Walking along the deck below the promenade deck, one passed a covered
gangway on both the starboard and port sides, into which opened various
official rooms, including the officers' cabins, among them Doctor
Wilhelm's, a comparatively spacious room, containing a bed, a table,
chairs, and a well-equipped medicine closet.
The gentlemen had scarcely seated themselves when a Red Cross sister,
who worked under Doctor Wilhelm's direction, appeared and gave a report,
smiling as she did so, of a woman patient in the second cabin.
"In my two years of practice on a steamer, this is the fifth time I have
had a case like this," Doctor Wilhelm said after the sister had left.
"Girls who can no longer conceal the consequences of their mistake and
are at loss what to do, take passage on a ship, when it is almost certain
that the event they expect will occur. Such girls, of course, never
suspect that they are typical on all sea trips, and are surprised when
our stewards and stewardesses sometimes treat them with corresponding
respect. I myself, of course, always do all I can for the poor creatures,
and I usually succeed in inducing the captains not to make an
announcement of the birth, in case there is one. Once a girl about whom
we could not help giving notice was found hanging to the window sash in
her lodgings near the harbour."
Over their coffee and Simon Arzt cigarettes, the whole woman question was
unrolled.
"So far," said Frederick, "the woman question is nothing but the old-maid
question, at least in the way women conceive it. The sterility of old
maids sterilizes the whole movement."
Frederick developed his ideas. But tormenting visions of Mara and her
admirer pursued him, and he discoursed mechanically, his reasoning on the
woman question having become a matter of rote to him.
"The vital germinal spot of each reform in women's rights," he argued
with apparent liveliness, blowing clouds of smoke, "must be the maternal
instinct. The cells of the future cell-state, which will be a healthier
social body, is the woman with the maternal instinct. The great women
reformers are not those who would have women act just like men in all
externals, but those who are conscious that all men, even the greatest,
were born of women. They are the conscious mothers of the race of men and
gods. A woman's natural right is her right to the child, and it is a most
inglorious page in the history of woman that she has allowed herself to
be deprived of that right. The birth of the child, in so far as it is not
sanctioned by a man, is subject to the fire and brimstone of public
scorn. And this scorn is the most pitiful page in man's history. The
devil knows how it ever came to possess such awful, absolute dominion.
Form a league of mothers, I should counsel women. Each member shall give
token of her motherhood by having children without the sanction of a man,
that is, without regard for so-called honour. In this lies woman's
strength, but only if she takes pride in her child, instead of bearing
it with a troubled conscience, in cowardice, concealment, and fear.
Reacquire your proud, instinctive consciousness, which you are fully
justified in having, of being the mothers of humanity; and having that
consciousness, you will be invincible."
Doctor Wilhelm, who kept in touch with professional circles, was
acquainted with Frederick's name and the outcome of his scientific
career. His unfortunate bacteriological work was on his book shelf.
Nevertheless, the name of Frederick von Kammacher had an authoritative
ring, and association with the great man flattered him. He listened to
Frederick's exposition intently.
The Red Cross sister entered again to summon Doctor Wilhelm to a
first-class woman patient. The physician's small, close hermitage, in
which Frederick was now left alone, gave him opportunity to reflect upon
the meaning of his remarkable journey. The _Roland_ was proceeding more
smoothly, and while he sat there smoking cigarettes, a sense of comfort
came over him, partly attributable, however, to the general effect of a
sea trip on one's nerves. It seemed wonderful to him to be on this great
transport of human cargo, to be driven onward to a new continent along
with so many fellow-men, subject to the same weal and woe. And the cause
of his presence on the ship was so curious! Never before had he had so
strange a sense of being a will-less puppet in the hands of destiny.
Again dark and light illusions mingled in his brain. He thought of
Ingigerd, whom he had not yet seen; and when he touched the quivering
wall of the low room, he was penetrated by happiness, that the same walls
were protecting him as the little dancer and that the same bottom was
holding them up.
"It's not true. It's a lie," he repeated half aloud, referring to the
statement of the armless man, that Hahlström was exposing his daughter
to dishonour and was exploiting her.
Doctor Wilhelm's return aroused Frederick from his dreams with a painful
shock. Doctor Wilhelm laughed and continued to laugh, as he threw his cap
on the bed and said:
"I've just dragged our little Hahlström and her pet dog on deck. The
little imp has been giving a regular performance, in which her faithful
poodle, Achleitner, plays the part, one moment of the beaten cur, the
next moment of the spoiled darling."
Doctor Wilhelm's report made Frederick uneasy. The first time he had seen
Mara, she seemed to him the incarnation of childish purity and innocence.
But since then, rumours had reached his ears which shook his faith in her
chastity and caused him many agonised hours and sleepless nights. He had
even had an excellent opinion of her father, and that, too, was shaken.
Doctor Wilhelm, who also seemed to be extremely interested in Ingigerd,
began to speak of Achleitner.
"He told me in confidence, he's engaged to her."
Frederick remained silent. That was his only way of concealing his
profound dismay, now that the ship's doctor confirmed the supposition he
had expressed at the dinner-table.
"Achleitner is a faithful dog," Doctor Wilhelm continued. "He is one of
those men who have a canine sort of patience. He sits up on his hind legs
and begs for a lump of sugar. He fetches and carries and lies down and
plays dead. She could do whatever she wanted, and he would still, I
think, be her patient, faithful poodle. If you'd like to, Doctor von
Kammacher, we might go on deck and visit her. She's lots of fun. Besides
we can watch the sun set."