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 superst.i.tions--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 ma.s.s of misery and ignorance covered over and clamped down by a taboo of silence, imposed by the horrible superst.i.tion of s.e.x-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 att.i.tude of the average legislator, that the thing to do was to strengthen the laws against prost.i.tution, 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 p.r.o.nounced.
"But," objected the other, "one cannot lay it bare to children in our educational inst.i.tutions!"
"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 pa.s.sed 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!
p.o.r.nography 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 prost.i.tute 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 gla.s.s of the shop windows. They try to look unconcerned, but as they walk along they snap out the ribbon with their thumb--as one sh.e.l.ls 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, G.o.d"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 prost.i.tute 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!"