it to pieces. She was furious and swore that she would never write
another book. He asked her whether she wrote for praise, whether she
was ambitious?--She replied by a question: Why did he write?--A little
quarrel arose. He said it was refreshing to hear her express views
which did not echo his own--always his own.--Always his own? What did
he mean? Didn’t she have _views of her own_? She henceforth made it
her business to prove to him on every occasion that she was capable of
forming her own opinions; and to prevent any errors on his part she
took good care that they always differed from his. He told her he did
not care what views she held as long as she loved him.--Love? What about
it? He was no better than other men and, moreover, he had betrayed her.
He did not love her soul, but her body.--No, he loved both, he loved
her, every bit of her!--Oh! How deceitful he had been!--No, he had not
been deceitful, he had merely deceived himself when he believed that he
loved her soul only.
They were tired of strolling up and down the boulevard, and sat down
before a cafe. She lighted a cigarette. A waiter requested her rather
uncivilly, not to smoke. The Baron demanded an explanation and the
waiter said that the cafe was a first-class establishment and the
management was anxious not to drive away respectable people by serving
_these ladies_. They rose from their seats, paid and went away. The
Baron was furious, the young Baroness had tears in her eyes.
“There they had a demonstration of the power of prejudice! Smoking was
a foolish act as far as a man was concerned, but in a woman it was a
crime! Let him who was able to do so, destroy this prejudice! Or, let
us say, him who would care to do so! The Baron had no wish that his
wife should be the first victim, even if it were to win for her the
doubtful honour of having cast aside a prejudice. For it was nothing
else. In Russia, ladies belonging to the best society smoked at the
dinner-table during the courses. Customs changed with the latitudes.
And yet those trifles were not without importance, for life consisted
of trifles. If men and women shared bad habits, intercourse between
them would be less stiff and formal: they would make friends more
easily and keep pace with one another. If they had the same education,
they would have the same interests, and cling together more closely
during the whole of their lives.”
The Baron was silent as if he had said something foolish. But she had
not been listening to him; her thoughts had been far away.
“She had been insulted by a waiter, told that she was not fit to
associate with respectable people. There was more behind that, than
appeared on the surface. She had been recognised. Yes, she was sure of
it, it was not the first time that she had noticed it.”
“What had she noticed?”
“That she had been treated with little respect at the restaurants. The
people evidently did not think that they were married; because they
were affectionate and civil to one another. She had borne it in silence
for a long time, but now she had come to the end of her tether. And yet
this was nothing compared to what they were saying at home!”
“Well, what were they saying? And why had she never told him anything
about it before?”
“Oh! horrible things! The letters she had received! Leaving the
anonymous ones quite out of the question.
“Well, and what about him? Was he not being treated as if he were a
criminal? And yet he had not committed a crime! He had acted according
to all legal requirements, he had not broken his marriage vows. He had
left the country in compliance with the dictates of the law; the Royal
Consistory has granted his appeal for a divorce; the clergy, Holy Church,
had given him his release from the bonds of his first marriage on stamped
paper; therefore he had not broken them! When a country was conquered, a
whole nation was absolved from its oath of loyalty to its monarch; why
did society look askance at the release from a promise? Had it not
conferred the right on the Consistory to dissolve a marriage? How could
it dare to assume the character of a judge now and condemn its own laws?
Society was at war with itself! He was being treated like a criminal!
Hadn’t the secretary of the Embassy, his old friend, on whom he had left
his and his wife’s cards, acknowledged them by simply returning one card
only? And was he not overlooked at all public functions?”
“Oh! She had had to put up with worse things! One of her friends in Paris
had closed her door to her, and several had cut her in the street.”
“Only the wearer of a boot knew where it pinched. The boots which they
were wearing now were real Spanish boots, and they were at war with
society. The upper classes had cut them. The upper classes! This
community of semi-imbeciles, who secretly lived like dogs, but showed
one another respect as long as there was no public scandal; that was to
say as long as one did not honestly revoke an agreement and wait until
it had lapsed before one made use of one’s newly-regained freedom! And
these vicious upper classes were the awarders of social position and
respect, according to a scale on which honesty ranked far below zero.
Society was nothing but a tissue of lies! It was inexplicable that it
hadn’t been found out long ago! It was high time to examine this fine
structure and inquire into the condition of its foundations.”
They were on friendlier terms on arriving home than they had been for
many years. The Baroness stayed at home with her baby, and was soon
expecting a second one. This struggle against the tide was too hard
for her, and she was already growing tired of it. She was tired of
everything! To write in an elegantly furnished, well-heated room on
the subject of discharged prisoners, offering them, at a proper
distance, a well-gloved hand, was a proceeding society approved of;
but to hold out the hand of friendship to a woman who had married a
legally divorced man was quite another thing. Why should it be so? It
was difficult to find an answer.
The Baron fought in the thick of the battle. He visited the Chamber of
Deputies, was present at meetings, and everywhere he listened to
passionate diatribes against society. He read papers and magazines,
kept a keen eye on literature, studied the subject deeply. His wife
was threatened by the same fate which had overtaken the first one; to
be left behind! It was strange. She seemed unable to take in all the
details of his investigations, she disapproved of much of the new
doctrine, but she felt that he was right and fighting for a good
cause. He knew that he could always count on her never-flagging
sympathy; that he had a friend at home who would always stand by him.
Their common fate drove them into each other’s arms like frightened
birds at the approach of a storm. All the womanliness in her,--however
little it may be appreciated now-a-days,--which is after all nothing
but a memory of the great mother, the force of nature which is woman’s
endowment, was roused. It fell on the children like the warm glow of a
fire at eventide; it fell on the husband like a ray of sunshine; it
brought peace to the home. He often wondered how it was that he did
not miss his old comrade, with whom he was wont to discuss everything;
he discovered that his thoughts had gained force and vigour since he
stopped pouring them out as soon as he conceived them; it seemed to
him that he was profiting more by the silent approval, the kindly nod,
the unwavering sympathy. He felt that his strength had increased, that
his views were less under outside control; he was a solitary man, now,
and yet he was less solitary than he had been in the past, for he was
no longer constantly met by contradictions which merely filled his
heart with misgivings.
It was Christmas Eve in Paris. A large Christmas tree, grown in the
wood of St. Germain, stood in their little chalet on the Cours de la
Reine. They were going out after breakfast to buy Christmas presents
for the children. The Baron was pre-occupied, for he had just published
a little pamphlet, entitled: “Do the Upper Classes constitute Society?”
They were sitting at breakfast in their cosy dining-room, and the doors
which led to the nursery stood wide open. They listened to the nurse
playing with the children, and the Baroness smiled with contentment and
happiness. She had grown very gentle and her happiness was a quiet one.
One of the children suddenly screamed and she rose from the table to see
what was the matter. At the same moment the footman came into the
dining-room with the morning post. The Baron opened two packets of
printed matter. The first was a “big respectable” newspaper. He opened
it and his eyes fell on a headline in fat type: “A Blasphemer!”
He began to read: “Christmas is upon us again! This festival dear to
all pure hearts, this festival sacred to all Christian nations, which
has brought a message of peace and good-will to all men, which makes
even the murderer sheathe his knife, and the thief respect the sacred
law of property; this festival, which is not only of very ancient
origin, but which is also, especially in the countries of the North,
surrounded by a host of historic associations, etc., etc. And then like
foul fumes arising from a drain, an individual suddenly confronts us
who does not scruple to tear asunder the most sacred bonds, who vomits
malice on all respectable members of society; malice, dictated by the
pettiest vengeance....” He refolded the paper and put it into the
pocket of his dressing-gown. Then he opened the second parcel. It
contained caricatures of himself and his wife. It went the same way as
the first, but he had to be quick, for his wife was re-entering the
dining-room. He finished his breakfast and went into his bed-room to
get ready to go out. They left the house together.
The sunlight fell on the frosted plane-trees of the Champs Elysées,
and in the heart of the stony desert the Place de la Concorde opened
out like a large oasis. He felt her arm on his, and yet he had the
feeling as if she were supporting him. She talked of the presents
which they were going to buy for the children, and he tried to force
himself to take an interest in the subject. But all at once he
interrupted her conversation and asked her, à-propos of nothing:
“Do you know the difference between vengeance and punishment?”
“No, I’ve never thought about it.”
“I wonder whether it isn’t this: When an anonymous journalist revenges
himself, it is punishment; but when a well-known writer, who is not a
pressman, fights with an open visor, meting out punishment, then it is
revenge! Let us join the new prophets!”
She begged him not to spoil Christmas by talking of the newspapers.
“This festival,” he muttered, “on which peace and good-will....”
They passed through the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli, turned into the
boulevards and made their purchases. They dined at the Grand Hotel.
She was in a sunny frame of mind and tried to cheer him up. But he
remained preoccupied. Suddenly he asked,
“How is it possible that one can have a bad conscience when one has
acted rightly?”
She did not know.
“Is it because the upper classes have so trained us, that our conscience
troubles us whenever we rebel against them? Probably it is so. Why
shouldn’t he who has been hurt unjustly, have the right to attack
injustice? Because only he who has been hurt will attack, and the upper
classes hate being attacked. Why did I not strike at the upper classes
in the past, when I belonged to them? Because, of course, I didn’t know
them then. One must look at a picture from a distance in order to find
the correct visual point!”
“One shouldn’t talk about such things on Christmas Eve!”
“True, it is Christmas. This festival of....”
They returned home. They lit the candles on the Christmas tree; it
radiated peace and happiness; but its dark branches smelt of a funeral
and looked sinister, like the Baron’s face. The nurse came in with the
little ones. His face lighted up, for, he thought, when they are grown
up they will reap in joy what we have sown in tears; then their
conscience will only trouble them when they have sinned against the
laws of nature; they won’t have to suffer from whims which have been
caned into us at school, drummed into us by the parsons, invented by
the upper classes for their own benefit.
The Baroness sat down at the piano when the maids and the footmen
entered. She played melancholy old dances, dear to the heart of the
people of the North, while the servants danced gravely with the
children. It was very much like the penitential part of divine
service.
After that the presents were distributed among the children, and the
servants received their gifts. And then the children were put to bed.
The Baroness went into the drawing-room and sat down in an arm-chair.
The Baron threw himself on a footstool at her feet. He rested his head
on her knees. It was so heavy--so heavy. She silently stroked his
forehead. “What! was he weeping?”
“Yes!”
She had never before seen a man weep. It was a terrible sight. His big
strong frame shook, but he made no sound.
“Why was he weeping?”
“Because he was unhappy.”
“Unhappy with her?”
“No, no, not with her, but still, unhappy.”
“Had anybody treated him badly?”
“Yes!”
“Couldn’t he tell her all about it?”
“No, he only wanted to sit at her knees, as he used to sit long ago,
at his mother’s.”
She talked to him as if he had been a child. She kissed his eyes and
wiped his face with her handkerchief. She felt so proud, so strong,
there were no tears in her eyes. The sight of her inspired him with
new courage.
“How weak he had been! That he should have found the machine-made
attacks of his opponents so hard to bear! Did his enemies really
believe what they said?”
“Terrible thought! Probably they did. One often found stones firmly
grown into pine-trees, why should not opinions grow into the brain in
the same way? But she believed in him, she knew that he was fighting
for a good cause?”
“Yes, she believed it! But--he must not be angry with her for asking
him such a question--but--did he not miss his child, the first one?”
“Yes, certainly, but it could not be helped. At least, not yet! But he
and the others who were working for the future would have to find a
remedy for that, too. He did not know, yet, what form that remedy
would take, but stronger brains than his, and many together, would
surely one day solve this problem which at present seemed insolvable.”
“Yes, she hoped it would be so.”
“But their marriage? Was it a marriage in the true sense of the word,
seeing that he couldn’t tell her what troubled him? Wasn’t it, too,
pro...?”
“No, it was a true marriage, for they loved one another. There had
been no love between him and his first wife. But he and she did love
one another, could she deny it?”
“She couldn’t, he was her dear love.” Then their marriage was a true
marriage before God and before Nature.
UNNATURAL SELECTION OR THE ORIGIN OF RACE
The Baron had read in _The Slaves of Life_ with disgust and indignation
that the children of the aristocracy were bound to perish unless they
took the mothers’ milk from the children of the lower classes. He had
read Darwin and believed that the gist of his teaching was that through
selection the children of the aristocracy had come to be more highly
developed representatives of the genus “Man.” But the doctrine of
heredity made him look upon the employment of a foster-mother with
aversion; for might not, with the blood of the lower classes, certain
conceptions, ideas and desires be introduced and propagated in the
aristocratic nursling? He was therefore determined that his wife should
nurse her baby herself, and if she should prove incapable of doing so,
the child should be brought up with the bottle. He had a right to the
cows’ milk, for they fed on his hay; without it they would starve, or
would not have come into existence at all. The baby was born. It was a
son! The father had been somewhat anxious before he became certain of
his wife’s condition, for he was, personally, a poor man; his wife, on
the other hand, was very wealthy, but he had no claim to her fortune
unless their union was blest with a legal heir, (in accordance with the
law of entail chap. 00 par. 00). His joy was therefore great and genuine.
The baby was a transparent little thoroughbred, with blue veins shining
through his waxen skin. Nevertheless his blood was poor. His mother who
possessed the figure of an angel, was brought up on choice food, protected
by rich furs from all the eccentricities of the climate, and had that
aristocratic pallor which denotes the woman of noble descent.
She nursed the baby herself. There was consequently no need to become
indebted to peasant women for the privilege of enjoying life on this
planet. Nothing but fables, all he had read about it! The baby sucked
and screamed for a fortnight. But all babies scream. It meant nothing.
But it lost flesh. It became terribly emaciated. The doctor was sent
for. He had a private conversation with the father, during which he
declared that the baby would die if the Baroness continued to nurse
him, because she was firstly too highly strung, and secondly had
nothing with which to feed him. He took the trouble to make a
quantitative analysis of the milk, and proved (by equations) that the
child was bound to starve unless there was a change in the method of
his feeding.
What was to be done? On no account could the baby be allowed to die.
Bottle or foster mother? The latter was out of the question. Let us
try the bottle! The doctor, however, prescribed a foster mother.
The best Dutch cow, which had received the gold medal for the district,
was isolated and fed with hay; with dry hay of the finest quality. The
doctor analysed the milk, everything was all right. How simple the system
was! How strange that they had not thought of it before! After all, one
need not engage a foster mother a tyrant before whom one had to cringe,
a loafer one had to fatten; not to mention the fact that she might have
an infectious disease.
But the baby continued to lose flesh and to scream. It screamed night
and day. There was no doubt it suffered from colic. A new cow was
procured and a fresh analysis made. The milk was mixed with Karlsbad
water, genuine Sprudel, but the baby went on screaming.
“There’s no remedy but to engage a foster mother,” said the doctor.
“Oh! anything but that! One did not want to rob other children, it was
against nature, and, moreover, what about heredity?”
When the Baron began to talk of things natural and unnatural, the
doctor explained to him that if nature were allowed her own way, all
noble families would die out and their estates fall to the crown. This
was the wisdom of nature, and human civilization was nothing but a
foolish struggle against nature, in which man was bound to be beaten.
The Baron’s race was doomed; this was proved by the fact that his wife
was unable to feed the fruit of her womb; in order to live they were
bound to buy or steal the milk of other women. Consequently the race
lived on robbery, down to the smallest detail.
“Could the purchase of the milk be called robbery? The purchase of
it!”
“Yes, because the money with which it was bought was produced by labour.
Whose labour? The people’s! For the aristocracy didn’t work.”
“The doctor was a socialist!”
“No, a follower of Darwin. However, he didn’t care in the least if they
called him a socialist. It made no difference to him.”
“But surely, purchase was not robbery! That was too strong a word!”
“Well, but if one paid with money one hadn’t earned!”
“That was to say, earned by manual labour?”
“Yes!”
“But in that case the doctor was a robber too!”
“Quite so! Nevertheless he would not hold back with the truth! Didn’t
the Baron remember the repenting thief who had spoken such true words?”
The conversation was interrupted; the Baron sent for a famous professor.
The latter called him a murderer straight out, because he had not
engaged a nurse long ago.
The Baron had to persuade his wife. He had to retract all his former
arguments and emphasize the one simple fact, namely, the love for his
child, (regulated by the law of entail).
But where was a foster mother to come from? It was no use thinking of
looking for one in town, for there all people were corrupt. No, it
would have to be a country girl. But the Baroness objected to a girl
because, she argued, a girl with a baby was an immoral person; and her
son might contract a hereditary tendency.
The doctor retorted that all foster mothers were unmarried women and
that if the young Baron inherited from her a preference for the other
sex, he would grow into a good fellow; tendencies of that sort ought
to be encouraged. It was not likely that any of the farmers’ wives
would accept the position, because a farmer who owned land, would
certainly prefer to keep his wife and children with him.
“But supposing they married a girl to a farm labourer?”
“It would mean a delay of nine months.”
“But supposing they found a husband for a girl who had a baby?”
“That wasn’t a bad idea!”
The Baron knew a girl who had a baby just three months old. He knew
her only too well, for he had been engaged for three years and had
been unfaithful to his fiancee by “doctor’s orders.” He went to her
himself and made his suggestion. She should have a farm of her own if
she would consent to marry Anders, a farm labourer, and come to the
Manor as foster mother to the young Baron. Well, was it strange that
she should accept the proffered settlement in preference to her bearing
her disgrace alone? It was arranged there and then that on the following
Sunday the banns should be read for the first, second and third time,
and that Anders should go home to his own village for two months.
The Baron looked at her baby with a strange feeling of envy. He was a
big, strong boy. He was not beautiful, but he looked like a guarantee
of many generations to come. The child was born to live but it was not
his fate to fulfil his destination.
Anna wept when he was taken to the orphanage, but the good food at the
Manor (her dinner was sent up to her from the dining-room, and she had
as much porter and wine as she wanted) consoled her. She was also
allowed to go out driving in the big carriage, with a footman by the
side of the coachman. And she read _A Thousand and One Nights_. Never
in all her life had she been so well off.
After an absence of two months Anders returned. He had done nothing
but eat, drink, and rest. He took possession of the farm, but he also
wanted his Anna. Couldn’t she, at least, come and see him sometimes?
No, the Baroness objected. No nonsense of that sort!
Anna lost flesh and the little Baron screamed. The doctor was
consulted.
“Let her go and see her husband,” he said.
“But supposing it did the baby harm?”
“It won’t!”
But Anders must be “analysed” first. Anders objected.
Anders received a present of a few sheep and was “analysed.”
The little Baron stopped screaming.
But now news came from the orphanage that Anna’s boy had died of
diphtheria.
Anna fretted, and the little Baron screamed louder than ever. She was
discharged and sent back to Anders and a new foster mother was
engaged.
Anders was glad to have his wife with him at last, but she had
contracted expensive habits. She couldn’t drink Brazilian coffee, for
instance, it had to be Java. And her health did not permit her to eat
fish six times a week, nor could she work in the fields. Food at the
farm grew scarce.
Anders would have been obliged to give up the farm after twelve months,
but the Baron had a kindly feeling for him and allowed him to stay on as
a tenant.
Anna worked daily at the Manor and frequently saw the little Baron;
but he did not recognise her and it was just as well that he did not.
And yet he had lain at her breast! And she had saved his life by
sacrificing the life of her own child. But she was prolific and had
several sons, who grew up and were labourers and railway men; one of
them was a convict.
But the old Baron looked forward with anxiety to the day on which his
son should marry and have children in his turn. He did not look strong!
He would have been far more reassured if the other little Baron, the
one who had died at the orphanage, had been the heir to the estates.
And when he read _The Slaves of Life_ a second time, he had to admit
that the upper classes live at the mercy of the lower classes, and when
he read Darwin again he could not deny that natural selection, in our
time, was anything but natural. But facts were facts and remained
unalterable, in spite of all the doctor and the socialists might say
to the contrary.
AN ATTEMPT AT REFORM
She had noticed with indignation that girls were solely brought up to
be housekeepers for their future husbands. Therefore she had learnt a
trade which would enable her to keep herself in all circumstances of
life. She made artificial flowers.