“But will not that disturb him?”
“Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information.”
“Well, lead the way.”
He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and
finally led me into a beautiful office, somewhat somber, furnished
throughout in black wood. A stout young man with a corporation was
writing a letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave
evidence of its quality.
He rose. We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired
he asked:
“What can I do for you?”
“Monsieur,” I replied, “pardon my curiosity. I had never seen this
establishment. The few words inscribed on the facade filled me with
astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here.”
He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent
air:
“Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentle--I do not
venture to say agreeable manner those persons who desire to die.”
I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and
right. What particularly surprised me was that on this planet, with its
low, utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true
freedom, any one should venture on a similar enterprise, worthy of an
emancipated humanity.
“How did you get the idea?” I asked.
“Monsieur,” he replied, “the number of suicides increased so enormously
during the five years succeeding the world exposition of 1889 that some
measures were urgently needed. People killed themselves in the streets,
at fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the
receptions held by the President of the Republic, everywhere. It was
not only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad
example for children. Hence it became necessary to centralize suicides.”
“What caused this suicidal epidemic?”
“I do not know. The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old. People
begin to see things clearly and they are getting disgruntled. It is the
same to-day with destiny as with the government, we have found out what
it is; people find that they are swindled in every direction, and they
just get out of it all. When one discovers that Providence lies,
cheats, robs, deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives
his constituents, one gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a
fresh Providence every three months as we do with our privileged
representatives, one just gets out of the whole thing, which is
decidedly bad.”
“Really!”
“Oh, as for me, I am not complaining.”
“Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?”
“With pleasure. You may become a member when you please. It is a club.”
“A club!”
“Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men
of the highest intellect and brightest intelligence. And,” he added,
laughing heartily, “I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of
enjoyment out of it.”
“In this place?”
“Yes, in this place.”
“You surprise me.”
“Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of
death which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures.”
“But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill
themselves?”
“One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason
to commit suicide.”
“But then?”
“I will explain. In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of
the hideous spectacle they presented, a purely benevolent society was
formed for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their
disposal the facilities for a peaceful, painless, if not unforeseen
death.”
“Who can have authorized such an institution?”
“General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power. He could never
refuse anything. However, that was the only good thing he did. Hence, a
society was formed of clear-sighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired
to erect in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the
contempt for death. This place was formerly a dreaded spot that no one
ventured to approach. Then its founders, who met together here, gave a
grand inaugural entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo,
Granier, and twenty others, and Mme. de Reske, Coquelin, Mounet-Sully,
Paulus, etc., present, followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of
Meilhac, Halevy and Sardon. We had only one thing to mar it, one drama
by Becque which seemed sad, but which subsequently had a great success
at the Comedie-Francaise. In fact all Paris came. The enterprise was
launched.”
“In the midst of the festivities! What a funereal joke!”
“Not at all. Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of
indifference. We made death cheerful, crowned it with flowers, covered
it with perfume, made it easy. One learns to aid others through example;
one can see that it is nothing.”
“I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but
did they come to... Death?”
“Not at first; they were afraid.”
“And later?”
“They came.”
“Many of them?”
“In crowds. We have had more than forty in a day. One finds hardly any
more drowned bodies in the Seine.”
“Who was the first?”
“A club member.”
“As a sacrifice to the cause?”
“I don't think so. A man who was sick of everything, a 'down and out'
who had lost heavily at baccarat for three months.”
“Indeed?”
“The second was an Englishman, an eccentric. We then advertised in the
papers, we gave an account of our methods, we invented some attractive
instances. But the great impetus was given by poor people.”
“How do you go to work?”
“Would you like to see? I can explain at the same time.”
“Yes, indeed.”
He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we
entered a card room, where men sat playing as they, play in all gambling
places. They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly. I have seldom seen such
a jolly, lively, mirthful club.
As I seemed surprised, the secretary said:
“Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige. All the smart people
all over the world belong to it so as to appear as though they held
death in scorn. Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be
cheerful that they may not appear to be afraid. So they joke and laugh
and talk flippantly, they are witty and they become so. At present it is
certainly the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris.
The women are even thinking of building an annex for themselves.”
“And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?”
“As I said, about forty or fifty a day. Society people are rare, but
poor devils abound. The middle class has also a large contingent.
“And how... do they do?”
“They are asphyxiated... very slowly.”
“In what manner?”
“A gas of our own invention. We have the patent. On the other side of
the building are the public entrances--three little doors opening
on small streets. When a man or a woman present themselves they are
interrogated. Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection. If a
client accepts, inquiries are made; and sometimes we have saved their
lives.”
“Where do you get your money?”
“We have a great deal. There are a large number of shareholders. Besides
it is fashionable to contribute to the establishment. The names of the
donors are published in Figaro. Then the suicide of every rich man costs
a thousand francs. And they look as if they were lying in state. It
costs the poor nothing.”
“How can you tell who is poor?”
“Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess! And, besides, they must bring a
certificate of indigency from the commissary of police of their
district. If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in! I
visited their part of our building once only, and I will never go again.
The place itself is almost as good as this part, almost as luxurious and
comfortable; but they themselves... they themselves!!! If you could see
them arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who have been
dying of misery for months, picking up their food at the edges of the
curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick,
paralyzed, incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have
told us their story: 'You see that things cannot go on like that, as
I cannot work any longer or earn anything.' I saw one woman of
eighty-seven who had lost all her children and grandchildren, and who
for the last six weeks had been sleeping out of doors. It made me ill to
hear of it. Then we have so many different cases, without counting those
who say nothing, but simply ask: 'Where is it?' These are admitted at
once and it is all over in a minute.”
With a pang at my heart I repeated:
“And... where is it?”
“Here,” and he opened a door, adding:
“Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the
one least used. We have so far had only eleven annihilations here.”
“Ah! You call that an... annihilation!”
“Yes, monsieur. Go in.”
I hesitated. At length I went in. It was a wide corridor, a sort
of greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale blue, tender pink and
delicate green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing
walls. In this pretty salon there were divans, magnificent palms,
flowers, especially roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables, the
Revue des Deuxmondes, cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised
me, Vichy pastilles in a bonbonniere.
As I expressed my surprise, my guide said:
“Oh, they often come here to chat.” He continued: “The public corridors
are similar, but more simply furnished.”
In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with
creamy crepe de Chine with white embroidery, beneath a large shrub of
unknown variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.
The secretary added in a lower tone:
“We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is
quite imperceptible, gives death the fragrance of the suicide's favorite
flower. It is volatilized with essences. Would you like to inhale it for
a second?”
“'No, thank you,” I said hastily, “not yet....”
He began to laugh.
“Oh, monsieur, there is no danger. I have tried it myself several
times.”