a shameful disease." + +"I do not ask you that," interrupted the doctor. "I ask you if you have +never exposed yourself to the chance of having it." And then, reading +the other's face, he went on, in a tone of quiet certainty. "Yes, you +have exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was not virtue that you had; it +was good fortune. That is one of the things which exasperate me the +most--that term 'shameful disease' which you have just used. Like all +other diseases, that is one of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful +to be unfortunate--even if one has deserved it." The doctor paused, +and then with some excitement he went on: "Come, sir, come, we must +understand each other. Among men the most exacting, among those who with +their middle-class prudery dare not pronounce the name of syphilis, +or who make the most terrifying faces, the most disgusted, when they +consent to speak of it--who regard the syphilitic as sinners--I should +wish to know how many there are who have never exposed themselves to a +similar misadventure. They and they alone have the right to speak. How +many are there? Among a thousand men, are there four? Very well, then. +Excepting those four, between all the rest and the syphilitic there is +nothing but the difference of chance." + +There came into the doctor's voice at this moment a note of intense +feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to him every day. +"I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving of sympathy, because +they are suffering. If they have committed a fault, they have at least +the plea that they are expiating it. No, sir, let me hear no more of +that hypocrisy. Recall your own youth, sir. That which afflicts your +son-in-law, you have deserved it just as much as he--more than he, +perhaps. Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which +the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less fortunate +than himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that not so?" + +Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the feeling of +a thief before the bar. There was nothing that he could answer. "Sir," +he stammered, "as you present this thing to me--" + +"But am I not right?" insisted the doctor. + +"Perhaps you are," the other admitted. "But--I cannot say all that to my +daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband." + +"You can give her other arguments," was the answer. + +"What arguments, in God's name?" + +"There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation would +be a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one in the world +who would be devoted enough to help her save her child. You will say to +her that out of the ruins of her first happiness she can build herself +another structure, far stronger. And, sir, you will add to that whatever +your good heart may suggest--and we will arrange so that the next child +of the pair shall be sound and vigorous." + +Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise that +George himself had manifested. "Is that possible?" he asked. + +The doctor cried: "Yes, yes, yes--a thousand times yes! There is a +phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would wish to post +upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious mistress, who only +demands that one should recognize her power. She is terrible for +those who think her insignificant, and gentle with those who know how +dangerous she is. You know that kind of mistress--who is only vexed when +she is neglected. You may tell this to your daughter--you will restore +her to the arms of her husband, from whom she has no longer anything +to fear, and I will guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two +years from now." + +Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his resolution. + +"Doctor," he said, "I do not know that I can ever go so far as +forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, and +that I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of some +time--I cannot venture to say how long--my poor child should make up her +mind to a reconciliation." + +"Very good," said the other. "But let me add this: If you have another +daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you committed when you +married off the first." + +"But," said the old man, "I did not know." + +"Ah, surely!" cried the other. "You did not know! You are a father, and +you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed the responsibility +and the honor of making our laws--and you did not know! You are ignorant +about syphilis, just as you probably are ignorant about alcoholism and +tuberculosis." + +"No," exclaimed the other, quickly. + +"Very well," said the doctor, "I will leave you out, if you wish. I am +talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don't know how many +more, who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who call themselves +representatives of the people. They are not able to find a single hour +to discuss these three cruel gods, to which egotism and indifference +make every day such frightful human sacrifices. They have not sufficient +leisure to combat this ferocious trinity, which destroys every day +thousands of lives. Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the +manufacture of poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as +one has fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of +the little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, one +puts one's conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of +the working-class, and publishing little pamphlets and sermons. +Imbeciles!...Tuberculosis! Everybody knows the true remedy, which would +be the paying of sufficient wages, and the tearing down of the filthy +tenements into which the laborers are packed--those who are the most +useful and the most unfortunate among our population! But needless to +say, no one wants that remedy, so we go round begging the workingmen not +to spit on the sidewalks. Wonderful! But syphilis--why do you not occupy +yourself with that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to +attend to all sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to +the public health?" + +"My dear Doctor," responded Monsieur Loches, "you fall into the French +habit of considering the government as the cause of all evils. Show us +the way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a matter about which you +are informed, and we are ignorant, begin by telling us what measures you +believe to be necessary." + +"Ah, ah!" exclaimed the other. "That's fine, indeed! It was about +eighteen years ago that a project of that nature, worked out by the +Academy of Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, was sent to the +proper minister. We have not yet heard his reply." + +"You really believe," inquired Monsieur Loches, in some bewilderment, +"you believe that there are some measures--" + +"Sir," broke in the doctor, "before we get though, you are going to +suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened today. +When I received your card I did not know that you were the father-in-law +of George Dupont. I say that you were a deputy, and I thought that you +wanted to get some information about these matters. There was a woman +patient waiting to see me, and I kept her in my waiting-room--saying to +myself, This is just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk +to." + +The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: "Be reassured, I will +take care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that is apparent +to the eye. She is simply an illustration of the argument I have been +advancing--that our worst enemy is ignorance. Ignorance--you understand +me? Since I have got you here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have +managed to cure a little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is +a thing which drives me to distraction--we MUST do something about these +conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is very +seriously infected. I told her--well, wait; you shall see for yourself." + +The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman whom +Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging on old age, +small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly dressed, and yet +with a suggestion of refinement about her. She stood near the door, +twisting her hands together nervously, and shrinking from the gaze of +the strange gentleman. The doctor began in an angry voice. "Did I not +tell you to come and see me once every eight days? Is that not true?" + +The woman answered, in a faint voice, "Yes, sir." + +"Well," he exclaimed, "and how long has it been since you were here?" + +"Three months, sir." + +"Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under such +conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You discourage me, you +discourage me." There was a pause. Then, seeing the woman's suffering, +he began, in a gentler tone, "Come now, what is the reason that you +have not come? Didn't you know that you have a serious disease--most +serious?" + +"Oh, yes, sir," replied the woman, "I know that very well--since my +husband died of it." + +The doctor's voice bore once again its note of pity. "Your husband died +of it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He took no care of himself?" + +"No, sir." + +"And was not that a warning to you?" + +"Doctor," the woman replied, "I would ask nothing better than to come as +often as you told me, but the cost is too great." + +"How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic." + +"Yes, sir," replied the woman, "but that's during working hours, and +then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I +have to wait my turn, It is in the morning--sometimes I lose a whole +day--and then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. +It is things like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not +put it off any longer. Then, too, sir--" the woman stopped, hesitating. + +"Well," demanded the doctor. + +"Oh, nothing, sir," she stammered. "You have been too good to me +already." + +"Go on," commanded the other. "Tell me." + +"Well," murmured the woman, "I know I ought not to put on airs, but you +see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband's misfortune, +we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always +managed to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to +stand around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell +all one's miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it +perfectly well; I argue with myself--but all the same, it's hard, sir; I +assure you, it is truly hard." + +"Poor woman!" said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then +he asked: "It was your husband who brought you the disease?" + +"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Everything which happened to us came from +him. We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half +crazy. He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here +and there for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money." + +"Why did he not undergo treatment?" + +"He didn't know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we +hadn't a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment." + +"And then?" + +"Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine." + +"How was that?" + +"Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn't been a +resident six months, one has no right to free medicine." + +"Is that true?" broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + +"Yes," said the doctor, "that's the rule." + +"So you see," said the woman, "it was not our fault." + +"You never had children?" inquired the doctor. + +"I was never able to bring one to birth," was the answer. "My husband +was taken just at the beginning of our marriage--it was while he +was serving in the army. You know, sir--there are women about the +garrisons--" She stopped, and there was a long silence. + +"Come," said the doctor, "that's all right. I will arrange it with you. +You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings." +And as the poor creature started to express her gratitude, he slipped a +coin into her hand. "Come, come; take it," he said gruffly. "You are not +going to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. +Hush!" And he pushed her out of the door. + +Then he turned to the deputy. "You heard her story, sir," he said. "Her +husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who +compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons--you +heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and +look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our +soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other +social types. You don't care very much about soldiers, perhaps--they +belong to the lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let +me show you what is going on among our college students--among the men +our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who prey +upon them! Perhaps, who knows--I can show you the very woman who was the +cause of all the misery in your own family!" + +And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and +took him by the hand. "Promise me, sir," he said, earnestly, "that you +will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a +chance that I must not let go--the first time in my life that I ever got +hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and +let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to +remedy these frightful evils!" + + + +CHAPTER VI + +George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was +wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the +things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his +friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful +story--or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his +mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the +use of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to +spend them for? + +All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was +reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a +separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to +depend upon her in every little thing--until now, when her companionship +was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. He would +come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would be his +mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when Henriette +was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that had +happened to him through the day! + +There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear +how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother +the news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no +complaints against the price, however high--only sometimes he +wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such +discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself. + +A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one +day in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as +familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was +only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized--it was the girl +who had been the cause of all his misery! + +He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and +she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, "Why, how do you do?" + +George had to face her. "How do you do?" he responded, weakly. + +She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much +welcome in his clasp. "Where have you been keeping yourself?" she asked. +Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, "What's the matter? +You don't seem glad to see me." + +The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her arm, as +if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George had +met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his +lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half +realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her. + +"Why did you never come to see me again?" she asked. + +George hesitated. "I--I--" he stammered--"I've been married since then." + +She laughed. "Oh! So that's it!" And then, as they came to a bench under +some trees, "Won't you sit down a while?" There was allurement in her +glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he +had ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken +completely. + +She quickly saw that something was wrong. "You don't seem very +cheerful," she said. "What's the matter?" + +And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, "Don't you know what +you did to me?" + +"What I did to you?" Therese repeated wonderingly. + +"You must know!" he insisted. + +And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. "Why--" she +stammered. + +There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was +low and trembling. "You ruined my whole life," he said--"not only mine, +but my family's. How could you do it?" + +She strove to laugh it off. "A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!" + +For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he +repeated, "How could you do it?" + +"Some one did it to me first," was the response. "A man!" + +"Yes," said George, "but he didn't know." + +"How can you tell whether he knew or not?" + +"You knew?" he inquired, wonderingly. + +Therese hesitated. "Yes, I knew," she said at last, defiantly. "I have +known for years." + +"And I'm not the only man." + +She laughed. "I guess not!" + +There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, "I don't want to blame +you; there's nothing to be gained by that; it's done, and can't +be undone. But sometimes I wonder about it. I should like to +understand--why did you do it?" + +"Why? That's easy enough. I did it because I have to live." + +"You live that way?" he exclaimed. + +"Why of course. What did you think?" + +"I thought you were a--a--" He hesitated. + +"You thought I was respectable," laughed Therese. "Well, that's just a +little game I was playing on you." + +"But I didn't give you any money!" he argued. + +"Not that time," she said, "but I thought you would come back." + +He sat gazing at her. "And you earn your living that way still?" he +asked. "When you know what's the matter with you! When you know--" + +"What can I do? I have to live, don't I?" + +"But don't you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be some +way, some place--" + +"The reformatory, perhaps," she sneered. "No, thanks! I'll go there +when the police catch me, not before. I know some girls that have tried +that." + +"But aren't you afraid?" cried the man. "And the things that will happen +to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor--or read a book?" + +"I know," she said. "I've seen it all. If it comes to me, I'll go over +the side of one of the bridges some dark night." + +George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to him--to +meet this girl under such different circumstances! It was as if he were +watching a play from behind the scenes instead of in front. If only he +had had this new view in time--how different would have been his life! +And how terrible it was to think of the others who didn't know--the +audience who were still sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, +interested in it! + +His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and the life +she lived. "Tell me a little about it," he said. "How you came to be +doing this." And he added, "Don't think I want to preach; I'd really +like to understand." + +"Oh, it's a common story," she said--"nothing especially romantic. +I came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had died, and I had no +friends, and I didn't know what to do. I got a place as a nursemaid. +I was seventeen years old then, and I didn't know anything. I believed +what I was told, and I believed my employer. His wife was ill in a +hospital, and he said he wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked +him, and I was sorry for him--and then the first thing I knew I had a +baby. And then the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a +fool, of course. If I had been in her place should have done just what +she did." + +The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of things +about which she was no longer able to suffer. "So, there I was--on the +street," she went on. "You have always had money, a comfortable home, +education, friends to help you--all that. You can't imagine how it is +to be in the world without any of these things. I lived on my savings as +long as I could; then I had to leave my baby in a foundling's home, and +I went out to do my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I +have no doubt." + +Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt bitter +towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of which he was +a victim also. There was nothing to be gained by hating each other. +Just as the doctor said, what was needed was enlightenment. "Listen," he +said, "why don't you try to get cured?" + +"I haven't got the price," was the answer. + +"Well," he said, hesitatingly, "I know a doctor--one of the really good +men. He has a free clinic, and I've no doubt he would take you in if I +asked him to." + +"YOU ask him?" echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + +The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to playing +the role of the good Samaritan. "I--I need not tell him about us," he +stammered. "I could just say that I met you. I have had such a wretched +time myself, I feel sorry for anybody that's in the same plight. I +should like to help you if I could." + +The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. "I have treated you +badly, I guess," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm ashamed of myself." + +George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the doctor's +address. "Here it is," he said, in a business-like way, because he felt +that otherwise he could become sentimental. He was half tempted to tell +the woman what had happened to him, and all about Henriette and the +sick child; but he realized that that would not do. So he rose and shook +hands with her and left. + +The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He decided +to tell him the truth--having already made so many mistakes trying +to conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat the woman, making the +condition that George promise not to see her again. + +The young man was rather shocked at this. "Doctor," he exclaimed, "I +assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in mind would be utterly +impossible." + +"I know," said the other, "you think so. But I think, young man, that +I know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman have once +committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time +they spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and +forbearing to each other, the better for them both." + +"But, Doctor," cried George. "I love Henriette! I could not possibly +love anyone else. It would be horrible to me!" + +"Yes," said the doctor. "But you are not living with Henriette. You are +wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next." + +There was no need for anybody to tell George that. "What do you think?" +he asked abruptly. "Is there any hope for me?" + +"I think there is," said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had +become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to +the Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing +Henriette, and talking to her about the child's health and her own +future. He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the +young wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + +George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to +call at the physician's office--he could read them in the faces of the +people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, the +doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman, +whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at +college. The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man +remembered how pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be, +thought George, that this old man was a victim of syphilis? + +But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the +consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he +stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. "Perhaps you +can't understand," he said, "just what it means to us--the hopes we had +of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! We +were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college--and +now just see!" + +"Don't despair, sir," said the doctor, "we'll try to cure him." And he +added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard, +"Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?" + +"How was I to know what he had?" cried the other. "He didn't dare tell +me, sir--he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the +disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went +secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed him, and didn't cure him. You +know how it is, sir." + +"Yes, I know," said the doctor. + +"Such things ought not to be permitted," cried the old man. "What is +our government about that it allows such things to go on? Take the +conditions there at the college where my poor boy was ruined. At the +very gates of the building these women are waiting for the lads! Ought +they to be permitted to debauch young boys only fifteen years old? +Haven't we got police enough to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, +sir!" + +"One would think so," said the doctor, patiently. + +"But is it that the police don't want to?" + +"No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest--they don't know. +Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your son's. And some +day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these conditions." + +So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to think +about. How much he could have told them about what had happened to that +young fellow when only fifteen years old! It had not been altogether the +fault of the women who were lurking outside of the college gates; it was +a fact that the boy's classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had +literally made his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + +It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all over +the world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak and foolish; +that a fellow was not a man unless he led a life of debauchery like the +rest. And what did they know about these dreadful diseases? They had the +most horrible superstitions--ideas of cures so loathsome that they could +not be set down in print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those +of savages in the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing +and jesting about one another's condition. They might be afflicted with +diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects upon their +whole lives and upon their families--diseases which cause tens of +thousands of surgical operations upon women, and a large percentage of +blindness and idiocy in children--and you might hear them confidently +express the opinion that these diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + +And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped +down by a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superstition of +sex-prudery! George went out from the doctor's office trembling with +excitement over this situation. Oh, why had not some one warned him in +time? Why didn't the doctors and the teachers lift up their voices and +tell young men about these frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in +the highways and preach it himself--except that he dared not, because he +could not explain to the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden +topic. + +These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his mother--to +whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. He was moved to +mention to her the interview he had overheard in the doctor's office. In +a sudden burst of grief he told her of his struggles and temptations; he +pleaded with her to go to Henriette once more--to tell her these things, +and try to make her realize that he alone was not to blame for them, +that they were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only +difference between her husband and other men was that he had had the +misfortune to be caught. + +There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. After +all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her father's home, so far +as the physical side of things went; but she knew that all her friends +were gossiping and speculating about her separation from her husband, +and sooner or later she would have to make up her mind, either to +separate permanently from George or to return to him. There was not much +happiness for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom +deep in her heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the rest +of her life, and the home in which poor little Gervaise would be brought +up would not be a cheerful one. + +George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back to his +home. They might live separate lives for as long as Henriette wished. +They would have no more children until the doctor declared it was quite +safe; and in the meantime he would be humble and patient, and would try +his best to atone for the wrong that he had done her. + +To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She told the +girl some things which through bitter experience she had learned about +the nature and habits of men; things that should be told to every girl +before marriage, but which almost all of them are left to find out +afterwards, with terrible suffering and disillusionment. Whatever +George's sins may have been, he was a man who had been chastened by +suffering, and would know how to value a woman's love for the rest of +his life. Not all men knew that--not even those who had been fortunate +in escaping from the so-called "shameful disease." + +Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this time +had had time to think things over, and had come to the conclusion +that the doctor was right. He had noted his son-in-law's patience and +penitence, and had also made sure that in spite of everything Henriette +still loved him. The baby apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, +with his strong sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to +separate a child permanently from its father. So in the end he cast +the weight of his influence in favor of a reconciliation, and Henriette +returned to her husband, upon terms which the doctor laid down. + +The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not been +allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now thoroughly awake +to the importance of the duty he owed his daughter. In fact, he had +become somewhat of a "crank" upon the whole subject. He had attended +several of the doctor's clinics, and had read books and pamphlets on the +subject of syphilis, and was now determined that there should be some +practical steps towards reform. + +At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average legislator, that +the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prostitution, and to +enforce them more strictly. He echoed the cry of the old man whom George +had heard in the doctor's office: "Are there not enough police?" + +"We must go to the source," he declared. "We must proceed against these +miserable women--veritable poisoners that they are!" + +He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor was quick +to answer his arguments. "Poisoners?" he said. "You forget that they +have first been poisoned. Every one of these women who communicates the +disease has first received it from some man." + +Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. But the +doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had seen it tried so +many times--such a law could never be enforced. What must come first was +education, and by this means a modification of morals. People must cease +to treat syphilis as a mysterious evil, of which not even the name could +be pronounced. + +"But," objected the other, "one cannot lay it bare to children in our +educational institutions!" + +"Why not?" asked the doctor. + +"Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent to +awaken." + +The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. "You +believe that you are preventing these curiosities from awakening?" +he demanded. "I appeal to those--both men and women--who have passed +through colleges and boarding schools! Such curiosities cannot be +smothered, and they satisfy themselves as best they can, basely, +vilely. I tell you, sir, there is nothing immoral about the act which +perpetuates life by means of love. But we organize around it, so far as +concerns our children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. +The worthy citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical +comedies, where they listen to things which would make a monkey blush; +but it is forbidden to discuss seriously before the young that act +of love which people seem to think they should only know of through +blasphemies and profanations! Either that act is a thing of which +people can speak without blushing--or else, sir, it is a matter for +the innuendoes of the cabaret and the witticisms of the messroom! +Pornography is admitted, but science is not! I tell you, sir, that is +the thing which must be changed! We must elevate the soul of the young +man by taking these facts out of the realm of mystery and of slang. We +must awaken in him a pride in that creative power with which each one of +us is endowed. We must make him understand that he is a sort of temple +in which is prepared the future of the race, and we must teach him that +he must transmit, intact, the heritage entrusted to him--the precious +heritage which has been built out of the tears and miseries and +sufferings of an interminable line of ancestors!" + +So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove that the +prostitute was what she was, not because of innate vileness, but because +of economic conditions. It happened that the deputy came to one of the +clinics where he met Therese. The doctor brought her into his consulting +room, after telling her that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend +of the director of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for +a position on the stage to which she aspired. "Tell him all about +yourself," he said, "how you live, and what you do, and what you would +like to do. You will get him interested in you." + +So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a +matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been obliged +to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was surprised that +Monsieur Loches showed horror. "What could I do?" she demanded. "How +could I have taken care of it?" + +"Didn't you ever miss it?" he asked. + +"Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It would have +died of hunger with me." + +"Still," he said, "it was your child--" + +"It was the father's child, too, wasn't it? Much attention he paid to +it! If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would have put it out +to nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty francs a month I could have +earned as a servant, could I have paid for a baby? That's the situation +a girl faces--so long as I wanted to remain honest, it was impossible +for me to keep my child. You answer, perhaps, 'You didn't stay honest +anyway.' That's true. But then--when you are hungry, and a nice young +fellow offers you dinner, you'd have to be made of wood to refuse him. +Of course, if I had had a trade--but I didn't have any. So I went on the +street--You know how it is." + +"Tell us about it," said the doctor. "This gentleman is from the +country." + +"Is that so?" said the girl. "I never supposed there was anyone who +didn't know about such things. Well, I took the part of a little +working-girl. A very simple dress--things I had made especially for +that--a little bundle in a black napkin carried in my hand--so I walked +along where the shops are. It's tiresome, because to do it right, you +have to patter along fast. Then I stop before a shop, and nine times out +of ten, there you are! A funny thing is that the men--you'd imagine +they had agreed on the words to approach you with. They have only two +phrases; they never vary them. It's either, 'You are going fast, little +one.' Or it's, 'Aren't you afraid all alone?' One thing or the other. +One knows pretty well what they mean. Isn't it so?" The girl paused, +then went on. "Again, I would get myself up as a young widow. There, +too, one has to walk fast: I don't know why that should be so, but it +is. After a minute or two of conversation, they generally find out that +I am not a young widow, but that doesn't make any difference--they go on +just the same." + +"Who are the men?" asked the deputy. "Clerks? Traveling salesmen?" + +"Not much," she responded. "I keep a lookout for gentlemen--like +yourself." + +"They SAY they are gentlemen," he suggested. + +"Sometimes I can see it," was the response. "Sometimes they wear orders. +It's funny--if they have on a ribbon when you first notice them, they +follow you, and presto--the ribbon is gone! I always laugh over that. +I've watched them in the glass of the shop windows. They try to look +unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their +thumb--as one shells little peas, you know." + +She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, "Well, +at last the police got after me, That's a story that I've never been +able to understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty disease, and then I +was to be shut in prison for it! That was a little too much, it seems to +me." + +"Well," said the doctor, grimly, "you revenged yourself on them--from +what you have told me." + +The other laughed. "Oh, yes," she said. "I had my innings." She turned +to Monsieur Loches. "You want me to tell you that? Well, just on the +very day I learned that the police were after me, I was coming home +furious, naturally. It was on the Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the +place--and whom do you think I met? My old master--the one who got me +into trouble, you know. There it was, God's own will! I said to myself, +'Now, my good fellow, here's the time where you pay me what you owe me, +and with interest, too!' I put on a little smile--oh, it didn't take +very long, you may be sure!" + +The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice +trembling with agitation: "When I had left him, I was seized with a +rage. A sort of madness got into my blood. I took on all the men who +offered themselves, for whatever they offered me, for nothing, if they +didn't offer me anything. I took as many as I could, the youngest ones +and the handsomest ones. Just so! I only gave them back what they had +given to me. And since that time I haven't really cared about anyone any +more. I just turned it all into a joke." She paused, and then looking +at the deputy, and reading in his face the horror with which he was +regarding her, "Oh, I am not the only one!" she exclaimed. "There +are lots of other women who do the same. To be sure, it is not for +vengeance--it is because they must have something to eat. For even if +you have syphilis, you have to eat, don't you? Eh?" + +She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a long +silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had heard enough +for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the woman, the cause of +all George Dupont's misfortunes, and turning to Monsieur Loches, said: +"It was on purpose that I brought that wretched prostitute before +you. In her the whole story is summed up--not merely the story of your +son-in-law, but that of all the victims of the red plague. That woman +herself is a victim, and she is a symbol of the evil which we have +created and which falls upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to +her story, I only ask you, Monsieur Loches--when next you are proposing +new laws in the Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which +that poor woman has exposed to you!" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair and Eugene Brieux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAMAGED GOODS *** + +***** This file should be named 1157.txt or 1157.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/5/1157/ + +Produced by John P. Roberts, III + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Roberts, III + + + + + +DAMAGED GOODS +The Great Play "Les Avaries" of Eugene Brieux + +Novelized with the approval of the author +by Upton Sinclair + + + + +THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX'S PLAY, "LES AVARIES," OR, +TO GIVE IT ITS ENGLISH TITLE, "DAMAGED GOODS," HAS INITIATED A +MOVEMENT IN THIS COUNTRY WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING. + +--New York Times + + + ++++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten +script from M. Brieux.+++ + + + +PREFACE + +My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as +closely as possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I +have tried, as it were, to take the play to pieces, and build a +novel out of the same material. I have not felt at liberty to +embellish M. Brieux's ideas, and I have used his dialogue word +for word wherever possible. Unless I have mis-read the author, +his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to place a number of +most important facts before the minds of the public, and to drive +them home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able to +assist him, this bit of literary carpentering will be worth +while. I have to thank M. Brieux for his kind permission to make +the attempt, and for the cordial spirit which he has manifested. + +Upton Sinclair + + + +PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY + +DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee +on March 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before +members of the Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed +by public press and pulpit as the greatest contribution ever made +by the Stage to the cause of humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the +producer, who had the courage to present the play, with the aid +of his co-workers, in the face of most savage criticism from the +ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a repetition of the +performance. + +Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before +the general public, it was arranged that the highest officials in +the United States should pass judgment upon the manner in which +the play teaches its vital lesson. A special guest performance +for members of the Cabinet, members of both houses of Congress, +members of the United States Supreme Court, representatives of +the Diplomatic corps and others prominent in national life was +given in Washington, D.C. + +Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April +6, 1913), the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with +the most distinguished audience ever assembled in America, +including exclusively the foremost men and women of the Capital. +The most noted clergymen of Washington were among the spectators. + +The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous +endorsement of the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett +and his co-workers were presenting it. + +This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York +performances until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision +on the part of Mr. Bennett to offer the play in every city in +America where citizens feel that the ultimate welfare of the +community is dependent upon a higher standard of morality and +clearer understanding of the laws of health. + +The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance, +said: + +The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon; +with all the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all +the earnestness and power of a vital truth. + +In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a +great social evil assumed the aspects of a religious service. +Dr. Donald C. Macleod, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, +mounted the rostrum usually occupied by the leader of the +orchestra, and announced that the nature of the performance, the +sacredness of the play, and the character of the audience gave to +the play the significance of a tremendous sermon in behalf of +mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that a divine +blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont +Avenue Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow +their heads in a prayer for the proper reception of the message +to be presented from the stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the +Bernard Shaw preface to the play, and asked that there be no +applause during the performance, a suggestion which was rigidly +followed, thus adding greatly to the effectiveness and the +seriousness of the dramatic portrayal. + +The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is +reflected in such comments as the following expressions voiced +after the performance: + +RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION--If I could +preach from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as +convincing, as far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance +of DAMAGED GOODS must be, I would consider that I had achieved +the triumph of my life. + +COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH--I was deeply impressed by what I +saw, and I think that the drama should be repeated in every city, +a matinee one day for father and son and the next day for mother +and daughter. + +REV. EARLE WILFLEY--I am confirmed in the opinion that we must +take up our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems +brought to the fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these +diseases are increasing is enough to make us get busy on a +campaign against them. + +SURGEON GENERAL BLUE--It was a most striking and telling lesson. +For years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It +is high time that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding +them and crusaded against them in a proper manner. + +MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS--The play was a powerful presentation of a +very important question and was handled in a most admirable +manner. The drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and +is bound to do considerable good in conveying information of a +very serious nature. + +MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU--There can be no doubt but that the +performance will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the +good for which it was created. Fortunately, we do not have the +prudery in South America that you of the north possess, and have +open minds to consider these serious questions. + +JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT--I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS +will have considerable effect in educating the people of the +nature of the danger that surrounds them. + +SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA--There can be no denial of the fact that +it is time to look at the serious problems presented in the play +with an open mind. + + +Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as "incomparably the +greatest writer France has produced since Moliere," and perhaps +no writer ever wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of +the race. To quote from an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the +INDEPENDENT: + +Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured +by laws and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble +is caused by ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment +and franker recognition of existing conditions. All this may be +needed, but still we may well doubt its effectiveness as a +remedy. The drunken Helot argument is not a strong one, and +those who lead a vicious life know more about its risks than any +teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also urges the +requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many +clergymen now insist upon and which doubtless will be made +compulsory before long in many of our States. + +Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will +be criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness. +The conditions of society and the moral standards of France are +so different from those of America that his point of view and his +proposals for reform will not meet with general acceptance, but +it is encouraging to find a dramatist who realizes the importance +of being earnest and who uses his art in defense of virtue +instead of its destruction. + + +Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in +the play and the belief in the highest seriousness of its +purpose: + +There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the +glamour, in the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths, +and suggestions the threat to life lies. + +This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such +clean, artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could +possibly be impressed in no other manner. + +Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There +is no sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of +the theme. The doctor appears in his ideal function, as the +modern high-priest of truth. Around him writhe the victims of +ignorance and the criminals of conventional cruelty. Kind, +stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet human-hearted, he towers +over all, as the master. + +This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the +world of ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a +mistaken modesty has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is +the physician. + +The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is +that it is the decentest play that has been in New York for a +year. It is so decent that it is religious. + +--HEARST'S MAGAZINE. + + +The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of +the veil of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject +of the penalty of sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on +this hidden danger, that fathers and mothers, young men and young +women, may know the terrible price that must be paid, not only by +the generation that violates the law, but by the generations to +come. It is a serious question just how the education of men and +women, especially young men and young women, in the vital matters +of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is sure, +however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often +been followed in the past--not to carry it on at all but to +ignore it. + +--THE OUTLOOK. + + +It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of "thesis +drama,"--an argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable, +cumulative, between science and common sense, on one side, and +love, of various types, on the other. It is what Mr. Bernard +Shaw has called a "drama of discussion"; it has the splendid +movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved--and undiluted--by +Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many audiences +at the Fulton Theater were astonished at the play's showing of +sheer strength as acted drama. Possibly it might not interest +the general public; probably it would be inadvisable to present +it to them. But no thinking person, with the most casual +interest in current social evils, could listen to the version of +Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, and their associates, without +being gripped by the power of Brieux's message. + +--THE DIAL. + + +It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of +this play, which is one of France's most valuable contributions +to the drama. Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over +ten years ago. Antoine produced it at his theater and Paris +immediately censored it, but soon thought better of it and +removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 it was played in +Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was thronged +with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last +spring and eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have +welcomed it. + +--THE INDEPENDENT. + + +A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth +Church, Brooklyn. + +23 Monroe Street +Bklyn. August 1, 1913. + +Mr. Richard Bennett, +New York City, N.Y. +My Dear Mr. Bennett: + +During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I +have experienced many exciting hours under the influence of +reformer, orator and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I +do not know that I have ever passed through a more thrilling, +terrible, and yet hopeful experience than last evening, while I +listened to your interpretation of Eugene Brieux' "DAMAGED +GOODS." + +I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It +is not too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the +people of our country as to the social evil. At last, thank God, +this conspiracy of silence is ended. No young man who sees +"Damaged Goods" will ever be the same again. If I wanted to +build around an innocent boy buttresses of fire and granite, and +lend him triple armour against temptation and the assaults of +evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. That +which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to +accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a +work for which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of +gratitude. + +I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases +and Heredity in connection with your great reform. + +With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett, +Faithfully yours, + +Newell Dwight Hillis + + + +CHAPTER I + +It was four o'clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the +door and came down the steps to the street. The first faint +streaks of dawn were in the sky, and he noticed this with +annoyance, because he knew that his hair was in disarray and his +whole aspect disorderly; yet he dared not take a cab, because he +feared to attract attention at home. When he reached the +sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no one had seen +him leave the house, then started down the street, his eyes upon +the sidewalk before him. + +George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men +in this world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase +means. The fumes of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober +now, quite free from excitement. He saw what he had done, and it +seemed to him something black and disgusting. + +Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had +to traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid +was up, before the baker's boy called with the rolls; otherwise, +what explanation could he give?--he who had always been such a +moral man, who had been pointed out by mothers as an example to +their sons. + +George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she +could know about his night's adventure. He thought again and +again, with a pang of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be +possible that a man who was engaged, whose marriage contract had +actually been signed, who was soon to possess the love of a +beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could have been weak +enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into such a low +action? + +He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, +trying to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself +for them. He had not intended such a culmination; he had never +meant to do such a thing in his life. He had not thought of any +harm when he had accepted the invitation to the supper party with +his old companions from the law school. Of course, he had known +that several of these chums led "fast" lives--but, then, surely a +fellow could go to a friend's rooms for a lark without harm! + +He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She +had come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had +assumed that she was all right. George remembered how +embarrassed he had been when first he had noticed her glances at +him. But then the wine had begun to go to his head--he was one +of those unfortunate wretches who cannot drink wine at all. He +had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on the way he had +lost his head. + +Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that +it was he who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must +have spoken them, because he remembered them. He remembered that +it had taken a long time to persuade her. He had had to promise +her a ring like the one her married friend wore. Before they +entered her home she had made him take off his shoes, so that the +porter might not hear them. This had struck George particularly, +because, even flushed with excitement as he was, he had not +forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the dangers +of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, "This +girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever +done such a thing." + +But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. +He was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in +the bitter words about "Time's moving finger having writ." His +mind, seeking some explanation, some justification, went back to +the events before that night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he +thought of Lizette. She was a decent girl, and had kept him +decent, and he was lonely without her. He had been so afraid of +being found out that he had given her up when he became engaged; +but now for a while he felt that he would have to break his +resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat +in the working-class portion of Paris. + +It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as +his father--that of notary--that he had made the acquaintance of +the young working girl. It may not be easy to believe, but +Lizette had really been a decent girl. She had a family to take +care of, and was in need. There was a grandmother in poor +health, a father not much better, and three little brothers; so +Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and he felt quite +virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of these +unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered +proper to take such things if one paid for them. + +All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They +adored him, and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had +not been so foolish as to give them his true name). + +Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to +control her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his +attitude. If she deceived him he would leave her immediately. +He told this to her relatives also, and so he had them all +watching her. She was never trusted out alone. Every Sunday +George went to spend the day with his little "family," so that +his coming became almost a matter of tradition. He interested +her in church affairs--mass and vespers were her regular +occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the +grandmother went with her to the services. The simple people +were proud to see their name engraved upon the brass plate of the +pew. + +The reason for all these precautions was George's terror of +disease. He had been warned by his father as to the dangers +which young men encounter in their amours. And these lessons had +sunk deep into George's heart; he had made up his mind that +whatever his friends might do, he, for one, would protect +himself. + +That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous +life; such was the custom among young men of his class, not had +it probably ever occurred to his father that it was possible for +a young man to do such a thing. The French have a phrase, +"l'homme moyen sensuel"--the average sensual man. And George was +such a man. He had no noble idealisms, no particular reverence +for women. The basis of his attitude was a purely selfish one; +he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same time to keep out of +trouble. + +He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he +imposed upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the +contrary, he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no +share in the amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and +forced himself to keep regular hours, preparing for his law +examinations. But all the time he was longing for adventures. +And, of course, this could not go on forever, for the motive of +fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the sexual urge in a full- +blooded young man. + +The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it +not been for the fact that his father died. He died quite +suddenly, while George was away on a trip. The son came back to +console his broken-hearted mother, and in the two week they spent +in the country together the mother broached a plan to him. The +last wish of the dying man had been that his son should be fixed +in life. In the midst of his intense suffering he had been able +to think about the matter, and had named the girl whom he wished +George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some interest to +learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother told +him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches. + +He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. +"It doesn't please you?" asked his mother, with a tone +disappointment. + +"Why no, mother," he answered. "It's not that. It just +surprises me." + +"But why?" asked the mother. "Henriette is a lovely girl and a +good girl." + +"Yes, I know," said George; "but then she is my cousin, and--" +He blushed a little with embarrassment. "I had never thought of +her in that way." + +Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son's. "Yes, George," she +said tenderly. "I know. You are such a good boy." + +Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good +boy; but his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea +of the truth about the majority of men. She would never have got +over the shock if he had told her about himself, and so he had to +pretend to be just what she thought him. + +"Tell me," she continued, after a pause, "have you never felt the +least bit in love?" + +"Why no--I don't think so," George stammered, becoming conscious +of a sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks. + +"Because," said his mother, "it is really time that you were +settled in life. Your father said that we should have seen to it +before, and now it is my duty to see to it. It is not good for +you to live alone so long." + +"But, mother, I have YOU," said George generously. + +"Some day the Lord may take me away," was the reply. "I am +getting old. And, George, dear--" Here suddenly her voice began +to tremble with feeling-- "I would like to see my baby +grandchildren before I go. You cannot imagine what it would mean +to me." + +Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so +she went on to the more worldly aspects of the matter. +Henriette's father was well-to-do, and he would give her a good +dowry. She was a charming and accomplished girl. Everybody +would consider him most fortunate if the match could be arranged. +Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame Dupont had spoken, +and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a great deal of +property and would surely help the young couple. + +George did not see just how he could object to this proposition, +even if he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a +course? He could not explain that he already had a family--with +stepchildren, so to speak, who adored him. And what could he say +to his mother's obsession, to which she came back again and +again--her longing to see her grandchildren before she died? +Madame Dupont waited only long enough for George to stammer out a +few protestations, and then in the next breath to take them back; +after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. The family +lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement were +worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately +afterwards George learned of an opportunity to purchase the +practice of a notary, who was ready to retire from business in +two months' time. Henriette's father consented to advance a +portion of her dowry for this purpose. + +Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his +father, and this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did +not attempt to deny, either to himself of to any one else. +George was a cautious young man, who came of a frugal and saving +stock. He had always been taught that it was his primary duty to +make certain of a reasonable amount of comfort. From his +earliest days, he had been taught to regard material success as +the greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed of +engaging himself to a girl without money. But when he had the +good fortune to meet one who possessed desirable personal +qualities in addition to money, he was not in the least barred +from appreciating those qualities. They were, so to speak, the +sauce which went with the meat, and it seemed to him that in this +case the sauce was of the very best. + +George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a +good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a +hearty laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul +untroubled in its deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest +fellow in the whole round world; he could not think what he had +done to deserve the good fortune of possessing such a girl as +Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat sentimental turn-- +easily influenced by women and sensitive to their charms. +Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had +learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it +seemed, was to reap the benefit of his experience with her. + +In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his +relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the +engagement was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his +bride-to-be, as he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered +the first time he had kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused +his round countenance. When he walked arm and arm with Henriette +in the garden he remembered how he had walked just so with the +other girl, and he was interested to compare the words of the +two. He remembered what a good time had had when he had taken +Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the +excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately +he decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic, +and he persuaded an aunt of Henriette's to go with her as a +chaperon. George took his bride-to-be to the same little inn +where he had lunch before. + +Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him +cheerful and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used +to the idea, and did not find it awkward, except when he had to +suppress the impulse to tell Henriette something which Lizette +had said, or some funny incident which had happened in the home +of the little family. Sometimes he found himself thinking that +it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses. There must be +something wrong, he thought, with a social system which made it +necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so +sensible. Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could +not have afforded to marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, +have been expected to lead a continent life. And he had really +loved Lizette; she was really a good girl. Yet, if Henriette had +got any idea of it, she would have been horrified and indignant-- +she might even have broken off the engagement. + +And then, too, there was Henriette's father, a personage of great +dignity and importance. M. Loches was a deputy of the French +Parliament, from a district in the provinces. He was a man of +upright life, and a man who made a great deal of that upright +life--keeping it on a pedestal where everyone might observe it. +It was impossible to imagine M. Loches in an undignified or +compromising situation--such as the younger man found himself +facing in the matter of Lizette. + +The more he thought about it the more nervous and anxious George +became. Then it was decided it would be necessary for him to +break with the girl, and be "good" until the time of his +marriage. Dear little soft-eyed Lizette--he did not dare to face +her personally; he could never bear to say good-by, he felt. +Instead, he went to the father, who as a man could be expected to +understand the situation. George was embarrassed and not a +little nervous about it; for although he had never misrepresented +his attitude to the family, one could never feel entirely free +from the possibility of blackmail in such cases. However, +Lizette's father behaved decently, and was duly grateful for the +moderate sum of money which George handed him in parting. He +promised to break the news gently to Lizette, and George went +away with his mind made up that he would never see her again. + +This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous +in doing it. But the truth was that he had grown used to +intimacy with a woman, and was restless without it. And that, he +told himself, was why he yielded to the shameful temptation the +night of that fatal supper party. + +He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that +he had been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that +he had proved himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry. +So keen was his feeling that it was several days before he could +bring himself to see Henriette again; and when he went, it was +with a mind filled with a brand-new set of resolutions. It was +the last time that he would ever fall into error. He would be a +new man from then on. He thanked God that there was no chance of +his sin being known, that he might have an opportunity to prove +his new determination. + +So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a +part of them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft +summer evening, with Henriette's mother occupied with her +crocheting at a decorous distance. George, in reverent and +humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he was really +unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always been +as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and +sweetness had awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old +life had been full of blunders. Henriette, of course, had but +the vaguest of ideas as to what the blunders of a tender and +generous young man like George might be. So she only loved him +the more for his humility, and was flattered to have such a fine +effect upon him, to awaken in him such moods of exaltation. When +he told her that all men were bad, and that no man was worthy of +such a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and wiped away +tears from her eyes. + +It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by +telling the real truth. Instead, George contented himself with +telling of the new resolutions he had formed. After all, they +were the things which really mattered; for Henriette was going to +live with his future, not with his past. + +It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a +young girl, which enabled her to move through a world of +wickedness with unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and +also, as a prudent young man could not help realizing, a most +convenient thing. He realized the importance of preserving it, +and thought that if he ever had a daughter, he would protect her +as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He made haste to shy +off from the subject of his "badness" and to turn the +conversation with what seemed a clever jest. + +"If I am going to be so good," he said, "don't forget that you +will have to be good also!" + +"I will try," said Henriette, who was still serious. + +"You will have to try hard," he persisted. "You will find that +you have a very jealous husband." + +"Will I?" said Henriette, beaming with happiness--for when a +woman is very much in love she doesn't in the least object to the +man's being jealous. + +"Yes, indeed," smiled George. "I'll always be watching you." + +"Watching me?" echoed the girl with a surprised look. + +And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There +could be no need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to +joke about it at such a time. That was one of the ideas which he +had brought with him from his world of evil. + +The truth was, however, that George would always be a suspicious +husband; nothing could ever change that fact, for there was +something in his own conscience which he could not get out, and +which would make it impossible for him to be at ease as a married +man. It was the memory of something which had happened earlier +in his life before he met Lizette. There had been one earlier +experience, with the wife of his dearest friend. She had been +much younger than her husband, and had betrayed an interest in +George, who had yielded to the temptation. For several years the +intrigue continued, and George considered it a good solution of a +young man's problem. There had been no danger of contamination, +for he knew that his friend was a man of pure and rigid morals, a +jealous man who watched his wife, and did not permit her to +contract those new relations which are always dangerous. As for +George, he helped in this worthy work, keeping the woman in +terror of some disease. He told her that almost all men were +infected, for he hoped by this means to keep her from deceiving +him. + +I am aware that this may seem a dreadful story. As I do not want +anyone to think too ill of George Dupont, I ought, perhaps, to +point out that people feel differently about these matters in +France. In judging the unfortunate young man, we must judge him +by the customs of his own country, and not by ours. In France, +they are accustomed to what is called the MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. +The young girl is not permitted to go about and make her own +friends and decide which one of them she prefers for her husband; +on the contrary, she is strictly guarded, her training often is +of a religious nature, and her marriage is a matter of business, +to be considered and decided by her parents and those of the +young man. Now, whatever we may think right, it is humanly +certain that where marriages are made in that way, the need of +men and women for sympathy and for passionate interest will often +lead to the forming of irregular relationships after marriage. +It is not possible to present statistics as to the number of such +irregular relationships in Parisian society; but in the books +which he read and in the plays which he saw, George found +everything to encourage him to think that it was a romantic and +delightful thing to keep up a secret intrigue with the wife of +his best friend. + +It should also, perhaps, be pointed out that we are here telling +the truth, and the whole truth, about George Dupont; and that it +is not customary to tell this about men, either in real life or +in novels. There is a great deal of concealment in the world +about matters of sex; and in such matters the truth-telling man +is apt to suffer in reputation in comparison with the truth- +concealing one. + +Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing. +It had happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and +this had so affected the guilty pair that they had felt their +relationship was no longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse +her grief alone, and George had been so deeply affected that he +had avoided affairs and entanglements with women until his +meeting with Lizette. + +All this was now in the far distant past, but it had made a +deeper impression upon George than he perhaps realized, and it +was now working in his mind and marring his happiness. Here was +a girl who loved him with a noble and unselfish and whole-hearted +love--and yet he would never be able to trust her as she +deserved, but would always have suspicions lurking in the back of +his mind. He would be unable to have his friends intimate in his +home, because of the memory of what he had once done to a friend. +It was a subtle kind of punishment. But so it is that Nature +often finds ways of punishing us, without our even being aware of +it. + +That was all for the future, however. At present, George was +happy. He put his black sin behind him, feeling that he had +obtained absolution by his confession to Henriette. Day by day, +as he realized his good fortune, his round face beamed with more +and yet more joy. + +He went for a little trip to Henriette's home in the country. It +was a simple village, and they took walks in the country, and +stopped to refresh themselves at a farmhouse occupied by one of +M. Loches' tenants. Here was a rosy and buxom peasant woman, +with a nursing child in her arms. She was destined a couple of +years later to be the foster-mother of Henriette's little girl +and to play an important part in her life. But the pair had no +idea of that at present. They simply saw a proud and happy +mother, and Henriette played with the baby, giving vent to +childish delight. Then suddenly she looked up and saw that +George was watching her, and as she read his thoughts a beautiful +blush suffused her cheeks. + +As for George, he turned away and went out under the blue sky in +a kind of ecstasy. Life seemed very wonderful to him just then; +he had found its supreme happiness, which was love. He was +really getting quite mad about Henriette, he told himself. He +could hardly believe that the day was coming when he would be +able to clasp her in his arms. + +But in the blue sky of George's happiness there was one little +cloud of storm. As often happens with storm-clouds, it was so +small that at first he paid no attention to it at all. + +He noted upon his body one day a tiny ulcer. At first he treated +it with salve purchased from an apothecary. Then after a week or +two, when this had no effect, he began to feel uncomfortable. He +remembered suddenly he had heard about the symptoms of an +unmentionable, dreadful disease, and a vague terror took +possession of him. + +For days he tried to put it to one side. The idea was nonsense, +it was absurd in connection with a woman so respectable! But the +thought would not be put away, and finally he went to a school +friend, who was a man of the world, and got him to talk on the +subject. Of course, George had to be careful, so that his friend +should not suspect that he had any special purpose in mind. + +The friend was willing to talk. It was a vile disease, he said; +but one was foolish to bother about it, because it was so rare. +There were other diseases which fellows got, which nearly every +fellow had, and to which none of them paid any attention. But +one seldom met anyone who had the red plague that George dreaded. + +"And yet," he added, "according to the books, it isn't so +uncommon. I suppose the truth is that people hide it. A chap +naturally wouldn't tell, when he knew it would damn him for +life." + +George had a sick sensation inside of him. "Is it as bad as +that?" he asked. + +"Of course," said the other, "Should you want to have anything to +do with a person who had it? Should you be willing to room with +him or travel with him? You wouldn't even want to shake hands +with him!" + +"No, I suppose not," said George, feebly. + +"I remember," continued the other, "an old fellow who used to +live out in the country near me. He was not so very old, either, +but he looked it. He had to be pushed around in a wheel-chair. +People said he had locomotor ataxia, but that really meant +syphilis. We boys used to poke all kinds of fun at him because +one windy day his hat and his wig were blown off together, and we +discovered that he was as bald as an egg. We used to make jokes +about his automobile, as we called it. It had a little handle in +front, instead of a steering-wheel, and a man behind to push, +instead of an engine." + +"How horrible!" remarked George with genuine feeling. + +"I remember the poor devil had a paralysis soon after," continued +the friend, quite carelessly. "He could not steer any more, and +also he lost his voice. When you met him he would look at you as +it he thought he was talking, but all he could say was +'Ga-ga-ga'." + +George went away from this conversation in a cold sweat. He told +himself over and over again that he was a fool, but still he +could not get the hellish idea out of his mind. He found himself +brooding over it all day and lying awake at night, haunted by +images of himself in a wheel-chair, and without any hair on his +head. He realized that the sensible thing would be for him to go +to a doctor and make certain about his condition; but he could +not bring himself to face the ordeal--he was ashamed to admit to +a doctor that he had laid himself open to such a taint. + +He began to lose the radiant expression from his round and rosy +face. He had less appetite, and his moods of depression became +so frequent that he could not hide then even from Henriette. She +asked him once or twice if there were not something the matter +with him, and he laughed--a forced and hurried laugh--and told +her that he had sat up too late the night before, worrying over +the matter of his examinations. Oh, what a cruel thing it was +that a man who stood in the very gateway of such a garden of +delight should be tormented and made miserable by this loathsome +idea! + +The disturbing symptom still continued, and so at last George +purchased a medical book, dealing with the subject of the +disease. Then, indeed, he opened up a chamber of horrors; he +made up his mind an abiding place of ghastly images. In the book +there were pictures of things so awful that he turned white, and +trembled like a leaf, and had to close the volume and hide it in +the bottom of his trunk. But he could not banish the pictures +from his mind. Worst of all, he could not forget the description +of the first symptom of the disease, which seemed to correspond +exactly with his own. So at last he made up his mind he must +ascertain definitely the truth about his condition. + +He began to think over plans for seeing a doctor. He had heard +somewhere a story about a young fellow who had fallen into the +hands of a quack, and been ruined forever. So he decided that he +would consult only the best authority. + +He got the names of the best-known works on the subject from a +bookstore, and found that the author of one of these books was +practicing in Paris as a specialist. Two or three days elapsed +before he was able to get up the courage to call on this doctor. +And oh, the shame and horror of sitting in his waiting-room with +the other people, none of whom dared to look each other in the +eyes! They must all be afflicted, George thought, and he glanced +at them furtively, looking for the various symptoms of which he +had read. Or were there, perhaps, some like himself--merely +victims of a foolish error, coming to have the hag of dread +pulled from off their backs? + +And then suddenly, while he was speculating, there stood the +doctor, signaling to him. His turn had come! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The doctor was a man about forty years of age, robust, with every +appearance of a strong character. In the buttonhole of the frock +coat he wore was a red rosette, the decoration of some order. +Confused and nervous as George was, he got a vague impression of +the physician's richly furnished office, with its bronzes, +marbles and tapestries. + +The doctor signaled to the young man to be seated in the chair +before his desk. George complied, and then, as he wiped away the +perspiration from his forehead, stammered out a few words, +explaining his errand. Of course, he said, it could not be true, +but it was a man's duty not to take any chances in such a matter. +"I have not been a man of loose life," he added; "I have not +taken so many chances as other men." + +The doctor cut him short with the brief remark that one chance +was all that was necessary. Instead of discussing such +questions, he would make an examination. "We do not say +positively in these cases until we have made a blood test. That +is the one way to avoid the possibility of mistake." + +A drop of blood was squeezed out of George's finger on to a +little glass plate. The doctor retired to an adjoining room, and +the victim sat alone in the office, deriving no enjoyment from +the works of art which surrounded him, but feeling like a +prisoner who sits in the dock with his life at stake while the +jury deliberates. + +The doctor returned, calm and impassive, and seated himself in +his office-chair. + +"Well, doctor?" asked George. He was trembling with terror. + +"Well," was the reply, "there is no doubt whatever." + +George wiped his forehead. He could not credit the words. "No +doubt whatever? In what sense?" + +"In the bad sense," said the other. + +He began to write a prescription, without seeming to notice how +George turned page with terror. "Come," he said, after a +silence, "you must have known the truth pretty well." + +"No, no, sir!" exclaimed George. + +"Well," said the other, "you have syphilis." + +George was utterly stunned. "My God!" he exclaimed. + +The doctor, having finished his prescription, looked up and +observed his condition. "Don't trouble yourself, sir. Out of +every seven men you meet upon the street, in society, or at the +theater, there is at least one who has been in your condition. +One out of seven--fifteen per cent!" + +George was staring before him. He spoke low, as if to himself. +"I know what I am going to do." + +"And I know also," said the doctor, with a smile. "There is your +prescription. You are going to take it to the drugstore and have +it put up." + +George took the prescription, mechanically, but whispered, "No, +sir." + +"Yes, sir, you are going to do as everybody else does." + +"No, because my situation is not that of everybody else. I know +what I am going to do." + +Said the doctor: "Five times out of ten, in the chair where you +are sitting, people talk like that, perfectly sincerely. Each +one believes himself more unhappy than all the others; but after +thinking it over, and listening to me, they understand that this +disease is a companion with whom one can live. Just as in every +household, one gets along at the cost of mutual concessions, +that's all. Come, sir, I tell you again, there is nothing about +it that is not perfectly ordinary, perfectly natural, perfectly +common; it is an accident which can happen to any one. It is a +great mistake that people speak if this as the 'French Disease,' +for there is none which is more universal. Under the picture of +this disease, addressing myself to those who follow the oldest +profession in the world, I would write the famous phrase: 'Here +is your master. It is, it was, or it must be.'" + +George was putting the prescription into the outside pocket of +his coat, stupidly, as if he did not know what he was doing. +"But, sir," he exclaimed, "I should have been spared!" + +"Why?" inquired the other. "Because you are a man of position, +because you are rich? Look around you, sir. See these works of +art in my room. Do you imagine that such things have been +presented to me by chimney-sweeps?" + +"But, Doctor," cried George, with a moan, "I have never been a +libertine. There was never any one, you understand me, never any +one could have been more careful in his pleasures. If I were to +tell you that in all my life I have only had two mistresses, what +would you answer to that?" + +"I would answer, that a single one would have been sufficient to +bring you to me." + +"No, sir!" cried George. "It could not have been either of those +women." He went on to tell the doctor about his first mistress, +and then about Lizette. Finally he told about Henriette, how +much he adored her. He could really use such a word--he loved +her most tenderly. She was so good--and he had thought himself +so lucky! + +As he went on, he could hardly keep from going to pieces. "I had +everything," he exclaimed, "everything a man needed! All who +knew me envied me. And then I had to let those fellows drag me +off to that miserable supper-party! And now here I am! My +future is ruined, my whole existence poisoned! What is to become +of me? Everybody will avoid me--I shall be a pariah, a leper!" + +He paused, and then in sudden wild grief exclaimed, "Come, now! +Would it not be better that I should take myself out of the way? +At least, I should not suffer any more. You see that there could +not be any one more unhappy than myself--not any one, I tell you, +sir, not any one!" Completely overcome, he began to weep in his +handkerchief. + +The doctor got up, and went to him. "You must be a man," he +said, "and not cry like a child." + +"But sir," cried the young man, with tears running down his +cheeks, "if I had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in +dissipation with chorus girls, then I could understand it. Then +I would say that I had deserved it." + +The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, "No, no! You would not say +it. However, it is of no matter--go on." + +"I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say +that I had deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a +regular grind. And now, when I think of the shame that is in +store for me, the disgusting things, the frightful catastrophes +to which I am condemned--" + +"What is all this you are telling me?" asked the doctor, +laughing. + +"Oh, I know, I know!" cried the other, and repeated what his +friend had told him about the man in a wheel-chair. "And they +used to call me handsome Raoul! That was my name--handsome +Raoul!" + +"Now, my dear sir," said the doctor, cheerfully, "wipe your eyes +one last time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your +pocket, and hear me dry-eyed." + +George obeyed mechanically. "But I give you fair warning," he +said, "you are wasting your time." + +"I tell you--" began the other. + +"I know exactly what you are going to tell me!" cried George. + +"Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here-- +run along." + +"Since I am here," said the patient submissively, "I will hear +you." + +"Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the +perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you." + +"Of course, it is your duty to tell me that." + +"I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in +Paris, alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just +saying--wheel-chairs. One doesn't see so many of them." + +"No, that's true," said George. + +"And besides," added the doctor, "a good many people who ride in +them are not there for the cause you think. There is no more +reason why you should be the victim of a catastrophe than any of +the one hundred thousand. The disease is serious, nothing more." + +"You admit that it is a serious disease?" argued George. + +"Yes." + +"One of the most serious?" + +"Yes, but you have the good fortune--" + +"The GOOD fortune?" + +"Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be +infected with one of the diseases over which we have the most +certain control." + +"Yes, yes," exclaimed George, "but the remedies are worse than +the disease." + +"You deceive yourself," replied the other. + +"You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?" + +"You can be." + +"And that I am not condemned?" + +"I swear it to you." + +"You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, +I was told--" + +The doctor laughed, contemptuously. "You were told, you were +told! I'll wager that you know the laws of the Chinese +concerning party-walls." + +"Yes, naturally," said George. "But I don't see what they have +to do with it." + +"Instead of teaching you such things," was the reply, "it would +have been a great deal better to have taught you about the nature +and cause of diseases of this sort. Then you would have known +how to avoid the contagion. Such knowledge should be spread +abroad, for it is the most important knowledge in the world. It +should be found in every newspaper." + +This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had +owned a little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision +of the way subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed +even so much as the name of this vile disease. + +"And yet," pursued the doctor, "you publish romances about +adultery!" + +"Yes," said George, "that's what the readers want." + +"They don't want the truth about venereal diseases," exclaimed +the other. "If they knew the full truth, they would no longer +think that adultery was romantic and interesting." + +He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such +diseases. There was really but one rule. It was: To love but +one woman, to take her as a virgin, and to love her so much that +she would never deceive you. "Take that from me," added the +doctor, "and teach it to your son, when you have one." + +George's attention was caught by this last sentence. + +"You mean that I shall be able to have children?" he cried. + +"Certainly," was the reply. + +"Healthy children?" + +"I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a +long time, conscientiously, you have little to fear." + +"That's certain?" + +"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred." + +George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. "Why, +then," he exclaimed, "I shall be able to marry!" + +"You will be able to marry," was the reply. + +"You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you +would not expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?" + +"In three or four years," said the doctor. + +"What!" cried George in consternation. "In three or four years? +Not before?" + +"Not before." + +"How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you +told me just now--" + +Said the doctor: "The disease will no longer be dangerous to +you, yourself--but you will be dangerous to others." + +"But," the young man cried, in despair, "I am to be married a +month from now." + +"That is impossible." + +"But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The +banns have been published! I have given my word!" + +"Well, you are a great one!" the doctor laughed. "Just now you +were looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married +within the month." + +"But, Doctor, it is necessary!" + +"But I forbid it." + +"As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and +that I could be cured, naturally I didn't want to commit suicide. +And as soon as I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to +take up my regular life. I have to keep my engagements; I have +to get married." + +"No," said the doctor. + +"Yes, yes!" persisted George, with blind obstinacy. "Why, +Doctor, if I didn't marry it would be a disaster. You are +talking about something you don't understand. I, for my part--it +is not that I am anxious to be married. As I told you, I had +almost a second family. Lizette's little brothers adored me. +But it is my aunt, an old maid; and, also, my mother is crazy +about the idea. If I were to back out now, she would die of +chagrin. My aunt would disinherit me, and she is the one who has +the family fortune. Then, too, there is my father-in-law, a +regular dragoon for his principles--severe, violent. He never +makes a joke of serious things, and I tell you it would cost me +dear, terribly dear. And, besides, I have given my word." + +"You must take back your word." + +"You still insist?" exclaimed George, in despair. "But then, +suppose that it were possible, how could I take back my signature +which I put at the bottom of the deed? I have pledged myself to +pay in two months for the attorney's practice I have purchased!" + +"Sir," said the doctor, "all these things--" + +"You are going to tell me that I was lacking in prudence, that I +should never have disposed of my wife's dowry until after the +honeymoon!" + +"Sir," said the doctor, again, "all these considerations are +foreign to me. I am a physician, and nothing but a physician, +and I can only tell you this: If you marry before three or four +years, you will be a criminal." + +George broke out with a wild exclamation. "No sir, you are not +merely a physician! You are also a confessor! You are not +merely a scientist; and it is not enough for you that you observe +me as you would some lifeless thing in your laboratory, and say, +'You have this; science says that; now go along with you.' All +my existence depends upon you. It is your duty to listen to me, +because when you know everything you will understand me, and you +will find some way to cure me within a month." + +"But," protested the doctor, "I wear myself out telling you that +such means do not exist. I shall not be certain of your cure, as +much as any one can be certain, in less than three or four +years." + +George was almost beside himself. "I tell you you must find some +means! Listen to me, sir--if I don't get married I don't get the +dowry! And will you tell me how I can pay the notes I have +signed?" + +"Oh," said the doctor, dryly, "if that is the question, it is +very simple--I will give you a plan to get out of the affair. +You will go and get acquainted with some rich man; you will do +everything you can to gain his confidence; and when you have +succeeded, you will plunder him." + +George shook his head. "I am not in any mood for joking." + +"I am not joking," replied his adviser. "Rob that man, +assassinate him even--that would be no worse crime than you would +commit in taking a young girl in good health in order to get a +portion of her dowry, when at the same time you would have to +expose her to the frightful consequences of the disease which you +would give her." + +"Frightful consequences?" echoed George. + +"Consequences of which death would not be the most frightful." + +"But, sir, you were saying to me just now--" + +"Just now I did not tell you everything. Even reduced, +suppressed a little by our remedies, the disease remains +mysterious, menacing, and in its sum, sufficiently grave. So it +would be an infamy to expose your fiancee in order to avoid an +inconvenience, however great that might be." + +But George was still not to be convinced. Was it certain that +this misfortune would befall Henriette, even with the best +attention? + +Said the other: "I do not wish to lie to you. No, it is not +absolutely certain, it is probable. And there is another truth +which I wish to tell you now: our remedies are not infallible. +In a certain number of cases--a very small number, scarcely five +per cent--they have remained without effect. You might be one of +those exceptions, your wife might be one. What then?" + +"I will employ a word you used just now, yourself. We should +have to expect the worst catastrophes." + +George sat in a state of complete despair. + +"Tell me what to do, then," he said. + +"I can tell you only one thing: don't marry. You have a most +serious blemish. It is as if you owed a debt. Perhaps no one +will ever come to claim it; on the other hand, perhaps a pitiless +creditor will come all at once, presenting a brutal demand for +immediate payment. Come now--you are a business man. Marriage +is a contract; to marry without saying anything--that means to +enter into a bargain by means of passive dissimulation. That's +the term, is it not? It is dishonesty, and it ought to come +under the law." + +George, being a lawyer, could appreciate the argument, and could +think of nothing to say to it. + +"What shall I do?" he asked. + +The other answered, "Go to your father-in-law and tell him +frankly the truth." + +"But," cried the young man, wildly, "there will be no question +then of three or four years' delay. He will refuse his consent +altogether." + +"If that is the case," said the doctor, "don't tell him anything." + +"But I have to give him a reason, or I don't know what he will +do. He is the sort of man to give himself to the worst violence, +and again my fiancee would be lost to me. Listen, doctor. From +everything I have said to you, you may perhaps think I am a +mercenary man. It is true that I want to get along in the world, +that is only natural. But Henriette has such qualities; she is +so much better than I, that I love her, really, as people love in +novels. My greatest grief--it is not to give up the practice I +have bought--although, indeed, it would be a bitter blow to me; +my greatest grief would be to lose Henriette. If you could only +see her, if you only knew her--then you would understand. I have +her picture here--" + +The young fellow took out his card-case. And offered a photograph +to the doctor, who gently refused it. The other blushed with +embarrassment. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, "I am ridiculous. That happens to +me, sometimes. Only, put yourself in my place--I love her so!" +His voice broke. + +"My dear boy," said the doctor, feelingly, "that is exactly why +you ought not to marry her." + +"But," he cried, "if I back out without saying anything they will +guess the truth, and I shall be dishonored." + +"One is not dishonored because one is ill." + +"But with such a disease! People are so stupid. I myself, +yesterday--I should have laughed at anyone who had got into such +a plight; I should have avoided him, I should have despised him!" +And suddenly George broke down again. "Oh!" he cried, "if I were +the only one to suffer; but she--she is in love with me. I swear +it to you! She is so good; and she will be so unhappy!" + +The doctor answered, "She would be unhappier later on." + +"It will be a scandal!" George exclaimed. + +"You will avoid one far greater," the other replied. + +Suddenly George set his lips with resolution. He rose from his +seat. He took several twenty-franc pieces from his pocket and +laid them quietly upon the doctor's desk--paying the fee in cash, +so that he would not have to give his name and address. He took +up his gloves, his cane and his hat, and rose. + +"I will think it over," he said. "I thank you, Doctor. I will +come back next week as you have told me. That is--probably I +will." + +He was about to leave. + +The doctor rose, and he spoke in a voice of furious anger. "No," +he said, "I shan't see you next week, and you won't even think it +over. You came here knowing what you had; you came to ask advice +of me, with the intention of paying no heed to it, unless it +conformed to your wishes. A superficial honesty has driven you +to take that chance in order to satisfy your conscience. You +wanted to have somebody upon whom you could put off, bye and bye, +the consequences of an act whose culpability you understand! No, +don't protest! Many of those who come here think and act as you +think, and as you wish to act; but the marriage made against my +will has generally been the source of such calamities that now I +am always afraid of not having been persuasive enough, and it +even seems to me that I am a little to blame for these +misfortunes. I should have been able to prevent them; they would +not have happened if those who are the authors of them knew what +I know and had seen what I have seen. Swear to me, sir, that you +are going to break off that marriage!" + +George was greatly embarrassed, and unwilling to reply. "I +cannot swear to you at all, Doctor; I can only tell you again +that I will think it over." + +"That WHAT over?" + +"What you have told me." + +"What I have told you is true! You cannot bring any new +objections; and I have answered those which you have presented to +me; therefore, your mind ought to be made up." + +Groping for a reply, George hesitated. He could not deny that he +had made inquiry about these matters before he had come to the +doctor. But he said that he was not al all certain that he had +this disease. The doctor declared it, and perhaps it was true, +but the most learned physicians were sometimes deceived. + +He remembered something he had read in one of the medical books. +"Dr. Ricord maintains that after a certain period the disease is +no longer contagious. He has proven his contentions by examples. +Today you produce new examples to show that he is wrong! Now, I +want to do what's right, but surely I have the right to think it +over. And when I think it over, I realize that all the evils +with which you threaten me are only probable evils. In spite of +your desire to terrify me, you have been forced to admit that +possibly my marriage would not have any troublesome consequence +for my wife." + +The doctor found difficulty in restraining himself. But he said, +"Go on. I will answer you afterwards." + +And George blundered ahead in his desperation. "Your remedies +are powerful, you tell me; and for the calamities of which you +speak to befall me, I would have to be among the rare +exceptions--also my wife would have to be among the number of +those rare exceptions. If a mathematician were to apply the law +of chance to these facts, the result of his operation would show +but slight chance of a catastrophe, as compared with the absolute +certainty of a series of misfortunes, sufferings, troubles, +tears, and perhaps tragic accidents which the breaking of my +engagement would cause. So I say that the mathematician--who is, +even more than you, a man of science, a man of a more infallible +science--the mathematician would conclude that wisdom was not +with you doctors, but with me." + +"You believe it, sir!" exclaimed the other. "But you deceive +yourself." And he continued, driving home his point with a +finger which seemed to George to pierce his very soul. "Twenty +cases identical with your own have been patiently observed, from +the beginning to the end. Nineteen times the woman was infected +by her husband; you hear me, sir, nineteen times out of twenty! +You believe that the disease is without danger, and you take to +yourself the right to expose your wife to what you call the +chance of your being one of those exceptions, for whom our +remedies are without effect. Very well; it is necessary that you +should know the disease which your wife, without being consulted, +will run a chance of contracting. Take that book, sir; it is the +work of my teacher. Read it yourself. Here, I have marked the +passage." + +He held out the open book; but George could not lift a hand to +take it. + +"You do not wish to read it?" the other continued. "Listen to +me." And in a voice trembling with passion, he read: "'I have +watched the spectacle of an unfortunate young woman, turned into +a veritable monster by means of a syphilitic infection. Her +face, or rather let me say what was left of her face, was nothing +but a flat surface seamed with scars.'" + +George covered his face, exclaiming, "Enough, sir! Have mercy!" + +But the other cried, "No, no! I will go to the very end. I have +a duty to perform, and I will not be stopped by the sensibility +of your nerves." + +He went on reading: "'Of the upper lip not a trace was left; the +ridge of the upper gums appeared perfectly bare.'" But then at +the young man's protests, his resolution failed him. "Come," he +said, "I will stop. I am sorry for you--you who accept for +another person, for the woman you say you love, the chance of a +disease which you cannot even endure to hear described. Now, +from whom did that woman get syphilis? It is not I who am +speaking, it is the book. 'From a miserable scoundrel who was +not afraid to enter into matrimony when he had a secondary +eruption.' All that was established later on--'and who, +moreover, had thought it best not to let his wife be treated for +fear of awakening her suspicions!'" + +The doctor closed the book with a bang. "What that man has done, +sir, is what you want to do." + +George was edging toward the door; he could no longer look the +doctor in the eye. "I should deserve all those epithets and +still more brutal ones if I should marry, knowing that my +marriage would cause such horrors. But that I do not believe. +You and your teachers--you are specialists, and consequently you +are driven to attribute everything to the disease you make the +subject of your studies. A tragic case, an exceptional case, +holds a kind of fascination for you; you think it can never be +talked about enough." + +"I have heard that argument before," said the doctor, with an +effort at patience. + +"Let me go on, I beg you," pleaded George. "You have told me +that out of every seven men there is one syphilitic. You have +told me that there are one hundred thousand in Paris, coming and +going, alert, and apparently well." + +"It is true," said the doctor, "that there are one hundred +thousand who are actually at this moment not visibly under the +influence of the disease. But many thousands have passed into +our hospitals, victims of the most frightful ravages that our +poor bodies can support. These--you do not see them, and they do +not count for you. But again, if it concerned no one but +yourself, you might be able to argue thus. What I declare to +you, what I affirm with all the violence of my conviction, is +that you have not the right to expose a human creature to such +chances--rare, as I know, but terrible, as I know still better. +What have you to answer to that?" + +"Nothing," stammered George, brought to his knees at last. "You +are right about that. I don't know what to think." + +"And in forbidding you marriage," continued the doctor, "is it +the same as if I forbade it forever? Is it the same as if I told +you that you could never be cured? On the contrary, I hold out +to you every hope; but I demand of you a delay of three or four +years, because it will take me that time to find out if you are +among the number of those unfortunate ones whom I pity with all +my heart, for whom the disease is without mercy; because during +that time you will be dangerous to your wife and to your +children. The children I have not yet mentioned to you." + +Here the doctor's voice trembled slightly. He spoke with moving +eloquence. "Come, sir, you are an honest man; you are too young +for such things not to move you; you are not insensible to duty. +It is impossible that I shan't be able to find a way to your +heart, that I shan't be able to make you obey me. My emotion in +speaking to you proves that I appreciate your suffering, that I +suffer with you. It is in the name of my sincerity that I +implore you. You have admitted it--that you have not the right +to expose your wife to such miseries. But it is not only your +wife that you strike; you may attack in her your own children. I +exclude you for a moment from my thought--you and her. It is in +the name of these innocents that I implore you; it is the future, +it is the race that I defend. Listen to me, listen to me! Out +of the twenty households of which I spoke, only fifteen had +children; these fifteen had twenty-eight. Do you know how many +out of these twenty-eight survived? Three, sir! Three out of +twenty-eight! Syphilis is above everything a murderer of +children. Herod reigns in France, and over all the earth, and +begins each year his massacre of the innocents; and if it be not +blasphemy against the sacredness of life, I say that the most +happy are those who have disappeared. Visit our children's +hospitals! We know too well the child of syphilitic parents; the +type is classical; the doctors can pick it out anywhere. Those +little old creatures who have the appearance of having already +lived, and who have kept the stigmata of all out infirmities, of +all our decay. They are the victims of fathers who have married, +being ignorant of what you know--things which I should like to go +and cry out in the public places." + +The doctor paused, and then in a solemn voice continued: "I have +told you all, without exaggeration. Think it over. Consider the +pros and cons; sum up the possible misfortunes and the certain +miseries. But disregard yourself, and consider that there are in +one side of the scales the misfortunes of others, and in the +other your own. Take care that you are just." + +George was at last overcome. "Very well," he said, "I give way. +I won't get married. I will invent some excuse; I will get a +delay of six months. More than that, I cannot do." + +The doctor exclaimed, "I need three years--I need four years!" + +"No, Doctor!" persisted George. "You can cure me in less time +than that." + +The other answered, "No! No! No!" + +George caught him by the hand, imploringly. "Yes! Science in +all powerful!" + +"Science is not God," was the reply. "There are no longer any +miracles." + +"If only you wanted to do it!" cried the young man, hysterically. +"You are a learned man; seek, invent, find something! Try some +new plan with me; give me double the dose, ten times the does; +make me suffer. I give myself up to you; I will endure +everything--I swear it! There ought to be some way to cure me +within six months. Listen to me! I tell you I can't answer for +myself with that delay. Come; it is in the name of my wife, in +the name of my children, that I implore you. Do something for +them!" + +The doctor had reached the limit of his patience. "Enough, sir!" +he cried. "Enough!" + +But nothing could stop the wretched man. "On my knees!" he +cried. "I put myself on my knees before you! Oh! If only +you would do it! I would bless you; I would adore you, as one +adores a god! All my gratitude, all my life--half my fortune! +For mercy's sake, Doctor, do something; invent something; make +some discovery--have pity!" + +The doctor answered gravely, "Do you wish me to do more for you +than for the others?" + +George answered, unblushingly, 'answered, unblushingly, "Yes!" +He was beside himself with terror and distress. + +The other's reply was delivered in a solemn tone. "Understand, +sir, for every one of out patients we do all that we can, +whether it be the greatest personage, or the last comer to out +hospital clinic. We have no secrets in reserve for those who are +more fortunate, or less fortunate than the others, and who are in +a hurry to be cured." + +George gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment and despair, and +then suddenly bowed his head. "Good-by, Doctor," he answered. + +"Au revoir, sir," the other corrected--with what proved to be +prophetic understanding. For George was destined to see him +again--even though he had made up his mind to the contrary! + + + +CHAPTER III + +George Dupont had the most important decision of his life to +make; but there was never very much doubt what his decision would +be. One the one hand was the definite certainty that if he took +the doctor's advice, he would wreck his business prospects, and +perhaps also lose the woman he loved. On the other hand were +vague and uncertain possibilities which it was difficult for him +to make real to himself. It was all very well to wait a while to +be cured of the dread disease; but to wait three or four years-- +that was simply preposterous! + +He decided to consult another physician. He would find one this +time who would not be so particular, who would be willing to take +some trouble to cure him quickly. He began to notice the +advertisements which were scattered over the pages of the +newspapers he read. There were apparently plenty of doctors in +Paris who could cure him, who were willing to guarantee to cure +him. After much hesitation, he picked out one whose +advertisement sounded the most convincing. + +The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, +not encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered +with dust. The doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he +rubbed his hands with anticipation at the sight of so +prosperous-looking a patient. But he was evidently a man of +experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter with George, +almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, he could +cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great +discoveries made--new methods which had not reached the bulk of +the profession. He laughed at the idea of three or four years. +That was the way with those specialists! When one got forty +francs for a consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out +the case. There were tricks in the medical trade, as in all +others. A doctor had to live; when he had a big name, he had to +live expensively. + +The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George +on the shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to +worry; he would surely be well in three months. If he would put +off his marriage for six months, he would be doing everything +within reason. And meantime, there was no need for him to worry +himself--things would come out all right. So George went away, +feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders. + +He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter +settled. "Henriette," he said, "I have to tell you something +very important--something rather painful. I hope you won't let +it disturb you too much." + +She was gazing at him in alarm. "What is it?" + +"Why," he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that +he had begun the matter so precipitately, "for some time I've not +been feeling quite well. I've been having a slight cough. Have +you noticed it?" + +"Why no!" exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. + +"Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a +possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it +might be--I might possibly have lung trouble." + +"George!" cried the girl in horror. + +He put his hand upon hers. "Don't be frightened," he said. "It +will be all right, only I have to take care of myself." How very +dear of her, he thought--to be so much worried! + +"George, you ought to go away to the country!" she cried. "You +have been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut +yourself up so much--" + +"I am going to take care of myself," he said. "I realize that it +is necessary. I shall be all right--the doctor assured me there +was no doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But +meantime, here is the trouble: I don't think it would be right +for me to marry until I am perfectly well." + +Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. + +"I am sure we should put it off," he went on, "it would be only +fair to you." + +"But, George!" she protested. "Surely it can't be that serious!" + +"We ought to wait," he said. "You ought not to take the chance +of being married to a consumptive." + +The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a +consumptive; she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She +was willing to take her chances. She loved him, and she was not +afraid. But George insisted--he was sure that he ought not to +marry for six months. + +"Did the doctor advise that?" asked Henriette. + +"No," he replied, "but I made up my mind after talking to him +that I must do the fair and honorable thing. I beg you to +forgive me, and to believe that I know best." + +George stood firmly by this position, and so in the end she had +to give way. It did not seem quite modest in her to continue +persisting. + +George volunteered to write a letter to her father; and he hoped +this would settle the matter without further discussion. But in +this he was disappointed. There had to be a long correspondence +with long arguments and protestations from Henriette's father and +from his own mother. It seemed such a singular whim. Everybody +persisted in diagnosing his symptoms, in questioning him about +what the doctor had said, who the doctor was, how he had come to +consult him--all of which, of course, was very embarrassing to +George, who could not see why they had to make such a fuss. He +took to cultivating a consumptive look, as well as he could +imagine it; he took to coughing as he went about the house--and +it was all he could do to keep from laughing, as he saw the look +of dismay on his poor mother's face. After all, however, he told +himself that he was not deceiving her, for the disease he had was +quite as serious as tuberculosis. + +It was very painful and very trying. But there was nothing that +could be done about it; the marriage had been put off for six +months, and in the meantime he and Henriette had to control their +impatience and make the best of their situation. Six months was +a long time; but what if it had been three or four years, as the +other doctor had demanded? That would have been a veritable +sentence of death. + +George, as we have seen, was conscientious, and regular and +careful in his habits. He took the medicine which the new doctor +prescribed for him; and day by day he watched, and to his great +relief saw the troublesome symptoms gradually disappearing. He +began to take heart, and to look forward to life with his former +buoyancy. He had had a bad scare, but now everything was going +to be all right. + +Three or four months passed, and the doctor told him he was +cured. He really was cured, so far as he could see. He was +sorry, now, that he had asked for so long a delay from Henriette; +but the new date for the wedding had been announced, and it would +be awkward to change it again. George told himself that he was +being "extra careful," and he was repaid for the inconvenience by +the feeling of virtue derived from the delay. He was relieved +that he did not have to cough any more, or to invent any more +tales of his interviews with the imaginary lung-specialist. +Sometimes he had guilty feelings because of all the lying he had +had to do; but he told himself that it was for Henriette's sake. +She loved him as much as he loved her. She would have suffered +needless agonies had she known the truth; she would never have +got over it--so it would have been a crime to tell her. + +He really loved her devotedly, thoroughly. From the beginning he +had thought as much of her mental sufferings as he had of any +physical harm that the dread disease might do to him. How could +he possibly persuade himself to give her up, when he knew that +the separation would break her heart and ruin her whole life? +No; obviously, in such a dilemma, it was his duty to use his own +best judgment, and get himself cured as quickly as possible. +After that he would be true to her, he would take no more chances +of a loathsome disease. + +The secret he was hiding made him feel humble--made him unusually +gentle in his attitude towards the girl. He was a perfect lover, +and she was ravished with happiness. She thought that all his +sufferings were because of his love for her, and the delay which +he had imposed out of his excess of conscientiousness. So she +loved him more and more, and never was there a happier bride than +Henriette Loches, when at last the great day arrived. + +They went to the Riveria for their honeymoon, and then returned +to live in the home which had belonged to George's father. The +investment in the notary's practice had proven a good one, and so +life held out every promise for the young couple. They were +divinely happy. + +After a while, the bride communicated to her husband the tidings +that she was expecting a child. Then it seemed to George that +the cup of his earthly bliss was full. His ailment had slipped +far into the background of his thoughts, like an evil dream which +he had forgotten. He put away the medicines in the bottom of his +trunk and dismissed the whole matter from his mind. Henriette +was well--a very picture of health, as every one agreed. The +doctor had never seen a more promising young mother, he declared, +and Madame Dupont, the elder, bloomed with fresh life and joy as +she attended her daughter-in-law. + +Henriette went for the summer to her father's place in the +provinces, which she and George had visited before their +marriage. They drove out one day to the farm where they had +stopped. The farmer's wife had a week-old baby, the sight of +which made Henriette's heart leap with delight. He was such a +very healthy baby that George conceived the idea that this would +be the woman to nurse his own child, in case Henriette herself +should not be able to do it. + +They came back to the city, and there the baby was born. As +George paced the floor, waiting for the news, the memory of his +evil dreams came back to him. He remembered all the dreadful +monstrosities of which he had read--infants that were born of +syphilitic parents. His heart stood still when the nurse came +into the room to tell him the tidings. + +But it was all right; of course it was all right! He had been a +fool, he told himself, as he stood in the darkened room and gazed +at the wonderful little mite of life which was the fruit of his +love. It was a perfect child, the doctor said--a little small, +to be sure, but that was a defect which would soon be remedied. +George kneeled by the bedside and kissed the hand of his wife, +and went out of the room feeling as if he had escaped from a +tomb. + +All went well, and after a couple of weeks Henriette was about +the house again, laughing all day and singing with joy. But the +baby did not gain quite as rapidly as the doctor had hoped, and +it was decided that the country air would be better for her. So +George and his mother paid a visit to the farm in the country, +and arranged that the country woman should put her own child to +nurse elsewhere and should become the foster-mother of little Gervaise. + +George paid a good price for the service, far more than would +have been necessary, for the simple country woman was delighted +with the idea of taking care of the grandchild of the deputy of +her district. George came home and told his wife about this and +had a merry time as he pictured the woman boasting about it to +the travelers who stopped at her door. "Yes, ma'am, a great +piece of luck I've got, ma'am. I've got the daughter of the +daughter of our deputy--at your service ma'am. My! But she is +as fat as out little calf--and so clever! She understands +everything. A great piece of luck for me, ma'am. She's the +daughter of the daughter of our deputy!" Henriette was vastly +entertained, discovering in her husband a new talent, that of an +actor. + +As for George's mother, she was hardly to be persuaded from +staying in the country with the child. She went twice a week, to +make sure that all went well. Henriette and she lived with the +child's picture before them; they spent their time sewing on caps +and underwear--all covered with laces and frills and pink and +blue ribbons. Every day, when George came home from his work, he +found some new article completed, and was ravished by the scent +of some new kind of sachet powder. What a lucky man he was! + +You would think he must have been the happiest man in the whole +city of Paris. But George, alas, had to pay the penalty for his +early sins. There was, for instance, the deception he had +practiced upon his friend, away back in the early days. Now he +had friends of his own, and he could not keep these friends from +visiting him; and so he was unquiet with the fear that some one +of them might play upon him the same vile trick. Even in the +midst of his radiant happiness, when he knew that Henriette was +hanging upon his every word, trembling with delight when she +heard his latchkey in the door--still he could not drive away the +horrible thought that perhaps all this might be deception. + +There was his friend, Gustave, for example. He had been a friend +of Henriette's before her marriage; he had even been in love with +her at one time. And now he came sometimes to the house--once or +twice when George was away! What did that mean? George +wondered. He brooded over it all day, but dared not drop any +hint to Henriette. But he took to setting little traps to catch +her; for instance, he would call her up on the telephone, +disguising his voice. "Hello! Hello! Is that you, Madame +Dupont?" And when she answered, "It is I, sir," all +unsuspecting, he would inquire, "Is George there?" + +"No, sir," she replied. "Who is this speaking?" + +He answered, "It is I, Gustave. How are you this morning?" He +wanted to see what she would answer. Would she perhaps say, +"Very well, Gustave. How are you?"--in a tone which would betray +too great intimacy! + +But Henriette was a sharp young person. The tone did not sound +like Gustave's. She asked in bewilderment, "What?" and then +again, "What?" + +So, at last, George, afraid that his trick might be suspected, +had to burst out laughing, and turn it into a joke. But when he +came home and teased his wife about it, the laugh was not all on +his side. Henriette had guessed the real meaning of his joke! +She did not really mind--she took his jealousy as a sign of love, +and was pleased with it. It is not until a third party come upon +the scene that jealousy begins to be annoying. + +So she had a merry time teasing George. "You are a great fellow! +You have no idea how well I understand you--and after only a year +of marriage!" + +"You know me?" said the husband, curiously. (It is always so +fascinating when anybody thinks she know us better than we know +ourselves!) "Tell me, what do you think about me?" + +"You are restless," said Henriette. "You are suspicious. You +pass your time putting flies in your milk, and inventing wise +schemes to get them out." + +"Oh, you think that, do you?" said George, pleased to be talked +about. + +"I am not annoyed," she answered. "You have always been that +way--and I know that it's because at bottom you are timid and +disposed to suffer. And then, too, perhaps you have reasons for +not having confidence in a wife's intimate friends--lady-killer +that you are!" + +George found this rather embarrassing; but he dared not show it, +so he laughed gayly. "I don't know what you mean," he said-- +"upon my word I don't. But it is a trick I would not advise +everybody to try." + +There were other embarrassing moments, caused by George's having +things to conceal. There was, for instance, the matter of the +six months' delay in the marriage--about which Henriette would +never stop talking. She begrudged the time, because she had got +the idea that little Gervaise was six months younger than she +otherwise would have been. "That shows your timidity again," she +would say. "The idea of your having imagined yourself a +consumptive!" + +Poor George had to defend himself. "I didn't tell you half the +truth, because I was afraid of upsetting you. It seemed I had +the beginning of chronic bronchitis. I felt it quite keenly +whenever I took a breath, a deep breath--look, like this. Yes--I +felt--here and there, on each side of the chest, a heaviness--a +difficulty--" + +"The idea of taking six months to cure you of a thing like that!" +exclaimed Henriette. "And making our baby six months younger +than she ought to be!" + +"But," laughed George, "that means that we shall have her so much +the longer! She will get married six months later!" + +"Oh, dear me," responded the other, "let us not talk about such +things! I am already worried, thinking she will get married some +day." + +"For my part," said George, "I see myself mounting with her on my +arm the staircase of the Madeleine." + +"Why the Madeleine?" exclaimed his wife. "Such a very +magnificent church!" + +"I don't know--I see her under her white veil, and myself all +dressed up, and with an order." + +"With an order!" laughed Henriette. "What do you expect to do to +win an order?" + +"I don't know that--but I see myself with it. Explain it as you +will, I see myself with an order. I see it all, exactly as if I +were there--the Swiss guard with his white stockings and the +halbard, and the little milliner's assistants and the scullion +lined up staring." + +"It is far off--all that," said Henriette. "I don't like to talk +of it. I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up--but then +I change my mind and think I don't. I know your mother doesn't. +Do you know, I don't believe she ever thinks about anything but +her little Gervaise." + +"I believe you," said the father. "The child can certainly boast +of having a grandmother who loves her." + +"Also, I adore your mother," declared Henriette. "She makes me +forget my misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so +good!" + +"We are all like that in our family," put in George. + +"Really," laughed the wife. "Well, anyhow--the last time that we +went down in the country with her--you had gone out, I don't know +where you had gone--" + +"To see the sixteenth-century chest," suggested the other. + +"Oh, yes," laughed Henriette; "your famous chest!" (You must +excuse this little family chatter of theirs--they were so much in +love with each other!) + +"Don't let's talk about that," objected George. "You were +saying--?" + +"You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think--" + +"Or at the wine merchant's! Go on, go on." + +"Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was +all alone with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the +baby--all sorts of nonsense, pretty little words--stupid, if you +like, but tender. I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I +wanted to weep." + +"Perhaps she called her 'my dear little Savior'?" + +"Exactly! Did you hear her?" + +"No--but that is what she used to call me when I was little." + +"It was that day she swore that the little one had recognized +her, and laughed!" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"And then another time, when I went into her room--mother's +room--she didn't hear me because the door was open, but I saw +her. She was in ecstasy before the little boots which the baby +wore at baptism--you know?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Listen, then. She had taken them and she was embracing them!" + +"And what did you say then?" + +"Nothing; I stole out very softly, and I sent across the +threshold a great kiss to the dear grandmother!" + +Henriette sat for a moment in thought. "It didn't take her very +long," she remarked, "today when she got the letter from the +nurse. I imagine she caught the eight-fifty-nine train!" + +"Any yet," laughed George, "it was really nothing at all." + +"Oh no," said his wife. "Yet after all, perhaps she was right-- +and perhaps I ought to have gone with her." + +"How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything +you are told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The +nurse was simply playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will +you bet? Come, I'll bet you something. What would you like to +bet? You don't want to? Come, I'll bet you a lovely necklace-- +you know, with a big pearl." + +"No," said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. +"I should be too much afraid of winning." + +"Stop!" laughed her husband. "Don't you believe I love her as +much as you love her--my little duck? Do you know how old she +is? I mean her EXACT age?" + +Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure. + +"Ah!" he exploded. "You see you don't know! She is ninety-one +days and eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to +walk all alone. Then we will take her back with us; we must wait +at least six months." Then, too late, poor George realized that +he had spoken the fatal phrase again. + +"If only you hadn't put off our marriage, she would be able to +walk now," said Henriette. + +He rose suddenly. "Come," he said, "didn't you say you had to +dress and pay some calls?" + +Henriette laughed, but took the hint. + +"Run along, little wife," he said. "I have a lot of work to do +in the meantime. You won't be down-stairs before I shall have my +nose buried in my papers. Bye-bye." + +"Bye-bye," said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen +or so kisses before she went away to dress. + +Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the +big armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed +about something. Could it be that he had not been so much at +ease as he had pretended to be, since the letter had come from +the baby's nurse? Madame Dupont had gone by the earliest train +that morning. She had promised to telegraph at once--but she had +not done so, and now it was late afternoon. + +George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the +glass for a moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up +another to put his geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette +until he was calmer. But then suddenly he heard the rustle of a +dress behind him, and glanced about, and started up with an +exclamation, "Mother!" + +Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil +was thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation +upon her countenance. + +"What's the matter?" he cried. "We didn't get any telegram from +you; we were not expecting you till tomorrow." + +Still his mother did not speak. + +"Henriette was just going out," he exclaimed nervously; "I had +better call her." + +"No!" said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. +"I did not want Henriette to be here when I arrived." + +"But what's the matter?" cried George. + +Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read +something terrible in the mother's manner, and he found himself +trembling violently. + +"I have brought back the child and the nurse," said Madame +Dupont. + +"What! Is the little one sick?" + +"Yes." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"Nothing dangerous--for the moment, at least." + +"We must send and get the doctor!" cried George. + +"I have just come from the doctor's," was the reply. "He said it +was necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up +on the bottle." + +Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to +ask the next question. Try as he would, he could not keep his +voice from weakening. "Well, now, what is her trouble?" + +The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At +last she said, faintly, "I don't know." + +"You didn't ask?" + +"I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went." + +"Ah!" whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them +spoke. "Why?" he inquired at last. + +"Because--he--the nurse's doctor--had frightened me so--" + +"Truly?" + +"Yes. It is a disease--" again she stopped. + +George cried, in a voice of agony, "and then?" + +"Then I asked him if the matter was so grave that I could not be +satisfied with our ordinary doctor." + +"And what did he answer?" + +"He said that if we had the means it would really be better to +consult a specialist." + +George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because +she was not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got +himself together. "And--where did he send you?" + +His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. +"Here," she said. + +And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep +himself from tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he +had first consulted about his trouble! The specialist in +venereal diseases! + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was all George could do to control his voice. "You--you went +to see him?" he stammered. + +"Yes," said his mother. "You know him?" + +"No, no," he answered. "Or--that is--I have met him, I think. I +don't know." And then to himself, "My God!" + +There was a silence. "He is coming to talk to you," said the +mother, at last. + +George was hardly able to speak. "Then he is very much +disturbed?" + +"No, but he wants to talk to you." + +"To me?" + +"Yes. When the doctor saw the nurse, he said, 'Madame, it is +impossible for me to continue to attend this child unless I have +had this very day a conversation with the father.' So I said +'Very well,' and he said he would come at once." + +George turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. "My poor +little daughter!" he whispered to himself. + +"Yes," said the mother, her voice breaking, "she is, indeed, a +poor little daughter!" + +A silence fell; for what could words avail in such a situation? +Hearing the door open, Madame Dupont started, for her nerves were +all a-quiver with the strain she had been under. A servant came +in and spoke to her, and she said to George, "It is the doctor. +If you need me, I shall be in the next room." + +Her son stood trembling, as if he were waiting the approach of an +executioner. The other came into the room without seeing him and +he stood for a minute, clasping and unclasping his hands, almost +overcome with emotion. Then he said, "Good-day, doctor." As the +man stared at him, surprised and puzzled, he added, "You don't +recognize me?" + +The doctor looked again, more closely. George was expecting him +to break out in rage; but instead his voice fell low. "You!" he +exclaimed. "It is you!" + +At last, in a voice of discouragement than of anger, he went on, +"You got married, and you have a child! After all that I told +you! You are a wretch!" + +"Sir," cried George, "let me explain to you!" + +"Not a word!" exclaimed the other. "There can be no explanation +for what you have done." + +A silence followed. The young man did not know what to say. +Finally, stretching out his arms, he pleaded, "You will take care +of my little daughter all the same, will you not?" + +The other turned away with disgust. "Imbecile!" he said. + +George did not hear the word. "I was able to wait only six +months," he murmured. + +The doctor answered in a voice of cold self-repression, "That is +enough, sir! All that does not concern me. I have done wrong +even to let you see my indignation. I should have left you to +judge yourself. I have nothing to do here but with the present +and with the future--with the infant and with the nurse." + +"She isn't in danger?" cried George. + +"The nurse is in danger of being contaminated." + +But George had not been thinking about the nurse. "I mean my +child," he said. + +"Just at present the symptoms are not disturbing." + +George waited; after a while he began, "You were saying about the +nurse. Will you consent that I call my mother? She knows better +than I." + +"As you wish," was the reply. + +The young man started to the door, but came back, in terrible +distress. "I have one prayer to offer you sir; arrange it so +that my wife--so that no one will know. If my wife learned that +it is I who am the cause--! It is for her that I implore you! +She--she isn't to blame." + +Said the doctor: "I will do everything in my power that she may +be kept ignorant of the true nature of the disease." + +"Oh, how I thank you!" murmured George. "How I thank you!" + +"Do not thank me; it is for her, and not for you, that I will +consent to lie." + +"And my mother?" + +"Your mother knows the truth." + +"But--" + +"I pray you, sir--we have enough to talk about, and very serious +matters." + +So George went to the door and called his mother. She entered +and greeted the doctor, holding herself erect, and striving to +keep the signs of grief and terror from her face. She signed to +the doctor to take a seat, and then seated herself by a little +table near him. + +"Madame Dupont," he began, "I have prescribed a course of +treatment for the child. I hope to be able to improve its +condition, and to prevent any new developments. But my duty and +yours does not stop there; if there is still time, it is +necessary to protect the health of the nurse." + +"Tell us what it is necessary to do, Doctor?" said she. + +"The woman must stop nursing the child." + +"You mean we have to change the nurse?" + +"Madame, the child can no longer be brought up at the breast, +either by that nurse or by any other nurse." + +"But why, sir?" + +"Because the child would give her disease to the woman who gave +her milk." + +"But, Doctor, if we put her on the bottle--our little one--she +will die!" + +And suddenly George burst out into sobs. "Oh, my poor little +daughter! My God, my God!" + +Said the doctor, "If the feeding is well attended to, with +sterilized milk--" + +"That can do very well for healthy infants," broke in Madame +Dupont. "But at the age of three months one cannot take from the +breast a baby like ours, frail and ill. More than any other such +an infant has need of a nurse--is that not true?" + +"Yes," the doctor admitted, "that is true. But--" + +"In that case, between the life of the child, and the health of +the nurse, you understand perfectly well that my choice is made." + +Between her words the doctor heard the sobbing of George, whose +head was buried in his arms. "Madame," he said, "your love for +that baby has just caused you to utter something ferocious! It +is not for you to choose. It is not for you to choose. I forbid +the nursing. The health of that woman does not belong to you." + +"No," cried the grandmother, wildly, "nor does the health of out +child belong to you! If there is a hope of saving it, that hope +is in giving it more care than any other child; and you would +wish that I put it upon a mode of nourishment which the doctors +condemn, even for vigorous infants! You expect that I will let +myself be taken in like that? I answer you: she shall have the +milk which she needs, my poor little one! If there was a single +thing that one could do to save her--I should be a criminal to +neglect it!" And Madame Dupont broke out, with furious scorn, +"The nurse! The nurse! We shall know how to do our duty--we +shall take care of her, repay her. But our child before all! No +sir, no! Everything that can be done to save our baby I shall +do, let it cost what it will. To do what you say--you don't +realize it--it would be as if I should kill the child!" In the +end the agonized woman burst into tears. "Oh, my poor little +angel! My little savior!" + +George had never ceased sobbing while his mother spoke; at these +last words his sobs became loud cries. He struck the floor with +his foot, he tore his hair, as if he were suffering from violent +physical pain. "Oh, oh, oh!" he cried. "My little child! My +little child!" And then, in a horrified whisper to himself, "I +am a wretch! A criminal!" + +"Madame," said the doctor, "you must calm yourself; you must both +calm yourselves. You will not help out the situation by +lamentations. You must learn to take it with calmness." + +Madame Dupont set her lips together, and with a painful effort +recovered her self-control. "You are right, sir," she said, in a +low voice. "I ask your pardon; but if you only knew what that +child means to me! I lost one at that age. I am an old woman, I +am a widow--I had hardly hoped to live long enough to be a +grandmother. But, as you say--we must be calm." She turned to +the young man, "Calm yourself, my son. It is a poor way to show +our love for the child, to abandon ourselves to tears. Let us +talk, Doctor, and seriously--coldly. But I declare to you that +nothing will ever induce me to put the child on the bottle, when +I know that it might kill her. That is all I can say." + +The doctor replied: "This isn't the first time that I find +myself in the present situation. Madame, I declare to you that +always--ALWAYS, you understand--persons who have rejected my +advice have had reason to repent it cruelly." + +"The only thing of which I should repent--" began the other. + +"You simply do not know," interrupted the doctor, "what such a +nurse is capable of. You cannot imagine what bitterness-- +legitimate bitterness, you understand--joined to the rapacity, +the cupidity, the mischief-making impulse--might inspire these +people to do. For them the BOURGEOIS is always somewhat of an +enemy; and when they find themselves in position to avenge their +inferiority, they are ferocious." + +"But what could the woman do?" + +"What could she do? She could bring legal proceedings against +you." + +"But she is much too stupid to have that idea." + +"Others will put it into her mind." + +"She is too poor to pay the preliminary expenses." + +"And do you propose then to profit by her ignorance and +stupidity? Besides, she could obtain judicial assistance." + +"Why, surely," exclaimed Madame Dupont, "such a thing was never +heard of! Do you mean that?" + +"I know a dozen prosecutions of that sort; and always when there +has been certainty, the parents have lost their case." + +"But surely, Doctor, you must be mistaken! Not in a case like +ours--not when it is a question of saving the life of a poor +little innocent!" + +"Oftentimes exactly such facts have been presented." + +Here George broke in. "I can give you the dates of the +decisions." He rose from his chair, glad of an opportunity to be +useful. "I have the books," he said, and took one from the case +and brought it to the doctor. + +"All of that is no use--" interposed the mother. + +But the doctor said to George, "You will be able to convince +yourself. The parents have been forced once or twice to pay the +nurse a regular income, and at other times they have had to pay +her an indemnity, of which the figure has varied between three +and eight thousand francs." + +Madame Dupont was ready with a reply to this. "Never fear, sir! +If there should be a suit, we should have a good lawyer. We +shall be able to pay and choose the best--and he would demand, +without doubt, which of the two, the nurse or the child, has +given the disease to the other." + +The doctor was staring at her in horror. "Do you not perceive +that would be a monstrous thing to do?" + +"Oh, I would not have to say it," was the reply. "The lawyer +would see to it--is not that his profession? My point is this: +by one means or another he would make us win our case." + +"And the scandal that would result," replied the other. "Have +you thought of that?" + +Here George, who had been looking over his law-books, broke in. +"Doctor, permit me to give you a little information. In cases of +this sort, the names are never printed." + +"Yes, but they are spoken at the hearings." + +"That's true." + +"And are you certain that there will not be any newspaper to +print the judgment?" + +"What won't they stoop to," exclaimed Madame Dupont--"those +filthy journals!" + +"Ah," said the other, "and see what a scandal? What a shame it +would be to you!" + +"The doctor is right, mother," exclaimed the young man. + +But Madame Dupont was not yet convinced. "We will prevent the +woman from taking any steps; we will give her what she demands +from us." + +"But then," said the other, "you will give yourselves up to the +risk of blackmail. I know a family which has been thus held up +for over twelve years." + +"If you will permit me, Doctor," said George, timidly, "she could +be made to sign a receipt." + +"For payment in full?" asked the doctor, scornfully. + +"Even so." + +"And then," added his mother, "she would be more than delighted +to go back to her country with a full purse. She would be able +to buy a little house and a bit of ground--in that country one +doesn't need so much in order to live." + +At this moment there was a tap upon the door, and the nurse +entered. She was a country woman, robust, rosy-cheeked, fairly +bursting with health. When she spoke one got the impression that +her voice was more than she could contain. It did not belong in +a drawing-room, but under the open sky of her country home. +"Sir," she said, addressing the doctor, "the baby is awake." + +"I will go and see her," was the reply; and then to Madame +Dupont, "We will take up this conversation later on." + +"Certainly," said the mother. "Will you have need of the nurse?" + +"No, Madame," the doctor answered. + +"Nurse," said the mother, "sit down and rest. Wait a minute, I +wish to speak to you." As the doctor went out, she took her son +to one side and whispered to him, "I know the way to arrange +everything. If we let her know what is the matter, and if she +accepts, the doctor will have nothing more to say. Isn't that +so?" + +"Obviously," replied the son. + +"I am going to promise that we will give her two thousand francs +when she goes away, if she will consent to continue nursing the +child." + +"Two thousand francs?" said the other. "Is that enough?" + +"I will see," was the reply. "If she hesitates, I will go +further. Let me attend to it." + +George nodded his assent, and Madame Dupont returned to the +nurse. "You know," she said, "that our child is a little sick?" + +The other looked at her in surprise. "Why no, ma'am!" + +"Yes," said the grandmother. + +"But, ma'am, I have taken the best of care of her; I have always +kept her proper." + +"I am not saying anything to the contrary," said Madame Dupont, +"but the child is sick, the doctors have said it." + +The nurse was not to be persuaded; she thought they were getting +ready to scold her. "Humph," she said, "that's a fine thing--the +doctors! If they couldn't always find something wrong you'd say +they didn't know their business." + +"But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself +that our child has some little pimples." + +"Ah, ma'am," said the nurse, "that's the heat--it's nothing but +the heat of the blood breaking out. You don't need to bother +yourself; I tell you it's only the child's blood. It's not my +fault; I swear to you that she had not lacked anything, and that +I have always kept her proper." + +"I am not reproaching you--" + +"What is there to reproach me for? Oh, what bad luck! She's +tiny--the little one--she's a bit feeble; but Lord save us, she's +a city child! And she's getting along all right, I tell you." + +"No," persisted Madame Dupont, "I tell you--she has got a cold in +her head, and she has an eruption at the back of the throat." + +"Well," cried the nurse, angrily, "if she has, it's because the +doctor scratched her with that spoon he put into her mouth wrong +end first! A cold in the head? Yes, that's true; but if she has +caught cold, I can't say when, I don't know anything about it-- +nothing, nothing at all. I have always kept her well covered; +she's always had as much as three covers on her. The truth is, +it was when you came, the time before last; you were all the time +insisting upon opening the windows in the house!" + +"But once more I tell you," cried Madame Dupont, "we are not +putting any blame on you." + +"Yes," cried the woman, more vehemently. "I know what that kind +of talk means. It's no use--when you're a poor country woman." + +"What are you imagining now?" demanded the other. + +"Oh, that's all right. It's no use when you're a poor country +woman." + +"I repeat to you once more," cried Madame Dupont, with difficulty +controlling her impatience, "we have nothing whatever to blame +you for." + +But the nurse began to weep. "If I had known that anything like +this was coming to me--" + +"We have nothing to blame you for," declared the other. "We only +wish to warn you that you might possibly catch the disease of the +child." + +The woman pouted. "A cold in the head!" she exclaimed. "Well, +if I catch it, it won't be the first time. I know how to blow my +nose." + +"But you might also get the pimples." + +At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the +bric-a-brac rattled. "Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, +we ain't city folks, we ain't; we don't have such soft skins. +What sort of talk is that? Pimples--what difference would that +make to poor folks like us? We don't have a white complexion like the ladies +of Paris. We are out all day in the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead +of rubbing cold cream on our muzzles! No offense, ma'am--but I say if you're +looking for an excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that." + +"Excuse!" exclaimed the other. "What in the world do you mean?" + +"Oh, I know!" said the nurse, nodding her head. + +"But speak!" + +"It's no use, when you're only a poor country woman." + +"I don't understand you! I swear to you that I don't understand +you!" + +"Well," sneered the other, "I understand." + +"But then--explain yourself." + +"No, I don't want to say it." + +"But you must; I wish it." + +"Well--" + +"Go ahead." + +"I'm only a poor country woman, but I am no more stupid than the +others, for all that. I know perfectly well what your tricks +mean. Mr. George here has been grumbling because you promised me +thirty francs more a month, if I came to Paris." And then, +turning upon the other, she went on--"But, sir, isn't it only +natural? Don't I have to put my own child away somewheres else? +And then, can my husband live on his appetite? We're nothing but +poor country people, we are." + +"You are making a mistake, nurse," broke in George. "It is +nothing at all of that sort; mother is quite right. I am so far +from wanting to reproach you, that, on the contrary, I think she +had not promised enough, and I want to make you, for my part, +another promise. When you go away, when baby is old enough to be +weaned, by way of thanking you, we wish to give you--" + +Madame Dupont broke in, hurriedly, "We wish to give you,--over +and above your wages, you understand--we wish to give you five +hundred francs, and perhaps a thousand, if the little one is +altogether in good health. You understand?" + +The nurse stared at her, stupefied. "You will give me five +hundred francs--for myself?" She sought to comprehend the words. +"But that was not agreed, you don't have to do that at all." + +"No," admitted Madame Dupont. + +"But then," whispered the nurse, half to herself, "that's not +natural." + +"Yes," the other hurried on, "it is because the baby will have +need of extra care. You will have to take more trouble; you will +have to give it medicines; your task will be a little more +delicate, a little more difficult." + +"Oh, yes; then it's so that I will be sure to take care of her? +I understand." + +"Then it's agreed?" exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief. + +"Yes ma'am," said the nurse. + +"And you won't come later on to make reproaches to us? We +understand one another clearly? We have warned you that the +child is sick and that you could catch the disease. Because of +that, because of the special need of care which she has, we +promise you five hundred francs at the end of the nursing. +That's all right, is it? + +"But, my lady," cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, "you +spoke just now of a thousand francs." + +"Very well, then, a thousand francs." + +George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, +drawing her to one side. "It would be a mistake," he whispered, +"if we did not make her sign an agreement to all that." + +His mother turned to the nurse. "In order that there may be no +misunderstanding about the sum--you see how it is, I had +forgotten already that I had spoken of a thousand francs--we will +draw up a little paper, and you, on your part, will write one for +us." + +"Very good, ma'am," said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so +important a transaction. "Why, it's just as you do when you rent +a house!" + +"Here comes the doctor," said the other. "Come, nurse, it is +agreed?" + +"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. But all the same, as she went out +she hesitated and looked sharply first at the doctor, and then at +George and his mother. She suspected that something was wrong, +and she meant to find out if she could. + +The doctor seated himself in George's office chair, as if to +write a prescription. "The child's condition remains the same," +he said; "nothing disturbing." + +"Doctor," said Madame Dupont, gravely, "from now on, you will be +able to devote your attention to the baby and the nurse without +any scruple. During your absence we have arranged matters +nicely. The nurse has been informed about the situation, and she +does not mind. She has agreed to accept an indemnity, and the +amount has been stated." + +But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped +he might. He replied: "The malady which the nurse will almost +inevitably contract in feeding the child is too grave in its +consequences. Such consequences might go as far as complete +helplessness, even as far as death. So I say that the indemnity, +whatever it might be, would not pay the damage." + +"But," exclaimed the other, "she accepts it! She is mistress of +herself, and she has the right--" + +"I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own +health. And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the +health of her husband and her children. If she becomes infected, +it is nearly certain that she will communicate the disease to +them; the health and the life of the children she might have +later on would be greatly compromised. Such things she cannot +possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a bargain of this +sort isn't possible. If the evil has not been done, you must do +everything to avoid it." + +"Sir," protested the mother, wildly, "you do not defend our +interests!" + +"Madame," was the reply, "I defend those who are weakest." + +"If we had called in our own physician, who knows us," she +protested, "he would have taken sides with us." + +The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. "I doubt it," +he said, "but there is still time to call him." + +George broke in with a cry of distress. "Sir, I implore you!" + +And the mother in turn cried. "Don't abandon us, sir! You ought +to make allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I +tell you it seems to me as if I had waited for her coming in +order to die. Have pity upon us! Have pity upon her! You speak +of the weakest--it is not she who is the weakest? You have seen +her, you have seen that poor little baby, so emaciated! You have +seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and cannot that +inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir--I pray you!" + +"I pity her," said the doctor, "I would like to save her--and I +will do everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a +feeble infant, with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the +health of a sound and robust woman. It is useless for us to +continue such a discussion as that." + +Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. "Very Well!" +she exclaimed. "I will not follow your counsels, I will not +listen to you!" + +Said the doctor in a solemn voice: "There is already some one +here who regrets that he did not listen to me." + +"Yes," moaned George, "to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all +of us." + +But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. "Very well!" she +cried. "If it is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to +suffer remorse for it in this life, and all the punishments in +the life to come--I accept it all for myself alone! Myself +alone, I take that responsibility! It is frightfully heavy, but +I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I believe in +eternal damnation; but to save my little child I consent to lose +my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up--I will do everything +to save that life! Let God judge me; and if he condemns me, so +much the worse for me!" + +The doctor answered: "That responsibility is one which I cannot +let you take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my +part, and I refuse it." + +"What will you do?" + +"I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, +completely--something which you have not done, I feel sure." + +"What?" cried Madame Dupont, wildly. "You, a doctor, called into +a family which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over +to you its most terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries--you +would betray them?" + +"It is not a betrayal," replied the man, sternly. "It is +something which the law commands; and even if the law were +silent, I would not permit a family of worthy people to go astray +so far as to commit a crime. Either I give up the case, or you +have the nursing of the child stopped." + +"You threaten! You threaten!" cried the woman, almost frantic. +"You abuse the power which your knowledge gives you! You know +that it is you whose attention we need by that little cradle; you +know that we believe in you, and you threaten to abandon us! +Your abandonment means the death of the child, perhaps! And if I +listen to you, if we stop the nursing of the child--that also +means her death!" + +She flung up her hands like a mad creature. "And yet there is no +other means! Ah, my God! Why do you not let it be possible for +me to sacrifice myself? I would wish nothing more than to be +able to do it--if only you might take my old body, my old flesh, +my old bones--if only I might serve for something! How quickly +would I consent that it should infect me--this atrocious malady! +How I would offer myself to it--with what joys, with what +delights--however disgusting, however frightful it might be, +however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without fear, +without regret, if my poor old empty breasts might still give to +the child the milk which would preserve its life!" + +She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled +to her and flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling +his sobs and tears with hers. + +The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to +control his distress. "Oh, the poor people!" he murmured to +himself. "The poor, poor people!" + +The storm passed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong +character, got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she +said, "Come, sir, tell us what we have to do." + +"You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry +nurse, in order that she may not go away to carry the disease +elsewhere. Do not exaggerate to yourself the danger which will +result to the child. I am, in truth, extremely moved by your +suffering, and I will do everything--I swear it to you--that your +baby may recover as quickly as possible its perfect health. I +hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave you until +tomorrow." + +"Thank you, Doctor, thank you," said Madame Dupont, faintly. + +The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He +could not bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head +until the other was gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought +to embrace her, but she repelled him--without violence, but +firmly. + +Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. "Forgive +me!" he said, in a broken voice. "Are we not unhappy enough, +without hating each other?" + +His mother answered: "God has punished you for your debauch by +striking at your child." + +But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe +that. "Impossible!" he said. "There is not even a man +sufficiently wicked or unjust to commit the act which you +attribute to your God!" + +"Yes," said his mother, sadly, "you believe in nothing." + +"I believe in no such God as that," he answered. + +A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance +of the nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been +standing there for some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped +forward. "Madame," she said, "I have thought it over; I would +rather go back to my home at once, and have only the five hundred +francs." + +Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. "What is that you +are saying? You want to return to your home?" + +"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. + +"But," cried George, "only ten minutes ago you were not thinking +of it." + +"What has happened since then?" demanded Madame Dupont. + +"I have thought it over." + +"Thought it over?" + +"Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my +husband." + +"In the last ten minutes?" exclaimed George. + +"There must be something else," his mother added. "Evidently +there must be something else." + +"No!" insisted the nurse. + +"But I say yes!" + +"Well, I'm afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me." + +"You had better wait and try it." + +"I would rather go back at once to my home." + +"Come, now," cried Madame Dupont, "tell us why?" + +"I have told you. I have thought it over." + +"Thought what over?" + +"Well, I have thought." + +"Oh," cried the mother, "what a stupid reply! 'I have thought it +over! I have thought it over!' Thought WHAT over, I want to +know!" + +"Well, everything." + +"Don't you know how to tell us what?" + +"I tell you, everything." + +"Why," exclaimed Madame Dupont, "you are an imbecile!" + +George stepped between his mother and the nurse. "Let me talk to +her," he said. + +The woman came back to her old formula: "I know that we're only +poor country people." + +"Listen to me, nurse," said the young man. "Only a little while +ago you were afraid that we would send you away. You were +satisfied with the wages which my mother had fixed. In addition +to those wages we had promised you a good sum when you returned +to your home. Now you tell us that you want to go away. You +see? All at once. There must be some reason; let us understand +it. There must certainly be a reason. Has anybody done anything +to you?" + +"No, sir," said the woman, dropping her eyes. + +"Well, then?" + +"I have thought it over." + +George burst out, "Don't go on repeating always the same thing-- +'I have thought it over!' That's not telling us anything." +Controlling himself, he added, gently, "Come, tell me why you +want to go away?" + +There was a silence. "Well?" he demanded. + +"I tell you, I have thought--" + +George exclaimed in despair, "It's as if one were talking to a +block of wood!" + +His mother took up the conversation again. "You must realize, +you have not the right to go away." + +The woman answered, "I WANT to go." + +"But I will not let you leave us." + +"No," interrupted George angrily, "let her go; we cannot fasten +her here." + +"Very well, then," cried the exasperated mother, "since you want +to go, go! But I have certainly the right to say to you that you +are as stupid as the animals on your farm!" + +"I don't say that I am not," answered the woman. + +"I will not pay you the month which has just begun, and you will +pay your railroad fare for yourself." + +The other drew back with a look of anger. "Oho!" she cried. +"We'll see about that!" + +"Yes, we'll see about it!" cried George. "And you will get out +of here at once. Take yourself off--I will have no more to do +with you. Good evening." + +"No, George," protested his mother, "don't lose control of +yourself." And then, with a great effort at calmness, "That +cannot be serious, nurse! Answer me." + +"I would rather go off right away to my home, and only have my +five hundred francs." + +"WHAT?" cried George, in consternation. + +"What's that you are telling me?" exclaimed Madame Dupont. + +"Five hundred francs?" repeated her son. + +"What five hundred francs?" echoed the mother. + +"The five hundred francs you promised me," said the nurse. + +"We have promised you five hundred francs? WE?" + +"Yes." + +"When the child should be weaned, and if we should be satisfied +with you! That was our promise." + +"No. You said you would give them to me when I was leaving. Now +I am leaving, and I want them." + +Madame Dupont drew herself up, haughtily. "In the first place," +she said, "kindly oblige me by speaking to me in another tone; do +you understand?" + +The woman answered, "You have nothing to do but give me my money, +and I will say nothing more." + +George went almost beside himself with rage at this. "Oh, it's +like that?" he shouted. "Very well; I'll show you!" And he +sprang to the door and opened it. + +But the nurse never budged. "Give me my five hundred francs!" +she said. + +George seized her by the arm and shoved her toward the door. +"You clear out of here, do you understand me? And as quickly as +you can!" + +The woman shook her arm loose, and sneered into his face. "Come +now, you--you can talk to me a little more politely, eh?" + +"Will you go?" shouted George, completely beside himself. "Will +you go, or must I go out and look for a policeman?" + +"A policeman!" demanded the woman. "For what?" + +"To put you outside! You are behaving yourself like a thief." + +"A thief? I? What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you are demanding money which doesn't belong to +you." + +"More than that," broke in Madame Dupont, "you are destroying +that poor little baby! You are a wicked woman!" + +"I will put you out myself!" shouted George, and seized her by +the arm again. + +"Oh, it's like that, is it?" retorted the nurse. "Then you +really want me to tell you why I am going away?" + +"Yes, tell me!" cried he. + +His mother added, "Yes, yes!" + +She would have spoken differently had she chanced to look behind +her and seen Henriette, who at that moment appeared in the +doorway. She had been about to go out, when her attention had +been caught by the loud voices. She stood now, amazed, clasping +her hands together, while the nurse, shaking her fist first at +Madame Dupont and then at her son, cried loudly, "Very well! I'm +going away because I don't want to catch a filthy disease here!" + +"HUSH!" cried Madame Dupont, and sprang toward her, her hands +clenched as if she would choke her. + +"Be silent!" cried George, wild with terror. + +But the woman rushed on without dropping her voice, "Oh, you need +not be troubling yourselves for fear anyone should overhear! All +the world knows it! Your other servants were listening with me +at your door! They heard every word your doctor said!" + +"Shut up!" screamed George. + +Her mother seized the woman fiercely by the arm. "Hold your +tongue!" she hissed. + +But again the other shook herself loose. She was powerful, and +now her rage was not to be controlled. She waved her hands in +the air, shouting, "Let me be, let me be! I know all about your +brat--that you will never be able to raise it--that it's rotten +because it's father has a filthy disease he got from a woman of +the street!" + +She got no farther. She was interrupted by a frenzied shriek +from Henriette. The three turned, horrified, just in time to see +her fall forward upon the floor, convulsed. + +"My God!" cried George. He sprang toward her, and tried to lift +her, but she shrank from him, repelling him with a gesture of +disgust, of hatred, of the most profound terror. "Don't touch +me!" she screamed, like a maniac. "Don't touch me!" + + + +CHAPTER V + +It was in vain that Madame Dupont sought to control her daughter- +in-law. Henriette was beside herself, frantic, she could not be +brought to listen to any one. She rushed into the other room, +and when the older woman followed her, shrieked out to be left +alone. Afterwards, she fled to her own room and barred herself +in, and George and his mother waited distractedly for hours until +she should give some sign. + +Would she kill herself, perhaps? Madame Dupont hovered on guard +about the door of the nursery for fear that the mother in her fit +of insanity might attempt some harm to her child. + +The nurse had slunk away abashed when she saw the consequences of +her outburst. By the time she had got her belongings packed, she +had recovered her assurance. She wanted her five hundred; also +she wanted her wages and her railroad fare home. She wanted them +at once, and she would not leave until she got them. George and +his mother, in the midst of all their anguish of mind, had to go +through a disgusting scene with this coarse and angry woman. + +They had no such sum of money in the house, and the nurse refused +to accept a check. She knew nothing about a check. It was so +much paper, and might be some trick that they were playing on +her. She kept repeating her old formula, "I am nothing but a +poor country woman." Nor would she be contented with the promise +that she would receive the money the next day. She seemed to be +afraid that if she left the house she would be surrendering her +claim. So at last the distracted George to sally forth and +obtain the cash from some tradesmen in the neighborhood. + +The woman took her departure. They made her sign a receipt in +full for all claims and they strove to persuade themselves that +this made them safe; but in their hearts they had no real +conviction of safety. What was the woman's signature, or her +pledged word, against the cupidity of her husband and relatives. +Always she would have the dreadful secret to hold over them, and +so they would live under the shadow of possible blackmail. + +Later in the day Henriette sent for her mother-in-law. She was +white, her eyes were swollen with weeping, and she spoke in a +voice choked with sobs. She wished to return at once to her +father's home, and to take little Gervaise with her. Madame +Dupont cried out in horror at this proposition, and argued and +pleaded and wept--but all to no purpose. The girl was immovable. +She would not stay under her husband's roof, and she would take +her child with her. It was her right, and no one could refuse +her. + +The infant had been crying for hours, but that made no +difference. Henriette insisted that a cab should be called at +once. + +So she went back to the home of Monsieur Loches and told him the +hideous story. Never before in her life had she discussed such +subjects with any one, but now in her agitation she told her +father all. As George had declared to the doctor, Monsieur +Loches was a person of violent temper; at this revelation, at the +sight of his daughter's agony, he was almost beside himself. His +face turned purple, the veins stood out on his forehead; a +trembling seized him. He declared that he would kill George-- +there was nothing else to do. Such a scoundrel should not be +permitted to live. + +The effort which Henriette had to make to restrain him had a +calming effect upon herself. Bitter and indignant as she was, +she did not want George to be killed. She clung to her father, +beseeching him to promise her that he would not do such a thing; +and all that day and evening she watched him, unwilling to let +him out of her sight. + +There was a matter which claimed her immediate attention, and +which helped to withdraw them from the contemplation of their own +sufferings. The infant must be fed and cared for--the unhappy +victim of other people's sins, whose life was now imperiled. A +dry nurse must be found at once, a nurse competent to take every +precaution and give the child every chance. This nurse must be +informed of the nature of the trouble--another matter which +required a great deal of anxious thought. + +That evening came Madame Dupont, tormented by anxiety about the +child's welfare, and beseeching permission to help take care of +it. It was impossible to refuse such a request. Henriette could +not endure to see her, but the poor grandmother would come and +sit for hours in the nursery, watching the child and the nurse, +in silent agony. + +This continued for days, while poor George wandered about at +home, suffering such torment of mind as can hardly be imagined. +Truly, in these days he paid for his sins; he paid a thousand- +fold in agonized and impotent regret. He looked back upon the +course of his life, and traced one by one the acts which had led +him and those he loved into this nightmare of torment. He would +have been willing to give his life if he could have undone those +acts. But avenging nature offered him no such easy deliverance +as that. We shudder as we read the grim words of the Jehovah of +the ancient Hebrews; and yet not all the learning of modern times +has availed to deliver us from the cruel decree, that the sins of +the fathers shall be visited upon the children. + +George wrote notes to his wife, imploring her forgiveness. He +poured out all his agony and shame to her, begging her to see him +just once, to give him a chance to plead his defense. It was not +much of a defense, to be sure; it was only that he had done no +worse than the others did--only that he was a wretched victim of +ignorance. But he loved her, he had proven that he loved her, +and he pleaded that for the sake of their child she would forgive +him. + +When all this availed nothing, he went to see the doctor, whose +advice he had so shamefully neglected. He besought this man to +intercede for him--which the doctor, of course, refused to do. +It was an extra-medical matter, he said, and George was absurd to +expect him to meddle in it. + +But, as a matter of fact, the doctor had already been +interceding--he had gone farther in pleading George's cause than +he was willing to have George know. For Monsieur Loches had paid +him a visit--his purpose being to ask the doctor to continue +attendance upon the infant, and also to give Henriette a +certificate which she could use in her suit for a divorce from +her husband. + +So inevitably there had been a discussion of the whole question +between the two men. The doctor had granted the first request, +but refused the second. In the first place, he said, there was a +rule of professional secrecy which would prevent him. And when +the father-in-law requested to know if the rule of professional +secrecy compelled him to protect a criminal against honest +people, the doctor answered that even if his ethics permitted it, +he would still refuse the request. "I would reproach myself +forever," he said, "if I had aided you to obtain such a divorce." + +"Then," cried the old man, vehemently, "because you profess such +and such theories, because the exercise of your profession makes +you the constant witness of such miseries--therefore it is +necessary that my daughter should continue to bear that man's +name all her life!" + +The doctor answered, gently, "Sir, I understand and respect your +grief. But believe me, you are not in a state of mind to decide +about these matters now." + +"You are mistaken," declared the other, controlling himself with +an effort. "I have been thinking about nothing else for days. I +have discussed it with my daughter, and she agrees with me. +Surely, sir, you cannot desire that my daughter should continue +to live with a man who has struck her so brutal, so cowardly, a +blow." + +"If I refuse your request," the doctor answered, "it is in the +interest of your daughter." Then, seeing the other's excitement +returning, he continued, "In your state of mind, Monsieur Loches, +I know that you will probably be abusing me before five minutes +has passed. But that will not trouble me. I have seen many +cases. And since I have made the mistake of letting myself be +trapped into this discussion, I must explain to you the reason +for my attitude. You ask of me a certificate so that you may +prove in court that your son-in-law is afflicted with syphilis." + +"Precisely," said the other. + +"And have you not reflected upon this--that at the same time you +will be publicly attesting that your daughter has been exposed to +the contagion? With such an admission, an admission officially +registered in the public records, do you believe that she will +find it easy to re-marry later on?" + +"She will never re-marry," said the father. + +"She says that today, but can you affirm that she will say the +same thing five years from now, ten years from now? I tell you +you will not obtain that divorce, because I will most certainly +refuse you the necessary certificate." + +"Then," cried the other, "I will find other means of establishing +proofs. I will have the child examined by another doctor!" + +The other answered. "Then you do not find that that poor little +one has been already sufficiently handicapped at the outset of +its life? Your granddaughter has a physical defect. Do you wish +to add to that a certificate of hereditary syphilis, which will +follow her all her life?" + +Monsieur Loches sprang from his chair. "You mean that if the +victims seek to defend themselves, they will be struck the +harder! You mean that the law gives me no weapon against a man +who, knowing his condition, takes a young girl, sound, trusting, +innocent, and befouls her with the result of his debauches--makes +her the mother of a poor little creature, whose future is such +that those who love her the most do not know whether they ought +to pray for her life, or for her immediate deliverance? Sir," he +continued, in his orator's voice, "that man has inflicted upon +the woman he has married a supreme insult. He has made her the +victim of the most odious assault. He has degraded her--he has +brought her, so to speak, into contact with the woman of the +streets. He has created between her and that common woman I know +not what mysterious relationship. It is the poisoned blood of +the prostitute which poisons my daughter and her child; that +abject creature, she lives, she lives in us! She belongs to our +family--he has given her a seat at our hearth! He has soiled the +imagination and the thoughts of my poor child, as he has soiled +her body. He has united forever in her soul the idea of love +which she has placed so high, with I know not what horrors of the +hospitals. He has tainted her in her dignity and her modesty, in +her love as well as in her baby. He has struck her down with +physical and moral decay, he has overwhelmed her with vileness. +And yet the law is such, the customs of society are such, that +the woman cannot separate herself from that man save by the aid +of legal proceedings whose scandal will fall upon herself and +upon her child!" + +Monsieur Loches had been pacing up and down the room as he spoke, +and now he clenched his fists in sudden fury. + +"Very well! I will not address myself to the law. Since I +learned the truth I have been asking myself if it was not my duty +to find that monster and to put a bullet into his head, as one +does to a mad dog. I don't know what weakness, what cowardice, +has held me back, and decided me to appeal to the law. Since the +law will not protect me, I will seek justice for myself. Perhaps +his death will be a good warning for the others!" + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was no +affair of his and that he would not try to interfere. But he +remarked, quietly: "You will be tried for your life." + +"I shall be acquitted!" cried the other. + +"Yes, but after a public revelation of all your miseries. You +will make the scandal greater, the miseries greater--that is all. +And how do you know but that on the morrow of your acquittal, you +will find yourself confronting another court, a higher and more +severe one? How do you know but that your daughter, seized at +last by pity for the man you have killed, will not demand to know +by what right you have acted so, by what right you have made an +orphan of her child? How can you know but that her child also +may some day demand an accounting of you?" + +Monsieur Loches let his hands fall, and stood, a picture of +crushed despair. "Tell me then," he said, in a faint voice, +"what ought I to do?" + +"Forgive!" + +For a while the doctor sat looking at him. "Sir," he said, at +last, "tell me one thing. You are inflexible; you feel you have +the right to be inflexible. But are you really so certain that +it was not your duty, once upon a time, to save your daughter +from the possibility of such misfortune?" + +"What?" cried the other. "My duty? What do you mean?" + +"I mean this, sir. When that marriage was being discussed, you +certainly took precautions to inform yourself about the financial +condition of your future son-in-law. You demanded that he should +prove to you that his stocks and bonds were actual value, listed +on the exchange. Also, you obtained some information about his +character. In fact, you forgot only one point, the most +important of all--that was, to inquire if he was in good health. +You never did that." + +The father-in-law's voice had become faint. "No," he said. + +"But why not?" + +"Because that is not the custom." + +"Very well, but that ought to be the custom. Surely the father +of a family, before he gives his daughter to a man, should take +as much precaution as a business concern which accepts an +employee." + +"You are right," was the reply, "there should be a law." The man +spoke as a deputy, having authority in these matters. + +But the doctor cried, "No, no, sir! Do not make a new law. We +have too many already. There is no need of it. It would suffice +that people should know a little better what syphilis is. The +custom would establish itself very quickly for a suitor to add to +all the other documents which he presents, a certificate of a +doctor, as proof that he could be received into a family without +bringing a pestilence with him. That would be very simple. Once +let the custom be established, then the suitor would go to the +doctor for a certificate of health, just as he goes to the priest +for a certificate that he has confessed; and by that means you +would prevent a great deal of suffering in the world. Or let me +put it another way, sir. Nowadays, before you conclude a +marriage, you get the lawyers of the two families together. It +would be of at least equal importance to get their two doctors +together. You see, sir, your inquiry concerning your son-in-law +was far from complete. So your daughter may fairly ask you, why +you, being a man, being a father who ought to know these things, +did not take as much care of her health as you took of her +fortune. So it is, sir, that I say to you, forgive!" + +But Monsieur Loches said again, "Never!" + +And again the doctor sat and watched him for a minute. "Come, +sir," he began, finally, "since it is necessary to employ the +last argument, I will do so. To be so severe and so pitiless-- +are you yourself without sin?" + +The other answered, "I have never had a shameful disease." + +"I do not ask you that," interrupted the doctor. "I ask you if +you have never exposed yourself to the chance of having it." And +then, reading the other's face, he went on, in a tone of quiet +certainty. "Yes, you have exposed yourself. Then, sir, it was +not virtue that you had; it was good fortune. That is one of the +things which exasperate me the most--that term 'shameful disease' +which you have just used. Like all other diseases, that is one +of our misfortunes, and it is never shameful to be unfortunate-- +even if one has deserved it." The doctor paused, and then with +some excitement he went on: "Come, sir, come, we must understand +each other. Among men the most exacting, among those who with +their middle-class prudery dare not pronounce the name of +syphilis, or who make the most terrifying faces, the most +disgusted, when they consent to speak of it--who regard the +syphilitic as sinners--I should wish to know how many there are +who have never exposed thenselves to a similar misadventure. +They and they alone have the right to speak. How many are there? +Among a thousand men, are there four? Very well, then. +Excepting those four, between all the rest and the syphilitic +there is nothing but the difference of chance." + +There came into the doctor's voice at this moment a note of +intense feeling; for these were matters of which evidence came to +him every day. "I tell you, sir, that such people are deserving +of sympathy, because they are suffering. If they have committed +a fault, they have at least the plea that they are expiating it. +No, sir, let me hear no more of that hypocrisy. Recall your own +youth, sir. That which afflicts your son-in-law, you have +deserved it just as much as he--more than he, perhaps. +Therefore, have pity on him; have for him the toleration which +the unpunished criminal ought to have for the criminal less +fortunate than himself upon whom the penalty has fallen. Is that +not so?" + +Monsieur Loches had been listening to this discourse with the +feeling of a thief before the bar. There was nothing that he +could answer. "Sir," he stammered, "as you present this thing to +me--" + +"But am I not right?" insisted the doctor. + +"Perhaps you are," the other admitted. "But--I cannot say all +that to my daughter, to persuade her to go back to her husband." + +"You can give her other arguments," was the answer. + +"What arguments, in God's name?" + +"There is no lack of them. You will say to her that a separation +would be a misfortune for all; that her husband is the only one +in the world who would be devoted enough to help her save her +child. You will say to her that out of the ruins of her first +happiness she can build herself another structure, far stronger. +And, sir, you will add to that whatever your good heart may +suggest--and we will arrange so that the next child of the pair +shall be sound and vigorous." + +Monsieur Loches received this announcement with the same surprise +that George himself had manifested. "Is that possible?" he +asked. + +The doctor cried: "Yes, yes, yes--a thousand times yes! There +is a phrase which I repeat on every occasion, and which I would +wish to post upon the walls. It is that syphilis is an imperious +mistress, who only demands that one should recognize her power. +She is terrible for those who think her insignificant, and gentle +with those who know how dangerous she is. You know that kind of +mistress--who is only vexed when she is neglected. You may tell +this to your daughter--you will restore her to the arms of her +husband, from whom she has no longer anything to fear, and I will +guarantee that you will be a happy grandfather two years from +now." + +Monsieur Loches at last showed that he was weakened in his +resolution. + +"Doctor," he said, "I do not know that I can ever go so far as +forgiveness, but I promise you that I will do no irreparable act, +and that I will not oppose a reconciliation if after the lapse of +some time--I cannot venture to say how long--my poor child should +make up her mind to a reconciliation." + +"Very good," said the other. "But let me add this: If you have +another daughter, take care to avoid the fault which you +committed when you married off the first." + +"But," said the old man, "I did not know." + +"Ah, surely!" cried the other. "You did not know! You are a +father, and you did not know! You are a deputy, you have assumed +the responsibility and the honor of making our laws--and you did +not know! You are ignorant about syphilis, just as you probably +are ignorant about alcoholism and tuberculosis." + +"No," exclaimed the other, quickly. + +"Very well," said the doctor, "I will leave you out, if you wish. +I am talking of the others, the five hundred, and I don't know +how many more, who are there in the Chamber of Deputies, and who +call themselves representatives of the people. They are not able +to find a single hour to discuss these three cruel gods, to which +egotism and indifference make every day such frightful human +sacrifices. They have not sufficient leisure to combat this +ferocious trinity, which destroys every day thousands of lives. +Alcoholism! It would be necessary to forbid the manufacture of +poisons, and to restrict the number of licenses; but as one has +fear of the great distillers, who are rich and powerful, and of +the little dealers, who are the masters of universal suffrage, +one puts one's conscience to sleep by lamenting the immorality of +the working-class, and publishing little pamphlets and sermons. +Imbeciles! . . .Tuberculosis! Everybody knows the true remedy, +which would be the paying of sufficient wages, and the tearing +down of the filthy tenements into which the laborers are packed-- +those who are the most useful and the most unfortunate among our +population! But needless to say, no one wants that remedy, so we +go round begging the workingmen not to spit on the sidewalks. +Wonderful! But syphilis--why do you not occupy yourself with +that? Why, since you have ministers whose duty it is to attend +to all sorts of things, do you not have a minister to attend to +the public health?" + +"My dear Doctor," responded Monsieur Loches, "you fall into the +French habit of considering the government as the cause of all +evils. Show us the way, you learned gentlemen! Since that is a +matter about which you are informed, and we are ignorant, begin +by telling us what measures you believe to be necessary." + +"Ah, ah!" exclaimed the other. "That's fine, indeed! It was +about eighteen years ago that a project of that nature, worked +out by the Academy of Medicine, and approved by it UNANIMOUSLY, +was sent to the proper minister. We have not yet heard his +reply." + +"You really believe," inquired Monsieur Loches, in some +bewilderment, "you believe that there are some measures--" + +"Sir," broke in the doctor, "before we get though, you are going +to suggest some measures yourself. Let me tell you what happened +today. When I received your card I did not know that you were +the father-in-law of George Dupont. I say that you were a +deputy, and I thought that you wanted to get some information +about these matters. There was a woman patient waiting to see +me, and I kept her in my waiting-room--saying to myself, "This is +just the sort of person that our deputies ought to talk to." + +The doctor paused for a moment, then continued: "Be reassured, I +will take care of your nerves. This patient has no trouble that +is apparent to the eye. She is simply an illustration of the +argument I have been advancing--that our worst enemy is +ignorance. Ignorance--you understand me? Since I have got you +here, sir, I am going to hold you until I have managed to cure a +little of your ignorance! For I tell you, sir, it is a thing +which drives me to distraction--we MUST do something about these +conditions! Take this case, for example. Here is a woman who is +very seriously infected. I told her--well, wait; you shall see +for yourself. + +The doctor went to the door and summoned into the room a woman +whom Monsieur Loches had noticed waiting there. She was verging +on old age, small, frail, and ill-nourished in appearance, poorly +dressed, and yet with a suggestion of refinement about her. She +stood near the door, twisting her hands together nervously, and +shrinking from the gaze of the strange gentleman. The doctor +began in an angry voice. "Did I not tell you to come and see me +once every eight days? Is that not true?" + +The woman answered, in a faint voice, "Yes, sir." + +"Well," he exclaimed, "and how long has it been since you were +here?" + +"Three months, sir." + +"Three months! And you believe that I can take care of you under +such conditions? I give you up! Do you understand? You +discourage me, you discourage me." There was a pause. Then, +seeing the woman's suffering, he began, in a gentler tone, "Come +now, what is the reason that you have not come? Didn't you know +that you have a serious disease--most serious?" + +"Oh, yes, sir," replied the woman, "I know that very well--since +my husband died of it." + +The doctor's voice bore once again its note of pity. "Your +husband died of it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He took no care of himself?" + +"No, sir." + +"And was not that a warning to you?" + +"Doctor," the woman replied, "I would ask nothing better than to +come as often as you told me, but the cost is too great." + +"How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic." + +"Yes, sir," replied the woman, "but that's during working hours, +and then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick +people, and I have to wait my turn, It is in the morning-- +sometimes I lose a whole day--and then my employer is annoyed, +and he threatens to turn me off. It is things like that that +keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any +longer. Then, too, sir--" the woman stopped, hesitating. + +"Well," demanded the doctor. + +"Oh, nothing, sir," she stammered. "You have been too good to me +already." + +"Go on," commanded the other. "Tell me." + +"Well," murmured the woman, "I know I ought not to put on airs, +but you see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband's +misfortune, we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little +pride. I have always managed to take care of myself. I am not a +woman of the streets, and to stand around like that, with +everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one's miseries out loud +before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; I argue +with myself--but all the same, it's hard, sir; I assure you, it +is truly hard." + +"Poor woman!" said the doctor; and for a while there was a +silence. Then he asked: "It was your husband who brought you +the disease?" + +"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Everything which happened to us came +from him. We were living in the country when he got the disease. +He went half crazy. He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. +He gave orders here and there for considerable sums. We were not +able to find the money." + +"Why did he not undergo treatment?" + +"He didn't know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. +But we hadn't a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for +treatment." + +"And then?" + +"Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine." + +"How was that?" + +"Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn't +been a resident six months, one has no right to free medicine." + +"Is that true?" broke in Monsieur Loches quickly. + +"Yes," said the doctor, "that's the rule." + +"So you see," said the woman, "it was not our fault." + +"You never had children?" inquired the doctor. + +"I was never able to bring one to birth," was the answer. "My +husband was taken just at the beginning of our marriage--it was +while he was serving in the army. You know, sir--there are women +about the garrisons--" She stopped, and there was a long +silence. + +"Come," said the doctor, "that's all right. I will arrange it +with you. You can come here to my office, and you can come on +Sunday mornings." And as the poor creature started to express +her gratitude, he slipped a coin into her hand. "Come, come; +take it," he said gruffly. "You are not going to play proud with +me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you. Hush!" And he +pushed her out of the door. + +Then he turned to the deputy. "You heard her story, sir," he +said. "Her husband was serving his time in the army; it was you +law-makers who compelled him to do that. And there are women +about the garrisons--you heard how her voice trembled as she said +that? Take my advice, sir, and look up the statistics as to the +prevalence of this disease among our soldiers. Come to some of +my clinics, and let me introduce you to other social types. You +don't care very much about soldiers, perhaps--they belong to the +lower classes, and you think of them as rough men. But let me +show you what is going on among our college students--among the +men our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the +women who prey upon them! Perhaps, who knows--I can show you the +very woman who was the cause of all the misery in your own +family!" + +And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to +him and took him by the hand. "Promise me, sir," he said, +earnestly, "that you will come back and let me teach you more +about these matters. It is a chance that I must not let go--the +first time in my life that I ever got hold of a real live deputy! +Come and make a study of this subject, and let us try to work out +some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to remedy these +frightful evils!" + + + +CHAPTER VI + +George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. +He was wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest +in any of the things which had pleased him before. He was +ashamed to meet any of his friends, because he imagined that +everyone must have heard the dreadful story--or because he was +not equal to making up explanations for his mournful state. He +no longer cared much about his work. What was the use of making +a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to spend +them for? + +All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. +He was reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way +brought him a separate pang of grief. He had never realized how +much he had come to depend upon her in every little thing--until +now, when her companionship was withdrawn from him, and +everything seemed to be a blank. He would come home at night, +and opposite to him at the dinner-table would be his mother, +silent and spectral. How different from the days when Henriette +was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that +had happened to him through the day! + +There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no +longer hear how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to +ask his mother the news. Thus poor George was paying for his +sins. He could make no complaints against the price, however +high--only sometimes he wondered whether he would be able to pay +it. There were times of such discouragement that he thought of +different ways of killing himself. + +A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was +walking one day in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose +face struck him as familiar. At first he could not recollect +where he had seen her. It was only when she was nearly opposite +him that he realized--it was the girl who had been the cause of +all his misery! + +He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught +his, and she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, "Why, how do +you do?" + +George had to face her. "How do you do?" he responded, weakly. + +She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not +much welcome in his clasp. "Where have you been keeping +yourself?" she asked. Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good- +naturedly, "What's the matter? You don't seem glad to see me." + +The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her +arm, as if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as +when George had met her before, and doubtless she thought that +was the reason for his lack of cordiality. This made him rather +ashamed, and so, only half realizing what he was doing, he began +to stroll along with her. + +"Why did you never come to see me again?" she asked. + +George hesitated. "I--I--" he stammered--"I've been married +since then." + +She laughed. "Oh! So that's it!" And then, as they came to a +bench under some trees, "Won't you sit down a while?" There was +allurement in her glance, but it made George shudder. It was +incredible to him that he had ever been attracted by this crude +girl. The spell was now broken completely. + +She quickly saw that something was wrong. "You don't seem very +cheerful," she said. "What's the matter?" + +And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, "Don't you +know what you did to me?" + +"What I did to you?" Therese repeated wonderingly. + +"You must know!" he insisted. + +And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. "Why--" she +stammered. + +There was silence between them. When George spoke again his +voice was low and trembling. "You ruined my whole life," he +said--"not only mine, but my family's. How could you do it?" + +She strove to laugh it off. "A cheerful topic for an afternoon +stroll!" + +For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a +whisper, he repeated, "How could you do it?" + +"Some one did it to me first," was the response. "A man!" + +"Yes," said George, "but he didn't know." + +"How can you tell whether he knew or not?" + +"You knew?" he inquired, wonderingly. + +Therese hesitated. "Yes, I knew," she said at last, defiantly. +"I have known for years." + +"And I'm not the only man." + +She laughed. "I guess not!" + +There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, "I don't want +to blame you; there's nothing to be gained by that; it's done, +and can't be undone. But sometimes I wonder about it. I should +like to understand--why did you do it?" + +"Why? That's easy enough. I did it because I have to live." + +"You live that way?" he exclaimed. + +"Why of course. What did you think?" + +"I thought you were a--a--" He hesitated. + +"You thought I was respectable," laughed Therese. "Well, that's +just a little game I was playing on you." + +"But I didn't give you any money!" he argued. + +"Not that time," she said, "but I thought you would come back." + +He sat gazing at her. "And you earn your living that way still?" +he asked. "When you know what's the matter with you! When you +know--" + +"What can I do? I have to live, don't I?" + +"But don't you even take care of yourself? Surely there must be +some way, some place--" + +"The reformatory, perhaps," she sneered. "No, thanks! I'll go +there when the police catch me, not before. I know some girls +that have tried that." + +"But aren't you afraid?" cried the man. "And the things that +will happen to you! Have you ever talked to a doctor--or read a +book?" + +"I know," she said. "I've seen it all. If it comes to me, I'll +go over the side of one of the bridges some dark night." + +George sat lost in thought. A strange adventure it seemed to +him--to meet this girl under such different circumstances! It +was as if he were watching a play from behind the scenes instead +of in front. If only he had had this new view in time--how +different would have been his life! And how terrible it was to +think of the others who didn't know--the audience who were still +sitting out in front, watching the spectacle, interested in it!" + +His thoughts came back to Therese. He was curious about her and +the life she lived. "Tell me a little about it," he said. "How +you came to be doing this." And he added, "Don't think I want to +preach; I'd really like to understand." + +"Oh, it's a common story," she said--"nothing especially +romantic. I came to Paris when I was a girl. My parents had +died, and I had no friends, and I didn't know what to do. I got +a place as a nursemaid. I was seventeen years old then, and I +didn't know anything. I believed what I was told, and I believed +my employer. His wife was ill in a hospital, and he said he +wanted to marry me when she died. Well, I liked him, and I was +sorry for him--and then the first thing I knew I had a baby. And +then the wife came back, and I was turned off. I had been a +fool, of course. If I had been in her place should have done +just what she did." + +The girl was speaking in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, as of +things about which she was no longer able to suffer. "So, there +I was--on the street," she went on. "You have always had money, +a comfortable home, education, friends to help you--all that. +You can't imagine how it is to be in the world without any of +these things. I lived on my savings as long as I could; then I +had to leave my baby in a foundling's home, and I went out to do +my five hours on the boulevards. You know the game, I have no +doubt." + +Yes, George knew the game. Somehow or other he no longer felt +bitter towards this poor creature. She was part of the system of +which he was a victim also. There was nothing to be gained by +hating each other. Just as the doctor said, what was needed was +enlightenment. "Listen," he said, "why don't you try to get +cured?" + +"I haven't got the price," was the answer. + +"Well," he said, hesitatingly, "I know a doctor--one of the +really good men. He has a free clinic, and I've no doubt he +would take you in if I asked him to." + +"YOU ask him?" echoed the other, looking at George in surprise. + +The young man felt somewhat uncomfortable. He was not used to +playing the role of the good Samaritan. "I--I need not tell him +about us," he stammered. "I could just say that I met you. I +have had such a wretched time myself, I feel sorry for anybody +that's in the same plight. I should like to help you if I +could." + +The girl sat staring before her, lost in thought. "I have +treated you badly, I guess," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm ashamed +of myself." + +George took a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote the +doctor's address. "Here it is," he said, in a business-like way, +because he felt that otherwise he could become sentimental. He +was half tempted to tell the woman what had happened to him, and +all about Henriette and the sick child; but he realized that that +would not do. So he rose and shook hands with her and left. + +The next time he saw the doctor he told him about this girl. He +decided to tell him the truth--having already made so many +mistakes trying to conceal things. The doctor agreed to treat +the woman, making the condition that George promise not to see +her again. + +The young man was rather shocked at this. "Doctor," he +exclaimed, "I assure you you are mistaken. The thing you have in +mind would be utterly impossible." + +"I know," said the other, "you think so. But I think, young man, +that I know more about life than you do. When a man and a woman +have once committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. +The less time they spend talking about their misfortunes, and +being generous and forbearing to each other, the better for them +both." + +"But, Doctor," cried George. "I love Henriette! I could not +possibly love anyone else. It would be horrible to me!" + +"Yes," said the doctor. "But you are not living with Henriette. +You are wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself +next." + +There was no need for anybody to tell George that. "What do you +think?" he asked abruptly. "Is there any hope for me?" + +"I think there is," said the other, who, in spite of his +resolution, had become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy +husband. He had to go to the Loches house to attend the child, +and so he could not help seeing Henriette, and talking to her +about the child's health and her own future. He considered that +George had had his lesson, and urged upon the young wife that he +would be wiser in future, and safe to trust. + +George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he +went to call at the physician's office--he could read them in the +faces of the people he saw there. One day when he was alone in +the waiting-room, the doctor came out of his inner office, +talking to an elderly gentleman, whom George recognized as the +father of one of his classmates at college. The father was a +little shopkeeper, and the young man remembered how pathetically +proud he had been of his son. Could it be, thought George, that +this old man was a victim of syphilis? + +But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of +the consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved +voice, and he stood so that George could not help hearing what he +said. "Perhaps you can't understand," he said, "just what it +means to us--the hopes we had of that boy! Such a fine fellow he +was, and a good fellow, too, sir! We were so proud of him; we +had bled our veins to keep him in college--and now just see!" + +"Don't despair, sir," said the doctor, "we'll try to cure him." +And he added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which +George had heard, "Why did you wait so long before you brought +the boy to me?" + +"How was I to know what he had?" cried the other. "He didn't +dare tell me, sir--he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the +meantime the disease was running its course. When he realized +that he had it, he went secretly to one of the quacks, who robbed +him, and didn't cure him. You know how it is, sir." + +"Yes, I know," said the doctor. + +"Such things ought not to be permitted," cried the old man. +"What is our government about that it allows such things to go +on? Take the conditions there at the college where my poor boy +was ruined. At the very gates of the building these women are +waiting for the lads! Ought they to be permitted to debauch +young boys only fifteen years old? Haven't we got police enough +to prevent a thing like that? Tell me, sir!" + +"One would think so," said the doctor, patiently. + +"But is it that the police don't want to?" + +"No doubt they have the same excuse as all the rest--they don't +know. Take courage, sir; we have cured worse cases than your +son's. And some day, perhaps, we shall be able to change these +conditions." + +So he went on with the man, leaving George with something to +think about. How much he could have told them about what had +happened to that young fellow when only fifteen years old! It +had not been altogether the fault of the women who were lurking +outside of the college gates; it was a fact that the boy's +classmates had teased him and ridiculed him, had literally made +his life a torment, until he had yielded to temptation. + +It was the old, old story of ignorant and unguided schoolboys all +over the world! They thought that to be chaste was to be weak +and foolish; that a fellow was not a man unless he led a life of +debauchery like the rest. And what did they know about these +dreadful diseases? They had the most horrible superstitions-- +ideas of cures so loathsome that they could not be set down in +print; ideas as ignorant and destructive as those of savages in +the heart of Africa. And you might hear them laughing and +jesting about one another's condition. They might be afflicted +with diseases which would have the most terrible after-effects +upon their whole lives and upon their families--diseases which +cause tens of thousands of surgical operations upon women, and a +large percentage of blindness and idiocy in children--and you +might hear them confidently express the opinion that these +diseases were no worse than a bad cold! + +And all this mass of misery and ignorance covered over and +clamped down by a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible +superstition of sex-prudery! George went out from the doctor's +office trembling with excitement over this situation. Oh, why +had not some one warned him in time? Why didn't the doctors and +the teachers lift up their voices and tell young men about these +frightful dangers? He wanted to go out in the highways and +preach it himself--except that he dared not, because he could not +explain to the world his own sudden interest in this forbidden +topic. + +These was only one person he dared to talk to: that was his +mother--to whom he ought to have talked many, many years before. +He was moved to mention to her the interview he had overheard in +the doctor's office. In a sudden burst of grief he told her of +his struggles and temptations; he pleaded with her to go to +Henriette once more--to tell her these things, and try to make +her realize that he alone was not to blame for them, that they +were a condition which prevailed everywhere, that the only +difference between her husband and other men was that he had had +the misfortune to be caught. + +There was pressure being applied to Henriette from several sides. +After all, what could she do? She was comfortable in her +father's home, so far as the physical side of things went; but +she knew that all her friends were gossiping and speculating +about her separation from her husband, and sooner or later she +would have to make up her mind, either to separate permanently +from George or to return to him. There was not much happiness +for her in the thought of getting a divorce from a man whom deep +in her heart she loved. She would be practically a widow the +rest of her life, and the home in which poor little Gervaise +would be brought up would not be a cheerful one. + +George was ready to offer any terms, if only she would come back +to his home. They might live separate lives for as long as +Henriette wished. They would have no more children until the +doctor declared it was quite safe; and in the meantime he would +be humble and patient, and would try his best to atone for the +wrong that he had done her. + +To these arguments Madame Dupont added others of her own. She +told the girl some things which through bitter experience she had +learned about the nature and habits of men; things that should be +told to every girl before marriage, but which almost all of them +are left to find out afterwards, with terrible suffering and +disillusionment. Whatever George's sins may have been, he was a +man who had been chastened by suffering, and would know how to +value a woman's love for the rest of his life. Not all men knew +that--not even those who had been fortunate in escaping from the +so-called "shameful disease." + +Henriette was also hearing arguments from her father, who by this +time had had time to think things over, and had come to the +conclusion that the doctor was right. He had noted his son-in- +law's patience and penitence, and had also made sure that in +spite of everything Henriette still loved him. The baby +apparently was doing well; and the Frenchman, with his strong +sense of family ties, felt it a serious matter to separate a +child permanently from its father. So in the end he cast the +weight of his influence in favor of a reconciliation, and +Henriette returned to her husband, upon terms which the doctor +laid down. + +The doctor played in these negotiations the part which he had not +been allowed to play in the marriage. For the deputy was now +thoroughly awake to the importance of the duty he owed his +daughter. In fact, he had become somewhat of a "crank" upon the +whole subject. He had attended several of the doctor's clinics, +and had read books and pamphlets on the subject of syphilis, and +was now determined that there should be some practical steps +towards reform. + +At the outset, he had taken the attitude of the average +legislator, that the thing to do was to strengthen the laws +against prostitution, and to enforce them more strictly. He +echoed the cry of the old man whom George had heard in the +doctor's office: "Are there not enough police?" + +"We must go to the source," he declared. "We must proceed +against these miserable women--veritable poisoners that they +are!" + +He really thought this was going to the source! But the doctor +was quick to answer his arguments. "Poisoners?" he said. "You +forget that they have first been poisoned. Every one of these +women who communicates the disease has first received it from +some man." + +Monsieur Loches advanced to his second idea, to punish the men. +But the doctor had little interest in this idea either. He had +seen it tried so many times--such a law could never be enforced. +What must come first was education, and by this means a +modification of morals. People must cease to treat syphilis as a +mysterious evil, of which not even the name could be pronounced. + +"But," objected the other, "one cannot lay it bare to children in +our educational institutions!" + +"Why not?" asked the doctor. + +"Because, sir, there are curiosities which it would be imprudent +to awaken." + +The doctor became much excited whenever he heard this argument. +"You believe that you are preventing these curiosities from +awakening?" he demanded. "I appeal to those--both men and +women--who have passed through colleges and boarding schools! +Such curiosities cannot be smothered, and they satisfy themselves +as best they can, basely, vilely. I tell you, sir, there is +nothing immoral about the act which perpetuates life by means of +love. But we organize around it, so far as concerns our +children, a gigantic and rigorous conspiracy of silence. The +worthy citizen takes his daughter and his son to popular musical +comedies, where they listen to things which would make a monkey +blush; but it is forbidden to discuss seriously before the young +that act of love which people seem to think they should only know +of through blasphemies and profanations! Either that act is a +thing of which people can speak without blushing--or else, sir, +it is a matter for the innuendoes of the cabaret and the +witticisms of the messroom! Pornography is admitted, but science +is not! I tell you, sir, that is the thing which must be +changed! We must elevate the soul of the young man by taking +these facts out of the realm of mystery and of slang. We must +awaken in him a pride in that creative power with which each one +of us is endowed. We must make him understand that he is a sort +of temple in which is prepared the future of the race, and we +must teach him that he must transmit, intact, the heritage +entrusted to him--the precious heritage which has been built out +of the tears and miseries and sufferings of an interminable line +of ancestors!" + +So the doctor argued. He brought forth case after case to prove +that the prostitute was what she was, not because of innate +vileness, but because of economic conditions. It happened that +the deputy came to one of the clinics where he met Therese. The +doctor brought her into his consulting room, after telling her +that the imposing-looking gentleman was a friend of the director +of the opera, and might be able to recommend her for a position +on the stage to which she aspired. "Tell him all about +yourself," he said, "how you live, and what you do, and what you +would like to do. You will get him interested in you." + +So the poor girl retold the story of her life. She spoke in a +matter-of-fact voice, and when she came to tell how she had been +obliged to leave her baby in the foundling asylum, she was +surprised that Monsieur Loches showed horror. "What could I do?" +she demanded. "How could I have taken care of it?" + +"Didn't you ever miss it?" he asked. + +"Of course I missed it. But what difference did that make? It +would have died of hunger with me." + +"Still," he said, "it was your child--" + +"It was the father's child, too, wasn't it? Much attention he +paid to it! If I had been sure of getting money enough, I would +have put it out to nurse. But with the twenty-five or thirty +francs a month I could have earned as a servant, could I have +paid for a baby? That's the situation a girl faces--so long as I +wanted to remain honest, it was impossible for me to keep my +child. You answer, perhaps, 'You didn't stay honest anyway.' +That's true. But then--when you are hungry, and a nice young +fellow offers you dinner, you'd have to be made of wood to refuse +him. Of course, if I had had a trade--but I didn't have any. So +I went on the street--You know how it is." + +"Tell us about it," said the doctor. "This gentleman is from the +country." + +"Is that so?" said the girl. "I never supposed there was anyone +who didn't know about such things. Well, I took the part of a +little working-girl. A very simple dress--things I had made +especially for that--a little bundle in a black napkin carried in +my hand--so I walked along where the shops are. It's tiresome, +because to do it right, you have to patter along fast. Then I +stop before a shop, and nine times out of ten, there you are! A +funny thing is that the men--you'd imagine they had agreed on the +words to approach you with. They have only two phrases; they +never vary them. It's either, 'You are going fast, little one.' +Or it's, 'Aren't you afraid all alone?' One thing or the other. +One knows pretty well what they mean. Isn't it so?" The girl +paused, then went on. "Again, I would get myself up as a young +widow. There, too, one has to walk fast: I don't know why that +should be so, but it is. After a minute or two of conversation, +they generally find out that I am not a young widow, but that +doesn't make any difference--they go on just the same." + +"Who are the men?" asked the deputy. "Clerks? Traveling +salesmen?" + +"Not much," she responded. "I keep a lookout for gentlemen--like +yourself." + +"They SAY they are gentlemen," he suggested. + +"Sometimes I can see it," was the response. "Sometimes they wear +orders. It's funny--if they have on a ribbon when you first +notice them, they follow you, and presto--the ribbon is gone! I +always laugh over that. I've watched them in the glass of the +shop windows. They try to look unconcerned, but as they walk +along they snap out the ribbon with their thumb--as one shells +little peas, you know." + +She paused; then, as no one joined in her laugh, she continued, +"Well, at last the police got after me, That's a story that I've +never been able to understand. Those filthy men gave me a nasty +disease, and then I was to be shut in prison for it! That was a +little too much, it seems to me." + +"Well," said the doctor, grimly, "you revenged yourself on them-- +from what you have told me." + +The other laughed. "Oh, yes," she said. "I had my innings." +She turned to Monsieur Loches. "You want me to tell you that? +Well, just on the very day I learned that the police were after +me, I was coming home furious, naturally. It was on the +Boulevard St. Denis, if you know the place--and whom do you think +I met? My old master--the one who got me into trouble, you know. +There it was, God's own will! I said to myself, 'Now, my good +fellow, here's the time where you pay me what you owe me, and +with interest, too!' I put on a little smile--oh, it didn't take +very long, you may be sure!" + +The woman paused; her face darkened, and she went on, in a voice +trembling with agitation: "When I had left him, I was seized +with a rage. A sort of madness got into my blood. I took on all +the men who offered themselves, for whatever they offered me, for +nothing, if they didn't offer me anything. I took as many as I +could, the youngest ones and the handsomest ones. Just so! I +only gave them back what they had given to me. And since that +time I haven't really cared about anyone any more. I just turned +it all into a joke." She paused, and then looking at the deputy, +and reading in his face the horror with which he was regarding +her, "Oh, I am not the only one!" she exclaimed. "There are lots +of other women who do the same. To be sure, it is not for +vengeance--it is because they must have something to eat. For +even if you have syphilis, you have to eat, don't you? Eh?" + +She had turned to the doctor, but he did not answer. There was a +long silence; and then thinking that his friend, the deputy, had +heard enough for one session, the doctor rose. He dismissed the +woman, the cause of all George Dupont's misfortunes, and turning +to Monsieur Loches, said: "It was on purpose that I brought that +wretched prostitute before you. In her the whole story is summed +up--not merely the story of your son-in-law, but that of all the +victims of the red plague. That woman herself is a victim, and +she is a symbol of the evil which we have created and which falls +upon our own heads again. I could add nothing to her story, I +only ask you, Monsieur Loches--when next you are proposing new +laws in the Chamber of Deputies, not to forget the horrors which +that poor woman has exposed to you!" + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Damaged Goods, by Upton Sinclair + diff --git a/old/old/dmgds10.zip b/old/old/dmgds10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a33c61 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/dmgds10.zip |