! 
 
 ilYJU
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNI/_r\.!fY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 STORIES OF 
 LOVE AND LIFE
 
 OF FACT AND FANCY WOVEN 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROBINSON, M.D. 
 
 Author of Never Told Tales, Sexual Problems 
 of Today, Practical Eugenics, etc. 
 
 No book has a right to exist that has not for 
 its purpose the betterment of mankind, by 
 affording either useful instruction or health 
 ful recreation. W. J. R. 
 
 THE CRITIC AND GUIDE COMPANY 
 
 12 MT. MORRIS PARK WEST 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1815 
 BY WILLIAM J. ROBINSON, M.D.
 
 PREFACE AND EXPLANATION 
 
 Certain facts had come to my knowl 
 edge, which seemed to me to possess a dis 
 tinct social value and significance. In 
 leisure moments, while crossing the At 
 lantic, in railway cars, while sailing the 
 Swiss lakes or the Scandinavian fjords, 
 on the verandas of hotels, I wove the gos 
 samer thread of fancy thru the woof of 
 fact, and the result are these humble but 
 I hope useful stories. 
 
 I owe this explanation not to the public, 
 but to my esteemed professional col 
 leagues whose good-will I would not 
 forfeit for any literary laurels who might 
 think that it is not quite the proper thing 
 for a physician of some eminence to spend 
 perhaps they would say, waste his 
 time in writing stories. They could for 
 give "Never Told Tales," because the
 
 PREFACE 
 
 moral and utilitarian purpose behind 
 those narratives was quite clear. The 
 motive or moral of these stories is not 
 quite so apparent, tho it is there. 
 
 Perhaps when they learn that not one 
 hour have I purloined from the time 
 which belongs to my practice and serious 
 medical work, but that in weaving these 
 stories, I have utilized those moments 
 which others spend in inane small talk, in 
 smoking, drinking and card-playing, I 
 say when they learn this, perhaps their 
 judgment will be tempered with mercy. 
 For I repeat: No literary laurels would I 
 exchange for the good-will and esteem of 
 my esteemed professional colleagues. 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROBINSON, M. D. 
 
 Atlantic Ocean, N. Lat. 40, 19", W. Long. 54, 42". 
 September 1, 1912.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MARGARET: A STORY OF A RADICAL COUPLE . 1 
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 65 
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 81 
 
 LOVE: A LITTLE STORY FOR FREE LOVERS . 119 
 
 THE RISE OF RICHARD MARTINDALE . . 145
 
 THE STORY OF 
 MARGARET 
 
 Ota 
 Hen 
 
 WHOM YEARS OF PRISON AND EXILE 
 HAVE NEITHER BROKEN NOR BENT
 
 MARGARET 
 
 THE STORY OF A RADICAL COUPLE 
 
 who had not seen Dr. 
 George Nelson for several years 
 would not have recognized him. 
 He had certainly undergone a remarkable 
 metamorphosis, both physical and mental. 
 Those who knew him when he studied 
 medicine knew a pale, slim, thin-necked, 
 sunken-cheeked youth, who, while not 
 classically beautiful or even moderately 
 pretty, yet produced an agreeable expres 
 sion by his shock of black hair, bright 
 lively eyes and animated facial expression. 
 And he was full of enthusiasm about 
 everything about himself, his future, the 
 future of mankind. 
 
 He had many lofty ideals, which he was 
 ready to defend at all times against all 
 comers. He had a ready flow of lan- 
 
 3
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 guage and he was not only ready, but 
 eager to participate in discussions and de 
 bates, private or public. In spite of his 
 studies he was a regular visitor at most 
 lectures ethical culture, radical, single- 
 tax, socialistic, and even anarchistic, and 
 his delight was to pierce the bubbles of 
 ignorance with the incisive shafts of his 
 logic. Presumption could rarely hold out 
 against the arrows of his biting satire. 
 When George Nelson was announced to 
 take part in a debate or discussion, the hall 
 was always full. He was a-quiver with 
 vitality and apt to be slightly arrogant, 
 particularly after a successful verbal en 
 counter. And tho somewhat puffed up 
 with his own importance, he had few en 
 emies. The number of his friends was 
 much larger. They all liked the jolly, 
 witty, lively, hopeful and idealistic 
 George. 
 
 Was he poor? As poor as a church- 
 mouse. He often did not know where
 
 MARGARET 
 
 his next meal was to come from, and many 
 days his stomach had to be satisfied with 
 one meal, and some days he went prac 
 tically without any food at all. His aver 
 age expenses were three or four dollars a 
 week and this money he earned by giving 
 private lessons and by translations from 
 foreign languages. And while in this 
 luxurious financial condition, he had the 
 supreme audacity to get married. The 
 temerity of youth knows no limits. 
 
 His young wife, who was willing to take 
 the chances of sharing her life with 
 George Nelson was Margaret, with whom 
 he had been keeping company for about 
 six months. Many were the people who 
 were envying him his young girl wife. 
 And well they might, for in their circle 
 there were not many Margarets. Mar 
 garet was like a young Greek goddess 
 and, hackneyed as the expression is, there 
 is none that fits her better. A wealth of 
 black hair, black, limpid eyes, rosy cheeks, 
 5
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 a set of white pearly teeth, that never 
 needed the dentist s services, a white 
 slender neck, a healthy prominent bosom, 
 which heaved deliciously under the slight 
 est excitement, broad hips that indicated 
 a well-developed pelvis, such was Mar 
 garet, a picture of healthy, marvelously 
 developed girlhood. What made Mar 
 garet more seductive and more charming 
 was her utter unconsciousness of her se 
 ductive charm. She had none of the shal- 
 lowness of the flirt in her. And she con 
 temptuously resented and effectually 
 nipped any attempts at flirting. Her 
 lovely head was full of romantic notions. 
 She dreamed of true love, and passionate, 
 self-sacrificing, self-forgetting love, such 
 love as was described in her favorite au 
 thors novels. Marriage without love 
 she could think of no greater profanation. 
 But marriage with love no privations 
 would be any sacrifice to her. And that s 
 why she refused unhesitatingly one after 
 6
 
 MARGARET 
 
 another all the numerous proposals that 
 she had received. Many came from rich 
 suitors, business men and professional 
 men, but she rejected them all; she could 
 not think of a business man for her hus 
 band business men were so prosaic ; some 
 of the professional men she favored, but it 
 was not real love, the kind of love she 
 imagined. She would marry only the 
 man with whom she would fall deeply in 
 love, preferably at first sight; and if she 
 could have her choice she would prefer a 
 poor student, a poor author or a poor art 
 ist. And when she fell in love with 
 George, she did not care for his abject 
 poverty, and was willing to marry him on 
 the spot. In fact it was George who ad 
 vised delay, until he was a graduated phy 
 sician. Tho with every fiber of his body 
 and soul he was drawn towards Margaret, 
 he did not consider it right to have her 
 share his hall-bedroom. But he was in 
 his last college year, Margaret insisted 
 7
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 that she did not care how poor he was 
 she had a position as private secretary, 
 and she would keep her position until he 
 was graduated; on the contrary the idea 
 appealed to her to live in one small bed 
 room and to go out for their meals and 
 so they were married. 
 
 I regret to say, tho it may give a se 
 vere shock to some of my readers, that 
 there was no religious ceremony at their 
 wedding. They were free thinkers and 
 they had peculiar ideas ; they thought that 
 where there was true love, the bond of un 
 ion could not be made any stronger by the 
 mumbled formula of priest or rabbi; and 
 where there was no love, the union was un 
 holy, priest or no priest. They went, 
 however, down to City Hall where they 
 were married by an alderman. Margaret 
 objected to that too; she said that if she 
 ceased to love him or he to love her, the 
 piece of paper called the marriage cer 
 tificate, would not hold either of them. 
 8
 
 MARGARET 
 
 But here George put his foot down. 
 "You know," he said, "that I am liberal 
 enough. But I am very sure of one thing. 
 The man who under our present social 
 conditions agrees to live with a woman as 
 his wife without giving her the protection 
 conferred by a religious or legal ceremony, 
 is acting unfairly towards the woman, in 
 fact, is a despicable rascal." He was a 
 regular attendant at socialistic and anarch 
 istic meetings and he was used to strong 
 words. "A woman who lives with a man 
 without being married to him, is looked 
 upon with such deep contempt by nine 
 hundred and ninety-nine of every one 
 thousand members of her own sex, and 
 also by most men including the tradespeo 
 ple, and her husband s friends even, that it 
 is positively cruel to subject her to that al 
 together unnecessary humiliation and to 
 gratuitous insults. And it is positively 
 criminal to bring children into the world 
 with the handicap of bastardy on them. 
 9
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 The children will certainly not be grateful 
 for it, and if they should turn out to be 
 more or less conservative one can never 
 foresee what one s childrens opinions are 
 going to be they will hate and despise 
 you. Then comes the question of prop 
 erty, which we radicals are supposed to 
 care nothing about. Well we don t now, 
 because we haven t any. But suppose 
 that by working together we accumulated 
 some. In case of my death, litigation 
 might start and neither you nor our chil 
 dren would be certain of retaining a penny 
 of the money, which we have accumulated 
 by hard work. Why run any such risks ? 
 No, dearie, for a man and wife, be they as 
 radical as they make them, to live out of 
 legal wedlock under the present circum 
 stances, is more than simply foolish. It 
 is criminal folly, at least on the husband s 
 side." 
 
 And so Margaret was persuaded to get 
 legally married. 
 
 10
 
 MARGARET 
 
 They did not change their abode, but 
 continued to live in George s hall-bedroom. 
 Margaret prepared the scanty breakfast 
 and the meager luncheon on a tiny oil- 
 stove, and for dinner they went out to 
 a Hungarian restaurant, where they dined 
 for twenty cents a piece, and on holidays 
 they spent half a dollar for the two. 
 George continued to study hard, and Mar 
 garet kept her position. 
 
 George was graduated among the first, 
 and became a full-fledged physician. It 
 was great fun to run about hand in hand 
 with Margaret, looking for an office and 
 residence. They found one in a crowded 
 part of the city, the furniture was taken on 
 the instalment plan, a sign was put out in 
 the window, and they started to wait for 
 patients. Contrary to the statements in 
 novels, contrary to grim reality in a large 
 number of cases, it did not take long be 
 fore the first patient appeared, it did not 
 take long before the second came, in less 
 11
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 than two weeks he had three confinements 
 and before the end of six months George 
 was busy day and night. He was bright, 
 cheerful, confidence-inspiring and he knew 
 his business. Besides he had a good deal 
 of common sense, something of the 
 greatest importance in the practice of 
 medicine. The individual fees were small, 
 but they were frequent and numerous and 
 before George knew it, Margaret, who 
 kept the accounts, told him that his 
 monthly income was three, four and then 
 five hundred dollars a month! The star 
 vation period was quickly forgotten, and 
 of everything there was a superabundance. 
 George soon joined several Medical Socie 
 ties and Medical Clubs, and the few even 
 ings he had free from practice he often 
 spent with his medical friends. Mar 
 garet felt a little lonesome, but she knew 
 that it could not be helped. George had 
 to attend to his practice and had to show 
 himself once in a while among his profes- 
 12
 
 MARGARET 
 
 sional brethren. But it rankled in her 
 breast just a little bit she did not let it 
 rankle long. 
 
 The years passed speedily for George, 
 creepingly for Margaret. George was 
 getting stouter from year to year, and 
 this had an important influence on his life, 
 on his thoughts and actions. People do 
 not understand the tremendous influence 
 which rapidly acquired obesity has on 
 human character. It renders a man not 
 only physically lazy, but also mentally 
 sluggish, and frequently has a decided 
 dampening, cooling effect on the marital 
 affections. George was becoming de 
 cidedly, distressingly lazy. He hardly 
 ever walked, having at his constant de 
 mand a carriage and an automobile. He 
 gave up the harder part of the practice- 
 confinements but the patients kept on 
 crowding his office, and his receipts 
 amounted to one thousand dollars a month 
 and more. Of course he no longer at- 
 18
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 tended socialistic meetings. Not that he 
 gave up his radical ideas, but he had no 
 time. And then it wasn t just the proper 
 thing for a prominent prosperous physi 
 cian to mingle with common working 
 boys, who showed no respect before any 
 body and who might contradict him in im 
 moderate language as if he were their 
 equal. However, he subscribed to radical 
 literature and contributed to humanita 
 rian causes. But he practically gave up 
 reading; the only recreation he had now 
 was in his private medical circle, where he 
 often stayed up late playing cards. He 
 became a passionate card player. People 
 mentally lazy for serious work, are often 
 passionate and clever card players. And 
 Margaret stayed home, mostly alone and 
 read books. . . . And once in a while 
 she felt very, very dull, very, very lone 
 some. 
 
 Did George cease to love Margaret or 
 did he love her any less than formerly?
 
 MARGARET 
 
 He was not aware of any change in him 
 self. If he had been asked or if had 
 asked himself the question, he would have 
 answered it indignantly and emphatically 
 in the negative. And he probably would 
 have been right. He loved her passively 
 or shall we say abstractly? as much as 
 ever. Only his active demonstrations of 
 love were diminishing gradually from year 
 to year, until they reached the vanishing 
 point. 
 
 Wherein he made the mistake of his 
 life, a mistake of which so many men are 
 guilty. Many men make the blunder, to 
 a realization of which they are recalled 
 sometimes too late, of forgetting that 
 purely passive or abstract love is not suf 
 ficiently satisfying to a sensitive woman; 
 and in this regard, fortunately or unfor 
 tunately, the radical woman is almost as 
 feminine as her orthodox sister. Mar 
 garet certainly was. And she suffered; 
 and she suffered more and more. And 
 15
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 George was too obtuse, too self-satisfied, 
 to notice it. And Margaret was too 
 proud to let him see it. 
 
 Had George been told that Margaret 
 was not very happy, he would have opened 
 his eyes in surprise. Why? What was 
 the matter? She had no menial work to 
 do, she had all the help she wanted, she 
 had all the money she wanted, and could 
 spend on clothes or on anything else as 
 much as she wanted; she could go to the 
 theater alone as often as she wanted; 
 in short she could spend her time and her 
 money to suit herself what else can a 
 woman desire? Her material life was 
 such an improvement over what it was 
 before, and during the first year or two 
 after her marriage, that she would have 
 to be a very unreasonable person to feel 
 unhappy or even dissatisfied. That s 
 what George would have thought, if he 
 had known that anything was the matter 
 with Margaret. But he did not think at 
 16
 
 MARGARET 
 
 all, for he did not know anything at all. 
 As we said adiposis makes people obtuse. 
 Ask any competent physician about that. 
 George was getting rich and was becom 
 ing a person of consequence in his neigh 
 borhood. The principal part, however, of 
 his income was now derived, not from his 
 medical practice, but from something 
 else. One of the greatest misfortunes 
 that can befall an ambitious professional 
 man, befell him : he began to make money 
 in real estate. A patient of his who was 
 in the business suggested to him a "bar 
 gain." He bought a tenement house, and 
 in less than two months sold it with a 
 clear profit of three thousand dollars. 
 And this was the beginning of his down 
 fall, as it has been of so many others. 
 When a physician begins to make money 
 in real estate, he, in the majority of in 
 stances, ceases to be a physician physi 
 cian in the noble sense of the word. His 
 practice becomes irksome or even repul- 
 17
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 sive to him. To run up flights of stairs, 
 to have responsibility, to be wakened from 
 a deep sleep, to have to watch the sick and 
 moribund, and all for one, two or even five 
 dollars a visit when you can make hun 
 dreds and thousands by a turn of the hand 
 why, how absurd ! And so the practice 
 begins to be neglected. Troublesome 
 cases and far-away calls are refused, and 
 even the office practice is attended to in a 
 perfunctory manner: you have to attend 
 to so many patients before you make a 
 thousand dollars, which in real estate can 
 be made even before the deed is signed. 
 What is the use bothering ! 
 
 And that is what happened to George. 
 He began to treat his practice as a matter 
 of minor importance, and ceased to attend 
 the meetings of medical societies. His 
 real estate transactions occupied his atten 
 tion now. And fortune smiled on him. 
 Every deal he made brought him profits 
 ranging from hundreds to thousands of 
 18
 
 MARGARET 
 
 dollars. But his financial successes did 
 not touch a responsive chord in the breast 
 of Margaret. On the contrary, she began 
 to feel that the distance between George 
 and herself was daily growing wider and 
 wider. For his transactions brought him 
 in contact with numerous prosaic, common 
 and even shady characters real estate 
 sharks, money lenders, builders, inspec 
 tors, lawyers, etc.; these persons, who 
 grated fearfully on the fine sensibilities of 
 Margaret, were now becoming daily vis 
 itors and intimate associates of her once 
 ideal and idealistic husband. 
 
 As a rule she was not visible when they 
 came, but when she could not help meet 
 ing them, she treated them with coldness 
 and ill-concealed disdain, which made 
 George nurse a slight grudge against her. 
 One morning he told her that he thought 
 she ought to treat his friends more cor 
 dially. He thought she owed him that 
 much respect. She answered that she 
 19
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 would be ashamed to call such men his 
 friends, and as for owing him any respect, 
 respect, like love, was not owed; it could 
 only be given voluntarily to those who de 
 served it. It was the first time that Mar 
 garet ever made a caustic remark to 
 George, a remark that testified of sup 
 pressed excitement and irritation. Had 
 he possessed his quondam alertness, he 
 would have heeded the danger signal, and 
 he might have prevented the oncoming of 
 the storm. But George, it must be re 
 peated again, had become obtuse and all 
 his attention was absorbed in his financial 
 transactions. He was now not only buy 
 ing and selling, but he was building 
 houses, and often he had to superintend 
 matters personally ; and he had become an 
 expert in haggling with the contractors. 
 
 At thirty Margaret was remarkably 
 
 pretty. When she was eighteen she 
 
 looked like twenty, at thirty she looked like 
 
 eighteen. In her walk and appearance 
 
 20
 
 MARGARET 
 
 she was more like a school girl than a mar 
 ried woman. Her mirror told her too 
 that she was beautiful, and when she 
 walked in the street the hungry glances of 
 the passers-by told her that her healthy 
 youthful charms were irresistibly attrac 
 tive. 
 
 George "had no time" to accompany 
 Margaret to any meetings or dinners, so 
 when the monotonousness of staying home 
 all the time began to pall on her, she be 
 gan to go out alone. She made many 
 friends, renewed old acquaintances and 
 everywhere she was a more than welcome 
 visitor. She was made much of by every 
 body, but particularly by the men. 
 
 She attended regularly the dinners of 
 the Radical Club, which counts among its 
 members all sorts and conditions of men 
 and women. Men and women of all 
 shades of belief and unbelief, men and 
 women of all kinds of principles and lack 
 of principles, gather at its festal tables.
 
 Liberal clergymen, progressive republi 
 cans and democrats, single taxers, parlor 
 socialists, orthodox marxists, revolutionary 
 socialists, philosophical anarchists and 
 anarchists who believe in dynamite as the 
 sole means of social salvation, vegetarians, 
 free lovers, deep thinkers and people who 
 only think they think, artists and near- 
 artists, writers and would-be writers, edi 
 tors and reportorial cubs, actors and ac 
 tresses of various degrees of eminence 
 they all gather at its meetings to partake 
 of a rather poor dinner at a dollar a plate 
 and to listen to the paper and discussions 
 of the evening, which are sometimes ex 
 cellent, generally mediocre and occasion 
 ally somnifaciently dull. 
 
 It was at one of these meetings that 
 Margaret met Mr. Hammond, John 
 Hammond, well known in radical, literary 
 and artistic circles. John Hammond did 
 not have to work for a living. He lived 
 on his income, which was left him provi-
 
 MARGARET 
 
 dentially by his father. He dawdled 
 away his time he painted a little, wrote 
 occasionally a short story, which gave him 
 entree to the literary circles, and wrote 
 dramatic criticisms and sketches of actors 
 and actresses which secured him free en 
 tree into many theatres. He had charm 
 ing manners, dressed well, talked fluently, 
 tho superficially, on all topics. His reli 
 gion was pleasure, his god, his own ego. 
 He believed that the time to enjoy life was 
 here and now, and he meant to take from 
 life all it had to offer spontaneously, and 
 all he could wrest from it without too 
 much effort. He was readily influenced 
 by the charms of a pretty face, but the 
 sensation he felt at the end of the dinner 
 at which Margaret Nelson happened to be 
 his vis-a-vis,, was unlike any he ever experi 
 enced before. Her utter lack of affec 
 tation, her bright, limpid eyes, the untam- 
 pered loveliness of her complexion, the un- 
 corseted suppleness of her body, and her
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 sane, advanced, tho withal pure, views of 
 life he was struck to the innermost 
 depths of his not very deep heart. 
 
 He boasted of his immunity to the im 
 becile thing called falling in love, but he 
 was in great danger of committing that 
 very imbecile thing. He was by her side at 
 the next dinner, and at every subsequent 
 dinner. He asked permission to call, which 
 Margaret readily granted him, as she en 
 joyed his company. George received 
 Hammond coldly, later on noticing the 
 intimate friendship between him and Mar 
 garet rudely. Instinctively, scenting a 
 danger, he began to hate him. He would 
 have forbidden him the house, but as a 
 radical is not supposed to interfere with 
 the personal liberty of his wife, he re 
 strained from doing it. Besides he was 
 just a bit afraid of Margaret, who lately 
 did not seem to be her former self. But 
 finally his feelings got the better of his 
 opinions and judgment, as they always, or 
 24
 
 MARGARET 
 
 usually, do, and he wrote a letter to Ham 
 mond forbidding him the house, which 
 was a dangerous and foolish thing to do. 
 After this fateful letter, Margaret s cold 
 ness to George increased markedly; their 
 relations became strained and they con 
 versed but seldom and little. She still 
 submitted at rare intervals to his embraces, 
 but they were cold, perfunctory, appar 
 ently loveless embraces, and they were 
 becoming more and more distasteful to 
 her, and the intervals were becoming 
 greater. 
 
 Three months passed. It was a bright, 
 beautiful morning in May the month of 
 sunshine, of renewed hope, of renascent 
 love, of rejuvenation and desire. 
 
 George and Margaret had finished their 
 breakfast. 
 
 Margaret was unusually pale and agi 
 tated. 
 
 George was beginning to add some fig 
 ures. 
 
 25
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 "Now as well as later," murmured Mar 
 garet. 
 
 Then turning to George: "George, I 
 have something to tell you." 
 
 "Just wait a minute," answered George. 
 "You see I am busy." 
 
 "Your figures can wait, but if they 
 can t," said Margaret, "I only want to tell 
 you, that I am going to leave you to 
 day for good." And she began to get 
 ready. 
 
 The simile of a piece of news acting like 
 a blow on the head has been used so often 
 that it is worn and threadbare. And still 
 it is the most correct simile that we can use. 
 The physiologic or rather pathologic ef 
 fects are exactly the same. George felt 
 as if he had received a severe blow on the 
 back of his head. He became deathly 
 pale, liis heart stood still, his head began to 
 swim and things seemed to be going 
 around, his throat became instantly dry, 
 but what he remembers most distinctly is
 
 MARGARET 
 
 the darkness that seemed to fill the room. 
 The room was full of sunshine he knew 
 that, and still everything seemed to be 
 dark, everything seemed to be assuming a 
 black color. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said in a 
 hoarse, rasping but scarcely audible whis 
 per. His voice seemed to him strange and 
 not his own and it wasn t. It made 
 Margaret turn around. 
 
 "You know what I mean," she said. 
 "This is not the time for meaningless 
 phrases." 
 
 He knew perfectly well. He also 
 knew that it was useless to do any 
 thing, to say anything. He knew Mar 
 garet. He knew that her decision 
 was irrevocable. He knew that she was 
 lost to him forever. He knew that he 
 would never see that dear beautiful, 
 now so strangely pale and tense face 
 again. And this knowledge came with 
 such overwhelming suddenness that it 
 27
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 rendered him, weak, limp, motionless. 
 His mind became a perfect blank. It 
 seemed to him that he was sinking into a 
 terrible abyss and that a gigantic rock was 
 crushing him from above, pushing him fur 
 ther down and rendering impossible any 
 hope of exit. In a few seconds he lived 
 thru a decade and he looked plainly ten 
 years older. 
 
 Margaret seemed to have a perception 
 of what was going on in George s mind. 
 She was pained to see him suffer so, but 
 she was gratified too. After all he still 
 seemed to care for her. Had he at that 
 moment thrown himself at her feet, had 
 he run up to her and embraced her with 
 his strong arms, had he begged to be given 
 another chance, had he promised her that 
 things would take a change and that they 
 would begin life all over again, had he 
 done one or all of those things which the 
 masterful man knows how to use so effi 
 ciently, it is possible that Margaret would 
 28
 
 MARGARET 
 
 have stayed. It is possible. Nobody will 
 ever know that to a certainty. Margaret 
 herself doesn t. She only knows that she 
 was moved with intense pity towards him. 
 And perhaps her love towards him was not 
 really extinguished, as she thought it was, 
 but was only smoldering and required 
 but a little effort to fan it into a strong 
 steady flame. 
 
 But George did nothing, he made no 
 effort of any kind. He was sitting dully, 
 immovably, staring before himself, with 
 his face contorted, a slight shiver running 
 thru his body, and his knees shaking. 
 And when he slowly looked around, Mar 
 garet was gone, and things seemed darker, 
 blacker still. 
 
 Here is the irony of cruel fate. If the 
 lack of a thing causes us intense excruciat 
 ing agony, then its possession should cause 
 us great ecstatic pleasure. But it is not 
 so. Being deprived of air, we suffer in 
 tensely; having plenty of air does not 
 29
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 make us happy. Deprive a man of water 
 for any length of time, and his suffering 
 is indescribable; supply him with water 
 regularly, and he takes it as a matter of 
 course. He experiences satisfaction in 
 quenching his thirst, but no acute active 
 pleasure. It is this that gives the pessi 
 mists their justification for asserting that 
 the pain and suffering in this world are 
 indescribably greater than its satisfactions 
 and pleasures. Then again as to the 
 amount of either which we can experience. 
 The amount of pleasure is limited; the 
 slightest excess brings satiation and dis 
 pleasure or disgust. The amount of suf 
 fering a man may undergo is unlimited, 
 both as to the variety of its aspects and to 
 duration of the time. 
 
 The absence of Margaret made George 
 undergo all the tortures of hell; he suf 
 fered cruelly, acutely, unceasingly. Why 
 did not her presence, except in the first 
 months, cause him acute continuous pleas- 
 30
 
 MARGARET 
 
 ure? George was sitting in the darkness, 
 brooding dully. He was incapable of do 
 ing any connected thinking. The bell and 
 the telephone had been going all after 
 noon, but he instructed the man to tell 
 everybody that the doctor was out. He 
 was not feeling well, and he would not see 
 any patients. When night came, he threw 
 himself on the bed, without undressing, 
 without lighting the gas. He passed a 
 fitful night, full of terrors and night 
 mares. In the morning, without partak 
 ing of any breakfast, he attended to some 
 urgent calls, came back and locked himself 
 in his office. 
 
 On the third day he received the follow 
 ing letter : 
 
 Dear George: 
 
 We were unable to discuss the matter 
 calmly when I left, and I owe you this 
 letter. We promised each other, that 
 when love no longer bound us, we 
 would go our ways. This time has come. 
 31
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 You seem to have long lost any affection 
 for me; for months and years you have not 
 shown that you needed me. And I fear 
 that I have lost my love for you. I could 
 not love any person whom I could not re 
 spect, and my respect for you has been 
 sorely strained during the last years, par 
 ticularly the last year or two. I did not 
 marry a real estate agent, a builder, a 
 money lender. I would rather have you 
 with your ten dollars a week and with 
 your self-respect and ideals than with 
 your riches and coarse or shady characters 
 for friends. I was willing to share want 
 and love, but am not willing to share 
 luxury and neglect. I have considered 
 the matter in my mind for many months. 
 I would have left, sooner or later. But I 
 love I love John Hammond and am liv 
 ing with him now [a weak groan escaped 
 him as he read this]. Under the circum 
 stances, to continue living with you would 
 be a sin. I am sorry for you, but we 
 32
 
 must all remain true to our personalities, 
 and live according to our ideals. Make 
 the best of it. I am sorry. . . . Be 
 happy as happy as you can. 
 
 YOUR MARGARET. 
 
 Had his senses been in proper working 
 order, had his psychologic insight not been 
 completely dulled, he might have per 
 ceived from the letter that Margaret still 
 loved him, and a ray of hope might have 
 illumined his pitch dark soul, a ray of joy 
 might have warmed his cold freezing 
 heart. But he saw nothing, he thought 
 nothing. All he felt was that Margaret 
 was hopelessly lost to him, and that his life 
 henceforth had no object, no purpose. 
 Only one thing the letter did : to his black 
 despair and misery there was added the 
 green monster of jealousy, and daily that 
 monster dug its fangs into his heart deeper 
 and deeper. At the thought, either by 
 day or night, that Margaret was in that 
 33
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 wretch s (that is the only way he thought 
 of John Hammond) arms, he thought he 
 would go insane. Several times he was at 
 the point of ending it all by pistol or 
 poison, but something that he himself 
 could not explain held him back. 
 
 There began for him a drab, dreary, 
 joyless existence in which the days were 
 interminably long and the nights a never- 
 ending nightmare. He became apathetic, 
 careless of his appearance, and while he 
 attended to his practice, he began to neg 
 lect his real estate business. He began to 
 hate it, for he felt it was primarily that 
 that lost him Margaret. Offers of great 
 bargains he rejected with contempt. He 
 neglected to collect the rents, to attend to 
 the proper repairs, to demand or pay in 
 terest when due, and in many other details 
 he was the despair of the business people 
 with whom he had had negotiations in for 
 mer days. They could not make him out. 
 He who used to be so eager to drive a bar- 
 34
 
 MARGARET 
 
 gain, so shrewd in looking out for his in 
 terests, and so successful in piling up 
 profits, seemed to have lost all taste for 
 money. He walked about like a ghost 
 and took as much interest in financial af 
 fairs as a ghost. 
 
 Then the crisis came. Values began to 
 slump. His third and second mortgages 
 became valueless, and he saw with mixed 
 feelings of pain and savage delight how in 
 a short time his fortune of two hundred 
 thousand dollars had shrunk to twenty 
 thousand, the equity in the house in 
 which he lived. He w r as indifferent. 
 But soon this little handful of his for 
 mer fortune began to be threatened. 
 He was in danger of losing the roof 
 over his head. A little of his for 
 mer energy returned to him. He be 
 gan to work at his practice. He rushed 
 wherever called, any hour, day or night. 
 He began again to take confinements, and 
 a night call to a confinement was most wel- 
 35
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 come to him as it saved him from tossing 
 on his lonely bed, it saved him the tortures 
 of sleepless nights, interrupted now and 
 then by a nightmare. This was the worst 
 thing he had to contend against now, an 
 obstinate insomnia which resisted all pow 
 ders and potions. And he began to run 
 down. The people about him noticed it, 
 he didn t. If he did, he didn t care. 
 
 One morning, after a particularly bad 
 night, trying to get up, he found that he 
 couldn t. He had an excruciating head 
 ache, everything ached in him, and he felt 
 as weak as an infant. He had been feel 
 ing badly for the last few days, but had 
 paid no attention to it. "The beginning of 
 the end," he murmured, but this was his 
 last rational thought. His servant found 
 him burning with fever and delirious. 
 The doctors that were called in pro 
 nounced it typhoid with meningeal symp 
 toms. He remained unconscious and de 
 lirious for many days, and in his delirium 
 36
 
 MARGARET 
 
 the names Margaret and Hammond oc 
 curred again and again. His brain seemed 
 to be in constant agitation. Sometimes, 
 while picking at his bed clothes, his face 
 would be illumined by a blissful smile and 
 he would murmur inaudible words; at 
 other times his face would express anguish 
 and suffering and his groans would go 
 thru the heart of those around him, one 
 person particularly. She would then go 
 to his bed, smooth his brow, arrange the 
 pillow or the ice cap on his head and 
 quietly glide away. It was a long battle. 
 Many times his life was hanging on a 
 thread and several times the doctors 
 thought, if they did not say so, that there 
 was no more hope. 
 
 One morning he awoke, with his head 
 perfectly clear, and all his senses super- 
 acute. Nature sometimes sends such mo 
 ments to desperately ill people, just be 
 fore the final act of dissolution. But he 
 felt so weak, so weak, that when he tried 
 37
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 to move his arm it was like trying to move 
 a mountain. He gave up the eff ort and 
 lay perfectly still. But his eyes were 
 open. He did not know how long he had 
 been ill, but he felt that he must have been 
 desperately sick for a long time. And he 
 remembered clearly some of the dreams 
 that racked his tortured brain. 
 
 "Another one of those cursed dreams!" 
 he muttered to himself with bitterness. 
 For in the gloaming of the early dawn it 
 seemed to him that he saw the outline of 
 Margaret, reclining in a chair. "I must 
 be in pretty bad shape if visual hallucina 
 tions are becoming so vivid, so real." But 
 no, his mind was clear, and there in the 
 chair was certainly the figure of a woman, 
 and it was not that of a nurse either. 
 There was but one woman in the world 
 who looked like that. "Margaret," he 
 called in a low voice, a voice that was full 
 of hope and fear, of joy and agony. In 
 stantly she was on her feet and near his
 
 MARGARET 
 
 bed. "What is it, dearest?" and there was 
 so much, so much love, so much sweetness 
 in her voice that it acted like a demulcent 
 balm to his bruised body and crushed 
 heart. "What is it, dearest?" she re 
 peated. "At last, at last, thank Heaven. 
 I could not have stood it much longer." 
 "Thank you, Margaret, but I am afraid 
 you came too late." "No, dearest (how 
 long, he thought, since she had used that 
 word), it is not too late. Don t talk. 
 They, the doctors, despaired. But I 
 nursed you back to consciousness, and I 
 will nurse you back to health." "It is so 
 good of you to say so, but " she did not 
 let him continue. She patted his head 
 and forehead, she touched her dainty 
 fingers to his lips, and he imbibed their 
 aroma, as a thirst-parched man imbibes a 
 cooling draught. 
 
 She closed his eyes and bade him sleep. 
 After a little while his throat and lips be 
 gan to work convulsively. He wanted to 
 39
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 talk, but he found it difficult to articulate 
 the words. With a woman s intuition, 
 tho he had not pronounced a word, she 
 guessed what he yearned to know, but 
 found difficulty in asking. "No, dear, I 
 have not come just for a visit," she said; 
 "I have come to stay with you for good, 
 forever." She did not add : "If you still 
 want me." Not for a moment did the 
 idea cross her mind, that he might not 
 want her any more. She was sure that he 
 longed for her more than ever, and that 
 that phrase would have been hypocritical. 
 And hypocrisy of every sort was foreign 
 to Margaret s character. These words 
 put new life into his soul. He remained 
 quiet. But after a while he could not re 
 frain from asking: "And he?" "He has 
 gone out of my life as if he had never 
 existed. Don t worry about anything. 
 Just get well." 
 
 And he began to get well. Not very 
 rapidly, for his system was under- 
 40
 
 MARGARET 
 
 mined, but in about two months more 
 he began to attend to his practice. 
 He became apparently normal in every 
 respect, and still something was lacking. 
 If he himself did not perceive it, Margaret 
 did. While he attended to all his affairs, 
 it was done in an indifferent automatic 
 manner. As if it didn t matter one way 
 or another. It seemed as if something 
 had snapped within him. A vital spring. 
 There seemed to be no objective point. 
 He knew he had to attend to his practice 
 in order to make a living, but there did not 
 seem to be any particular reason for mak 
 ing that living. He loved Margaret and 
 loved her presence, but it was more the 
 love of a child for its mother. He felt 
 lonely and unhappy in her absence, but he 
 did not feel buoyantly happy in her pres 
 ence. Just a feeling of security and con 
 tentment, but not one of radiant happi 
 ness. In short he was in that peculiar sad 
 state of mind, when one takes things just 
 41
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 as they come. When the blows of fate 
 do not hurt much and the smiles of for 
 tune do not exalt much. A state of mind 
 praised by philosophers, but very distress 
 ful to one s dearest and most loving. And 
 Margaret loved George now more than 
 ever in her life. 
 
 Pity alone will not generate love, but 
 when a woman loves a man, and that man 
 becomes the object of pity, if he suffers, 
 if he needs her aid and protection, then her 
 love becomes increased a hundredfold ; for 
 pity will often fan the dying embers of 
 affection into a strong and steadily burn 
 ing flame of love. 
 
 Margaret, the high-strung, saw that a 
 life like this was not worth while. Some 
 radical change had to be made. This was 
 also necessary because George s health did 
 not improve with the lapse of time. He 
 remained thin, flabby, anemic and some 
 what haggard. And lately he began to 
 develop a slight "hack" in the morning, 
 42
 
 MARGARET 
 
 which Margaret did not like, tho he him 
 self ascribed no significance to it. She 
 feared he was running into consumption. 
 Without George s knowledge she con 
 sulted a physician who knew them well. 
 He told her frankly that he did not like 
 George s physical condition, and that her 
 fear might have some foundation, unless a 
 radical change was made in his life. 
 
 Margaret did a good deal of thinking. 
 One morning she said: "George, you know 
 that we cannot go on living like this?" 
 "Why?" he asked weakly. "Because it 
 is not worth while," she replied. "You 
 know that you get no pleasure out of life, 
 and seeing your apathetic condition, I can 
 not take any interest in anything. It is 
 not in order to lead such a life that we tied 
 our fates together." "What would you 
 want me to do?" he asked somewhat 
 frightened, the paleness of his face becom 
 ing markedly accentuated. 
 
 "Nothing, my dear big baby. Don t 
 43
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 fear." And she put her arms around his 
 neck and kissed him long and lovingly. 
 "I shall stay with you no matter what hap 
 pens, until death do us part. Only I 
 want you to let me manage things for a 
 while. You are sick. You have lost the 
 greatest possession one can lose: interest 
 in life. Without that, life is not worth 
 living. I will try to restore to you what 
 you lost. You have been running things, 
 and you will admit you have not made a 
 great success. Now let me run things 
 for a while. But you must put yourself 
 implicitly into my hands and ask no ques 
 tions. All you will have to do probably 
 will be to sign some papers. 
 
 "Dearest," he answered, "you are right. 
 I am sick. Sick in body, and sick in 
 spirit. I will let you do whatever you 
 consider best. You can do no wrong. I 
 wish I had let you run things right along. 
 But I love you just as much as I ever did. 
 Perhaps, more so " 
 44
 
 MARGARET 
 
 "Yes, dear, I know. In the ab 
 stract- yes. But a person whose phys 
 ical and psychic back is broken can 
 not love passionately, and cannot express 
 his love properly. One need not be a 
 physician to be a psychologist, and I fear, 
 dear, that I am a better psychologist than 
 you are, if you don t mind my saying so. 
 I will have you love me the way you did 
 during the first year of our married life." 
 
 Here she kissed him again and ran off 
 to attend to some affairs. He looked 
 after her with loving and admiring eyes. 
 
 The following few weeks were busy 
 weeks for Margaret. She was gone sev 
 eral hours every day. And in the evening 
 she was calculating, adding, subtracting, 
 consulting travel and guide books, writing 
 letters, etc. 
 
 "What are you up to, Margaret?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "You will find out, dearest. For the 
 present I am busy severing the tentacles 
 45
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 that hold or might hold you to your past 
 life." 
 
 And he soon found out the meaning of 
 these words. Every piece of real estate 
 that George still owned, actually or nom 
 inally, was offered for sale and was dis 
 posed of at a sacrifice if necessary. All 
 the mortgages he held were sold outright. 
 Every bill was paid, every claim against 
 him was settled. Finally the day came 
 when the house itself in which they lived, 
 with all the furniture in it, was sold. A 
 few little trinkets and a few books that 
 was all that Margaret cared to keep. 
 
 When everything they possessed in the 
 world was sold and when all the bills were 
 paid, Margaret found that she had just 
 three thousand dollars in cash. She was 
 very happy. "Even more than we need," 
 she said. And George smiled. One 
 thousand dollars she deposited in a sav 
 ings bank, and for the two thousand 
 dollars she got a letter of credit. Three 
 46
 
 MARGARET 
 
 days later they embarked for Europe. 
 
 And as they stood on deck watching the 
 slowly receding city, Margaret said : "And 
 now, dearest, we are beginning an entirely 
 new chapter in our life. Bid America 
 good-bye for two years. For we will 
 stay away that length of time. Don t 
 fear. I made all calculations, and on a 
 thousand dollars a year we can live very 
 comfortably in Europe." She had no fear 
 of the future. She knew that George was 
 clever and brainy, that his reputation as a 
 physician was excellent, and that if he 
 only regained his physical health and 
 psychic equilibrium, he would have no dif 
 ficulty in making a living. 
 
 They took the Mediterranean route, for 
 their first objective point was Capri. Two 
 months in this earthly paradise, under the 
 influence of its balmy air, luxuriant veg 
 etation and soft, easy-going people, made 
 a new man out of George. The expres 
 sion "a new man," "a new woman" has a 
 47
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 certain justification in fact. Not only do 
 the physical cells, under stimulated metab 
 olism, become more rapidly renewed, but 
 under certain conditions, the person s en 
 tire point of view undergoes a rapid meta 
 morphosis, so that he or she can be called 
 a new man or woman in the true sense of 
 the word. George was becoming a new 
 man. He began to look at life differ 
 ently. For the first time in his life he be 
 gan to experience that inexpressible feel 
 ing of joie de vivre, when one feels pleas 
 ure merely in being alive and does not 
 ask himself any questions, why, whence, 
 what for and to what purpose. 
 
 At first Margaret took care of him as of 
 a little child. She did not let him do any 
 thing. She devoted her entire time and 
 attention to his comfort. As he gained 
 strength, he became fidgety and wanted 
 to begin to do something. But she would 
 not let him. "You are taking the rest 
 cure and are under my professional care," 
 48
 
 MARGARET 
 
 she said jokingly and he had to submit. 
 She did not tell him at the time that in her 
 management of him she was guided by the 
 advice of a very clever physician. When 
 she saw that he had really gained strength, 
 she suggested that they take up the 
 study of foreign languages Italian and 
 French. He accepted the suggestion 
 with enthusiasm. And they studied to 
 gether, they quizzed each other, corrected 
 each other s translations it was great 
 fun. 
 
 There is nothing in the line of study 
 that will make a person feel so young as 
 the study of a foreign language. The 
 study of declensions and conjugations, of 
 irregular verbs, the cases demanded by 
 various propositions, etc., transfers you 
 into the years of childhood, and for the 
 time being you are a child again. They 
 found that within one month they could 
 converse with the natives in the world s 
 most beautiful language, and this af- 
 49
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 forded them much pleasure. A little later 
 Margaret suggested that they ought to 
 take up the study of art. They did not 
 expect to become real students of art, but 
 something of the subject they ought to 
 know. There had been a hiatus in their 
 education in this respect as there is in the 
 education of many radicals. They had 
 read books on philosophy, sociology, po 
 litical economy ; they were pretty familiar 
 with the world s best literature, but about 
 art they knew nothing. And they ought 
 to know something about it, especially as 
 they were in the land of art. So they took 
 up the study of art. He was getting 
 stronger, and Margaret was getting 
 dearer and more indispensable to him 
 from day to day. They visited Naples, 
 Rome, Florence, Pisa, Verona, Venice and 
 other Italian cities and each city disclosed 
 new treasures of art to them. They were 
 living their real honeymoon now, with its 
 pleasures, ecstasies and voluptuousness, 
 50
 
 MARGARET 
 
 and they felt that only now they were 
 living. 
 
 "We are not only living now," she said, 
 "but we are putting away a good capital 
 for the future." 
 
 From Italy they went to Switzerland. 
 Here nature disclosed herself to them 
 in an entirely new aspect. Every day 
 brought new beauties, new ecstasies. 
 They took long walks, they climbed the 
 mountains, they crossed the glaciers, and 
 from week to week they felt they were 
 getting younger, stronger, and wirier. 
 Margaret knew that George was a new 
 man indeed, and he felt it in every fiber 
 of his strong body and vibrant soul. He 
 acquired a broader outlook on the world, 
 and what was more important for Mar 
 garet he acquired an imperturbable equi 
 poise and sangfroid. Where formerly he 
 would kick and grumble, now disagree 
 able accidents and trifles that cannot be 
 avoided, whether traveling >or at home, 
 51
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 left him absolutely serene and undis 
 turbed. Which is of great importance to 
 a wife. Nothing so sure to mar the daily 
 life or the vacation of a wife, as an irrita 
 ble, fussy, squabbling husband, be that 
 husband ever so loyal and loving. Mar 
 garet knew that now George would be a 
 safe and sane man to live with. 
 
 It was a heavenly evening: everything 
 calm and peaceful, the sky clear and blue, 
 the air cool and yet balmy. The cows 
 were wending their way home, playing 
 sweet melodies on the bells around their 
 necks. George and Margaret were sit 
 ting on the balcony of the modest little 
 hotel built on the very edge of the water 
 and were watching the fiery sun-globe 
 getting ready suddenly to sink into the 
 lovely lake of Brienz. In the distance 
 were the rugged giants of the Bernese 
 Alps. All was calm and peaceful, all 
 looked eternally permanent. They felt 
 not only supremely content, but happy. 
 52
 
 MARGARET 
 
 They felt that this sojourn in Europe was 
 the wisest, the sanest step they could have 
 taken. George said it was the best in 
 vestment they have ever made (Margaret 
 did not like the word investment) . 
 Neither spoke a word. There are mo 
 ments when silence is more eloquent, more 
 expressive than words can be. 
 
 "Dearest," he said suddenly, "I want to 
 ask you something. You never spoke to 
 me about Hammond. At first, it was 
 perhaps just as well. Maybe the wound 
 or the scar was too fresh and it might have 
 bled on touching it. But I have no fear 
 now. I have fully recovered, and I know, 
 perhaps because I know, that you are 
 wholly and forever mine. It is not well 
 that there be even a single dark point be 
 tween us. Tell me about it, love." 
 
 "Does that episode still rankle or bother 
 you?" she asked. 
 
 "No, I assure you, it does not bother 
 me, nor does it rankle; not in the least. 
 53
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 But our avoiding it, may give either of 
 us the impression that we are still afraid 
 to touch it. Tell me how and why you 
 left him, or any other details you care to 
 impart to me." 
 
 "There is really not much to tell. The 
 circumstances accompanying my going to 
 him you know. But I soon perceived that 
 he was a shallow, selfish fellow. Every 
 thing in him was superficial. He had not 
 a deep thought, or a deep feeling. His 
 radicalism was a put-on garment; which 
 he would have readily thrown off and ex 
 changed for a conservative coat if it paid 
 him to do so. He had only one god and 
 one ideal in the world to live for that 
 was himself. He seemed to he very 
 happy at first, but I soon perceived that 
 his satisfaction was not so much in me, as 
 in his victory over me. I soon felt deeply 
 ashamed of myself for having given my 
 self to such a man. I hadn t been quite a 
 month with him when I left him." 
 54
 
 MARGARET 
 
 "You did? And why didn t you come 
 at once back to me, to your home? You 
 knew that I would have been supremely 
 happy to have you." He said this in a 
 low, halting voice. 
 
 "Yes, I knew that. That I never 
 doubted. But I felt ashamed, I confess, 
 and besides I thought it would be too soon. 
 I felt it would do you good to be a few 
 months without me. Tho of course I 
 never imagined what was going on. Had 
 I known, I would have returned sooner. 
 I was in Paris at the time, and as soon 
 as I learned of your illness, I took the first 
 boat and came directly to you. And what 
 nights of torture and self-reproach I 
 passed watching over you, while you were 
 tossing unconscious and delirious!" 
 
 "And did he not make any attempt to 
 have you come back to him?" 
 
 Margaret smiled. She saw that Ham 
 mond was still troubling George. Hus 
 bands are apt to show an unhealthy inter- 
 55
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 est in their wives loves, present and ex. 
 "Yes, he did. We were stopping in 
 Paris in one of the largest hotels. My 
 immediate reason for leaving him was 
 rather a vulgar one. I noticed that he 
 was carrying on with one of the painted 
 chambermaids. I packed my luggage 
 and moved over to another hotel. He 
 came to see me, begged me, rather un- 
 convincingly, and as it seemed to me not 
 wholeheartedly, to come back. But I 
 told him that he must never see me or talk 
 to me again. And he saw that I meant 
 it. He soon consoled himself with a 
 flashy demimondaine. I met him walking 
 with her on the Boulevard des Italiens the 
 following night and on several following 
 nights. And now, dear, let this be finis 
 Hammond and finis the episode. You 
 must never refer to him again. It is un 
 pleasant, the memory of him leaves an 
 unpleasant taste, so why bring it up 
 again?" 
 
 56
 
 MARGARET 
 
 "No, dearest, have no fear. This is 
 finis Hammond forever. While I was 
 quite sure of your love for me, I confess 
 I still feared that perhaps you also enter 
 tained some affectionate thought of him. 
 Now, what you told me leaves me quite 
 easy on this score." 
 
 "Oh, selfishness, thy name is man," 
 laughed Margaret, and they indulged in a 
 long ecstatic embrace. 
 
 George knew that in order to practice 
 medicine successfully successfully not 
 only from a financial but from a scientific 
 point of view he would have to brush up 
 on it considerably. No science or art is 
 making more gigantic strides than medi 
 cine is. Let a man lose touch with medi 
 cine for five years, let him then pick up a 
 medical journal and he will have difficulty 
 in reading it without the latest edition of a 
 medical dictionary. Hundreds of new 
 words are coined every year. These new 
 words mean something; they are not 
 57
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 merely new conglomerations of syllables. 
 They stand for advances in medicine : for 
 new remedies, new methods of treatment 
 and diagnosis, new surgical operations 
 and technique, new facts, new theories. 
 
 George had been out of touch with medi 
 cal progress not only during the past year, 
 during their travels, but also for three or 
 four years previously, during the height 
 of his real estate activity and while Mar 
 garet was away. A deep interest in real 
 estate transactions is not compatible with 
 scientific or artistic pursuits, and when 
 Margaret was away why then he didn t 
 care if this whole world had gone to pieces. 
 In fact, an earthquake destroying and en 
 gulfing everything would have been wel 
 come to him. But now he began to study 
 as he studied when he w r as in the twenties. 
 He became again a medical student and he 
 matriculated as such in the various foreign 
 universities. From morning to night he 
 attended lectures, clinics, laboratories, 
 58
 
 MARGARET 
 
 hospitals, assisted at operations, took pri 
 vate courses, and devoured everything that 
 was new in medicine. Margaret was 
 afraid he was overdoing it and wanted 
 him to moderate his ardor, but he said he 
 felt splendidly and he wanted to make up 
 for time lost. And while George was in 
 the laboratories and hospitals, Margaret 
 read, studied, attended concerts and lec 
 tures, cooked dinner and kept house. 
 For they lived now in furnished rooms, 
 and not in hotels. Hotels are not con 
 ducive to earnest hard work. The fes 
 tive atmosphere therein is a discordant 
 element. They thus spent four months 
 in Berlin, three months in Vienna, about 
 two months in the smaller German and 
 Swiss universities and two months in 
 Paris. And then George knew that he 
 was up to the last word in the science and 
 art of medicine. 
 
 At Boulogne they embarked for New 
 York. The two years were over just 
 59
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 one week short of two years, and Mar 
 garet, who was full of romantic notions, 
 took a steamer which was to arrive in New 
 York just on the anniversary of the day 
 they had left it two years previously. A 
 happier pair than George and Margaret 
 the big transatlantic greyhound did not 
 contain, even among those or perhaps 
 least of all among those who had suites 
 of rooms with private baths and ate apart 
 from the rest of the passengers. 
 
 It was on the eve of the day they were 
 to arrive in New York. They were stand 
 ing at the railing in a secluded part of the 
 boat. 
 
 "To-morrow, dear, will be two years 
 since we bade good-bye to New York," 
 said Margaret. "Do you feel better now 
 than you did then?" 
 
 His answer was a passionate em 
 brace. 
 
 And after a pause: "Do you know, love, 
 that it is hard for me to associate myself 
 60
 
 MARGARET 
 
 with myself of two or five years ago? 
 Abstractly, I know it is the same person, 
 but concretely, practically, I can t make it 
 out. And perhaps I am not. Under the 
 influence of the rapid metabolism which I 
 have undergone for the last two years and 
 a half, it is possible that not a single one 
 of my former physical cells has remained 
 in my present body. Ergo I am a new 
 man." 
 
 "You are a new man to me, dearest. 
 You are as you were when I first met you, 
 only much better, much wiser, much 
 kinder." And here another long, passion 
 ate kiss put a stop to further conversa 
 tion. When they arrived in New York 
 and their joyful entrance into the city 
 of Mammon was only marred by noticing 
 the rowdy manner in which the steerage 
 passengers were handled. Margaret had 
 one hundred dollars left out of the two 
 thousand. They drove to a hotel, and it 
 gave them a peculiar sensation to live like 
 61
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 strangers in a city in which they had al 
 most always been residents. 
 
 George thought they would stay in 
 the hotel a day or two( fbut Margaret 
 said, "No, as long as the hundred dollars 
 would last." And they had lots of fun in 
 those few days; they saw more of the 
 city in these days than they had in twenty 
 years before, they went to theaters, to 
 moving picture shows, and, altogether, be 
 haved like two young people just married 
 and disgracefully in love with each other. 
 They felt as if they were on their first 
 honeymoon they could not afford a hon 
 eymoon when they got married only 
 everything seemed better, clearer, saner, 
 more hopeful. 
 
 They took a house and furnished it, and 
 very soon George had more practice than 
 he could physically attend to. He took 
 a reliable assistant, then another and still 
 another, and he spends a good deal of his 
 time in literary and social work. And 
 62
 
 MARGARET 
 
 Margaret is in everything", everywhere; 
 she guides, advises and directs, and if he 
 does not see her for an hour or two he feels 
 an aching void. There is not a happier 
 couple on the face of the earth. Their 
 bliss is marred by only one thing: They 
 have no children. But George is so 
 wrapped up in Margaret that he feels 
 the lack only occasionally. 
 
 Of one thing he is sure, that if Mar 
 garet left this earth before him, he would 
 not survive her by twenty-four hours. 
 He couldn t. Life without her would be 
 so empty, so senseless, that it would be 
 utterly unthinkable. 
 
 And here, for the present, ends the 
 story of Margaret and George, a radical 
 New York couple. 
 
 63
 
 THEY 
 WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 010 
 
 Qlraufol 
 
 WHO UNDERSTANDS AND LOVES 
 MANKIND
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 first time I met Rosbert and 
 Lilith was at a fancy masquerade 
 ball. They were dressed like a 
 Scotch lad and lassie respectively, and 
 they made so pretty a picture that they 
 excited the approving admiration of all 
 present. They not only made pretty pic 
 tures, they also gave the impression of pic 
 tures of health. He of medium size, 
 stocky and well-knit, she tall, lissome, 
 supple. He was nineteen, she was 
 eighteen. There was joy in the faces and 
 hope in the hearts of both Rosbert and 
 Lilith. It did not need a very observant 
 eye to notice that they were deeply, gen 
 uinely in love with each other. I was told 
 that they were, or were about to be, en 
 gaged. "What a well-mated couple, and 
 what healthy progeny they will bring into 
 the world," thought I, as I watched them 
 67
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 dancing with abandon. For they did look 
 the pictures of perfect health and exuber 
 ant spirits. 
 
 I did not see Rosbert or Lilith for three 
 years. At the end of that period, Ros 
 bert made his appearance at my office to 
 consult me for a trifling a,ilment a slight 
 bronchitis. I was still in general practice 
 then. I asked him if he was married 
 already. He answered in the negative, 
 but his tone indicated that my question 
 seemed to him preposterous. "Oh, no. 
 We are still too young to get married." 
 I told him that I believed in early mar 
 riages. "And besides I am not yet mak 
 ing enough to support a wife in the proper 
 style," he replied. And Lilith, who ac 
 companied him they seldom went any 
 where one without the other smiled ap 
 proval. And she was beautiful. The 
 rosebud that I had seen three years ago 
 was opening up into a full blown delicious 
 rose. 
 
 68
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 Again three years passed. This time it 
 was Lilith that was not feeling very well. 
 Or at least she was not looking very well. 
 She felt a little languid, her appetite was 
 not very good, she did not sleep as soundly 
 as she used to ; she always had been a very- 
 sound sleeper, she told me, and she had oc 
 casional headaches. "Otherwise" she was 
 feeling very well. No, they were not mar 
 ried yet, but they expected to get married 
 next year, surely. Rosbert expected a 
 raise in his salary, and then everything 
 would be all right. I examined her and 
 found a plain case of chlorosis, and did the 
 only thing we can do in such cases: pre 
 scribed a preparation of iron and arsenic, 
 ordered more nutritious diet and more 
 fresh air. I knew the cause of her 
 anemia, knew what would cure her more 
 quickly than any drug in or out of the 
 pharmacopeia, and told her frankly that it 
 would be a good thing for her health to 
 get married. And Rosbert did not look 
 69
 
 so very well either. His face, always ex 
 pressive of the joy of life and of the ex 
 uberance of good spirits, began to show the 
 first signs of a little worry, of some dis 
 satisfaction. 
 
 For the next four years I heard of Ros- 
 bert and Lilith only incidentally. I heard 
 that he gave up his position because the 
 promotion which he expected did not 
 come, and went in business for himself. 
 He was doing well for a while, but lately 
 business was bad, in fact, very bad. I met 
 him and he looked rather thin, worried 
 and decidedly nervous. He began to have 
 the apologetic air, which unsuccessful peo 
 ple, or people with a certain kind of weak 
 ness, have about them. I asked him how he 
 felt, and he said he felt "very well, very 
 well ; yes, quite well, but I will come in to 
 see you one of these days. Would have 
 come in before, but was so busy." Of 
 course, I knew he wasn t feeling very well, 
 or even quite well. "And how is Lilith?" 
 70
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 "Oh, she is fine. I ll bring her in, too." 
 Poor boy, I thought. Tho he wasn t a boy 
 now he was 29 his first boyish appear 
 ance at the masquerade ball impressed 
 itself so upon my mind, that I always 
 thought of him as a boy. And he was so 
 thin that unless his facial lines were 
 closely examined, he did look more boyish 
 than ever. 
 
 In two or three weeks they made their 
 appearance at my office. Where was the 
 Lilith of yore? I was shocked when I saw 
 her. She was anemic, her face was 
 sprinkled here and there with quite a few 
 pimples and comedones, her former prom 
 inent and graceful bust was decidedly flat, 
 and she was just a bit stoop-shouldered, 
 "Crow s feet" were unmistakable, and 
 there was no joy and no laughter in her 
 formerly bright and laughing eyes. And 
 her hair, her formerly magnificent abun 
 dance of blonde hair? There was no ex 
 pression, no life in it. You didn t know 
 71
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 that there is such a thing as life and ex 
 pression to hair? But there is. And by 
 the appearance of the hair alone, we can 
 sometimes judge of the person s health 
 and mood. There was no life, no lustre to 
 it, it looked like dead flax, like hair that 
 had been long subjected to the blighting 
 influence of peroxide. She certainly made 
 the impression of a formerly beautiful but 
 wilted rose ; or perhaps the simile of a lily 
 would be more appropriate. But one who 
 understands could see that the wilting was 
 not yet permanent, irremediable. One 
 who understands could see that it needed 
 but the vivifying influence of love, love in 
 its full meaning, and not only in its pla- 
 tonic manifestations to raise her droop 
 ing head, to put life in her eye and lustre 
 in her hair, to fill out her bust and 
 straighten out her spinal column. 
 
 I thought it was time to speak to them 
 plainly, and I thought it my duty to do so. 
 I told them that long engagements be- 
 72
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 tween two loving people were injurious, 
 sometimes terribly and permanently in 
 jurious. To suggest anything irregular 
 to such strictly brought up church mem 
 bers she never missed a Sunday service, 
 and he but very seldom would have been 
 foolish and wicked. But I insisted that 
 for the sake of their health they ought to 
 get married. If they could not get married 
 regularly, i.e., have a public church wed 
 ding and then go and keep house, let them 
 get married quietly in City Hall, let them 
 remain in their respective parents homes, 
 but meet occasionally. As the marriage 
 would be no secret to the parents, they 
 could meet frequently without difficulty. 
 Or they could both live in his or even in her 
 parents home. Or they could get a room in 
 a modest boarding house. But to none 
 of these propositions would either of them, 
 she particularly, assent. No, when they 
 do get married, it must be in the regular 
 established fashion. They must have a 
 73
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 big wedding, and they must be able to fur 
 nish a nice flat and keep a girl. But they 
 were sure that before the year was over, 
 they would get married. Things seemed 
 to be going his way, and he was sure that 
 in less than six or eight months, etc. "But 
 you are losing the best years of your 
 lives," I could not help interjecting. But 
 they did not see things in my light. Or, 
 perhaps, deeply in their souls they did, but 
 they were indissolubly bound by the fet 
 ters of convention and the shackles of cus 
 tom. "What fools these mortals be," 
 thought I, prescribed them some tonics 
 and dismissed them from my office and my 
 mind. 
 
 For seven years I saw nothing of Ros- 
 bert or Lilith. I heard that he had gone 
 West to try his fortune, and that they re 
 mained true and faithful to each other. 
 Her parents were getting tired of the 
 eternal delays and began to urge her to 
 break up the unfortunate engagement. 
 74
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 There was a wealthy middle-aged man 
 who was anxious to marry Lilith. For 
 while her physical charms were going, her 
 spiritual charms, her tact, her delicacy of 
 manner, were unimpaired. But Lilith 
 would hear nothing of it. The greater the 
 pressure brought to bear upon her, the 
 stronger was her determination to remain 
 loyal to poor Rosbert who had had such a 
 hard time of it. Luck seemed to be 
 against him. Just because he was so 
 anxious to make money for the sake of 
 Lilith, things would go wrong. He would 
 break down and be unable to bring matters 
 to a satisfactory conclusion at the critical 
 moment. 
 
 One morning, not long ago, a little 
 shriveled old lady was ushered into my of 
 fice. I didn t know her, and asked her her 
 name and what I could do for her. With 
 a painful smile she told me that she was 
 Lilith. I have always been very bad at 
 recognizing faces, and try as I might I 
 75
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 could find no trace of resemblance to the 
 Lilith I knew. "Rosbert s Lilith?" 
 "Yes, Rosbert s Lilith. Why, have I 
 changed so much?" I had to tell her that 
 she had. It is very fortunate that people 
 are as a rule themselves not fully aware of 
 the changes in their appearance. If they 
 were they would suffer too much. A few 
 hypersensitive natures are aware of the 
 ravages of time and disease and they do 
 suffer cruelly. Lilith was now thirty-five 
 or six, but she looked decidedly as if she 
 were between forty-five and fifty, and in 
 height she seemed to have dwindled down 
 to one half. Brunettes wear much better 
 than blondes. When blondes begin to go, 
 they go very rapidly. A "squeezed and 
 dried lemon" is a vulgar expression, but 
 no more fitting expression could be found 
 to describe Lilith. She looked as if she 
 had been taken, run thru a press, all the 
 juices squeezed out of her and then al 
 lowed to dry and wilt. 
 76
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 My heart ached for this poor victim of 
 our stup ( id social system or shall we say 
 victim of her own stupidity? 
 
 She told me that they had definitely de 
 cided to get married in two months. Ros- 
 bert was settling up his affairs in the 
 West, and was expecting to be back in 
 New York in about a month. No, he 
 hasn t made very much money, but still he 
 has made some and they decided to live in 
 poverty, if necessary, rather than to go on 
 living the way they have. "I wish we had 
 taken your advice, which you gave us 
 eight or ten years ago," said she, while a 
 disobedient tear was running down her 
 cheek. What she came to see me about 
 was to get a prescription for Rosbert. He 
 had written to her to see me and get a cer 
 tain prescription which always used to 
 help him, to have it made up here and mail 
 it to him, as he had no confidence in the 
 small Western drug stores. I gave her 
 the prescription. 
 
 77
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 Five or six weeks later Rosbert made his 
 appearance at my office. He was alone. 
 He looked wretched haggard and de 
 pressed. Now that everything was set 
 tled, that the marriage announcements 
 were sent out, he came to ask me if he had 
 a right to get married. Between seven 
 teen and nineteen he lived like most other 
 boys do, luckily he contracted no disease 
 of any kind, but since he fell in love with 
 Lilith he had led a strictly virtuous life. 
 He didn t like to speak about it, but dur 
 ing the last few years he noticed certain 
 symptoms which made him fear that he 
 was not perhaps quite fit to get married. 
 
 I examined him and found that he was 
 utterly unfit to get married. What was 
 to be done? To recall the marriage an 
 nouncements, after an engagement which 
 was becoming a joke on account of its long 
 duration? That was out of the question. 
 And besides to delay the wedding, in 
 order to undergo treatment, delay it for 
 78
 
 THEY WAITED TOO LONG 
 
 how long? Treatment would have to be 
 continued for many months, and even then 
 it might be of no value on account of the 
 long standing of the complaint. To break 
 it off altogether? Perhaps this would be 
 the best, but the chagrin and disgrace 
 would surely break Lilith s heart. After 
 she has sacrificed her youth, after she has 
 become an old woman waiting for him, to 
 remain alone in the world! For now she 
 could hardly expect to make another 
 match. 
 
 The decision we arrived at was that to 
 Lilith was to be explained the exact state 
 of affairs and that the decision was to be 
 left in her hands. I was to break the news 
 to her. Her bitter smile was painful to 
 behold, but her decision was what I ex 
 pected. She certainly could not be worse 
 off than she was now ; she will have at least 
 Rosbert s constant companionship, and she 
 will not be an object of pity and a butt 
 of ridicule among her girl friends. And 
 79
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 so the marriage will take place at the an 
 nounced date. But there is no joy in the 
 face and no hope in the heart of either 
 Rosbert or Lilith. 
 
 They were married three months ago. 
 They live peacefully and harmoniously, 
 but there is no joy in the face and no hope 
 in the heart of either Lilith or Rosbert. 
 
 80
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 QJa 
 A. Jaroht, MM., 
 
 A GOOD MAN, A GOOD PHYSICIAN AND A GOOD 
 FRIEND. MAY THE YEARS CONTINUE TO SIT 
 LIGHTLY ON YOUR SHOULDERS.
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 had just left the incomparable 
 Bay of Naples. The thousands 
 of lights from the city, from the 
 Castel Nuovo, from the Posilipo, were 
 mingled with the millions of lights on the 
 clear, cloudless sky above. The Medi 
 terranean was lying like a bright freshly 
 polished mirror before us, and Vesuvius 
 smoked in the distance. If there was any 
 one on board into whose soul this glorious 
 night and enchanting environment did not 
 cause a flow of peace and good will, that 
 man must have had a very bad conscience 
 indeed. 
 
 The after-dinner parade had ceased 
 and all was quiet, comparatively quiet, on 
 deck. Our little group had as usual as 
 sembled on the bench behind the smoking 
 room, and we were exchanging desultory 
 83
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 remarks about the enjoyable day we had 
 spent in Pompeii. The real discussion 
 was to come later. Oh, we were discuss 
 ing things all day and late into the night. 
 We were dubbed by the other passengers 
 "The Ocean Debating Club." The per 
 sonnel of our group was a rather inter 
 esting one. It consisted of Dr. William 
 Bonner, a well-known German physician, 
 whose great pride was his participation 
 in the revolution of 1848; Father Clancy, 
 a learned Jesuit, a remarkable linguist, 
 who in spite of his strict and sincere ad 
 herence to the teachings of the church, 
 was broad-minded enuf to enjoy listening 
 to Dr. Bonner s infidel and revolutionary 
 arguments. I have a suspicion that be 
 fore going to bed the good father prayed 
 for the sturdy old doctor s soul. The 
 third member of our party was Giacomo 
 D Annunzio, a cousin of the writer, him 
 self an artist and a voracious reader; and 
 the last, and least, was myself. Tho the 
 84
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 acquaintance was made on board the ship 
 only nine days previously, it had quickly 
 ripened into a real friendship. You see, 
 we were about the only four "real" intel 
 lectuals on board. As to the other pas 
 sengers, why, the males spent their time 
 playing penuchle or poker, smoking and 
 drinking, while the females were playing 
 whist or cultivating their minds with the 
 six best sellers. 
 
 As the members of our group found one 
 another s company all sufficient we rather 
 kept aloof from our fellow passengers, 
 and they let us alone. And we discussed 
 things. How we discussed! Time we had 
 a-plenty. There was not a moral, ethical 
 or sociologic question that was not passed 
 by us in review. The subject on the tapis 
 for that night was the important and in 
 teresting question: Is morality an ab 
 solute entity, or does the standard of mo 
 rality change with the times, with the 
 country, with circumstances? Or, as 
 85
 
 D Annunzio put it, can an action which is 
 universally considered wrong and im 
 moral become right and moral under cer 
 tain circumstances? 
 
 Dr. Bonner, D Annunzio and myself 
 naturally took the affirmative, while 
 Father Clancy, who, by the way, stoutly 
 denounced as false the generally current 
 opinion that the Jesuits ever said that the 
 end justified the means, stood unequivo 
 cally on the negative side. D Annunzio 
 who had visited Russia and witnessed 
 the horrors committed by the Russian of 
 ficials, maintained that even murder at 
 times became justifiable. He gave in 
 stances of some governors of provinces 
 and some police officials who spread death 
 and desolation wherever they went, who 
 were proved guilty of inciting massacres 
 of innocent people, who perpetrated in 
 describable cruelties on male and female 
 political prisoners, and to assassinate such 
 brutes who are probably insane or they 
 86
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 would not be so cruel maintained D An- 
 nunzio, was not only justifiable, but was 
 a duty incumbent upon every intelligent 
 citizen. Father Clancy was shocked at 
 such a horrid doctrine. "No, murder is 
 murder, no matter by whom or for what 
 purpose perpetrated. And he who kills 
 a Russian official, tho the purpose is no 
 ble, I will not deny that, is in the eyes of 
 God as much of a murderer as he who 
 kills for plunder." 
 
 And then the discussion grew more ani 
 mated than ever. Examples were given 
 by the score, but Father Clancy would 
 not budge. Dr. Bonner, who, in spite of 
 his eighty years, was a passionate debater, 
 was unusually quiet this evening. And I 
 also was a quiet listener. Father Clancy 
 and D Annunzio were the combatants in 
 this evening s tournament, and we looked 
 on and listened. 
 
 "But don t you admit that under some 
 circumstances a lie may become permissi- 
 87
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 ble? Don t you admit that there is such a 
 thing as a white lie?" 
 
 "No, amico mio, there is no such thing 
 as a white lie. All lies are black." 
 
 At these words Dr. Bonner stirred in 
 his chair, removed his cigar from his lips, 
 threw it overboard, looked at his watch, 
 and said: 
 
 "If it were not near eleven I would per 
 haps tell you a little story. But it is too 
 late. You may want to go to your state 
 rooms. And then I am afraid I might 
 bore you." 
 
 Of course we objected to any such 
 supposition and we begged the doctor to 
 tell us his story. We promised to be in 
 terested and not to feel sleepy, even if the 
 telling of the story took until morning. 
 The doctor remained silent for a while, 
 lost in memories. We did not disturb 
 him. At last he commenced, in his low, 
 even voice : 
 
 "It is sixty years since the drama I am 
 88
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 going to relate to you took place. We 
 are now in the year 1908, and this took 
 place in 1848, in the unforgettable 1848, 
 when every people on the European con 
 tinent, big or little, seemed to feel a whiff 
 of freedom, and began to straighten its 
 back and pull at its chains, in the hope of 
 freeing itself from its centuries-old fet 
 ters. The people ! When I say the peo 
 ple, I mean a few noble and self-sacri 
 ficing spirits, for the people is inert, and 
 the freedom, for which its best sons die, 
 has to be rammed down its throat. But 
 for the noble leaders, the people would 
 never advance they would be now where 
 they were three thousand years ago. The 
 revolution of 1848 penetrated, I said, 
 every country of Europe every country, 
 that is, except Russia. But then Russia 
 really belongs to Asia, and not to Europe. 
 In Russian Poland, however, there was 
 a slight ripple. The patriotic Poles 
 thought that the time had come to throw 
 89
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 off the Russian yoke, and to establish a 
 constitutional monarchy. And dearly 
 they had to pay for their rashness. The 
 butcher Nicholas, who was at that time 
 gracing the Russian throne, gave orders 
 to repress the rebellion without delay and 
 without mercy; all Poland was put un 
 der martial law and the governor and 
 military commanders were given carte 
 blanche to do as they pleased with the 
 Polish people. Blood was running freely 
 and thousands of innocent men and women 
 boys and girls were thrown into dun 
 geons, knouted unmercifully to extort 
 confessions and then hanged or shot in 
 bunches. 
 
 "The leader of the revolution in War 
 saw was a young doctor, Arnold Bruno. 
 I knew him well and we were intimate 
 friends, tho I was only a youth of twenty, 
 while he was thirty-two. He belonged to 
 the richest and most aristocratic family in 
 the town: he enjoyed universal love and 
 90
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 esteem, for the kindness of his heart knew 
 no bounds. Not only would he never 
 charge anything to the poor there are 
 many doctors who always treat the poor 
 free but he would always furnish from 
 his pocket the medicine, wine, food, and 
 would pay for a nurse whenever required. 
 He could afford it, and he loved the poor ; 
 he loved humanity at large. Once in a 
 while nature does bring forth a human be 
 ing that loves its fellow human beings 
 deeply, sincerely, without expecting a 
 monument for it, without a desire to get 
 into the newspapers. And as said, his 
 love for his fellowmen was reciprocated. 
 And when he married the beautiful, noble 
 and high-minded actress Selma, Selma 
 who, tho but two years on the stage, was 
 pronounced the greatest actress that the 
 world had produced, the whole city sent 
 congratulations. It was a love match, of 
 course, and a more loving couple the world 
 has never seen. They were completely 
 91
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 wrapped up in each other, and they lived 
 and breathed for each other. Life to one 
 without the other seemed unimaginable. 
 For five years they lived a life of perfect 
 bliss, of unmarred happiness. And no 
 body begrudged them their happiness. 
 Nobody, except Muravin, the brutal, de 
 generate, merciless governor of the prov 
 ince. His face would assume a purple 
 color, his eyes get bloodshot and the tem 
 poral arteries pulsate violently, when he 
 passed the Brunos on foot or in their car 
 riage. For he had a violent passion for 
 Selma, and when she was on the stage he 
 made persistent advances to her. She 
 repulsed the brute indignantly and threat 
 ened to call for aid, if he ever approached 
 her again. He kept away, but his pas 
 sion was not quenched. On the contrary. 
 And when the marriage of Selma to Ar 
 nold Bruno took place he was near apo 
 plexy. And he hated Bruno with a ha 
 tred of which only such beasts are capa- 
 92
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 ble. Pardon me for using such harsh 
 words, but I cannot speak calmly of that 
 man. Sixty years have passed, and my 
 blood still boils when I think of him 
 and I remember his brutal face, as if I 
 had seen him yesterday. He hated the 
 Brunos, but he had no opportunity to 
 wreak his vengeance on them. The revo 
 lution afforded Muravin such an oppor 
 tunity, and he availed himself of it with 
 fiendish glee. 
 
 "When the news of the uprisings in 
 France, Germany, Austria, Hungary, 
 etc., reached Poland, the people became 
 restive. Cruelly suffering under the 
 brutal Russian yoke, they decided to break 
 the hateful chain or to die in the at 
 tempt. Bruno was doubtful as to the out 
 come of the conflict, but he threw himself 
 into it with heart and soul. He could 
 not stand the poverty and the suffering 
 of his people, and he thought the attempt 
 was worth while. He belonged to those 
 93
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 who believe an unsuccessful rebellion bet 
 ter than no rebellion at all. He gave all 
 he possessed to the cause, and he worked 
 for it, literally, day and night. Public 
 speeches, committee meetings, war coun 
 cils, kept him away from home most of 
 the time. Selma saw very little of him 
 those days. Her heart was breaking, but 
 every morning when bidding him good-bye 
 she blessed him with an encouraging 
 smile. Noblesse oblige. The fate of a 
 people is more important than our per 
 sonal happiness, and so she did not inter 
 fere, but helped him in his work. And 
 when he was gone, she cried in despair, 
 for she knew the end. I found her crying 
 many times. But if Bruno s steps were 
 heard, her face would change at once, and 
 I doubt if he ever suspected what she was 
 going thru. 
 
 "The revolution was over. Thousands 
 of people were brutally massacred, hun- 
 94
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 dreds of women were outraged by the 
 drunken soldiers, who were expressly 
 given license to do as they pleased, and 
 the leaders were in hiding or in prison. 
 Arnold Bruno was in prison. 
 
 "Let me quickly pass over the scene of 
 the arrest. I was in the house at the 
 time. I shall never forget the sudden 
 awakening by the violent knock at the 
 door, the sullen faces of the soldiers and 
 the fiendish expression of Muravin, who 
 conducted the arrest in person. The an 
 guish on the face of Selma when the hand 
 cuffs were put on Arnold was something 
 fearful to behold and 
 
 Here Dr. Bonner broke off. It was 
 apparently hard for him to continue. 
 We remained in respectful, subdued si 
 lence. After a moment Dr. Bonner col 
 lected himself sufficiently to be able to 
 proceed. He continued: 
 
 "Yes, it was something terrible to be 
 hold and if I live another eighty years I 
 95
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 shall not forget. It pierced me thru the 
 heart like a knife. But Arnold did not be 
 hold it. For when she threw her arms 
 around his neck to bid him adieu, her face 
 was calm and even cheerful, and she told 
 him not to lose courage, not to feel de 
 spondent, that everything would be all 
 right, that she would at once appeal to his 
 and her influential friends and relatives, 
 that within a few days he would be free. 
 
 "After a farcical trial by the court-mar 
 tial, Arnold was condemned to death. 
 Everything possible w T as done to stop the 
 execution of the sentence. Money was 
 spent freely by Arnold s parents and re 
 lations, but all in vain. Muravin had rep 
 resented Arnold to the higher authorities 
 as the ringleader of the rebellion, as one 
 who always sowed discontent and disre 
 spect for the powers that be, and inti 
 mated that his position would become un 
 tenable, if Bruno were pardoned, or even 
 if his sentence were commuted. An ex- 
 96
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 ample had to be made. Poor Selma suf 
 fered atrociously, but very little of what 
 she was going thru could Arnold notice 
 during the brief visits which she was al 
 lowed to make to him twice a week, under 
 the argus eyes of the two gendarmes. 
 
 "Imbued with the old superstition that 
 the czar or king or emperor is less cruel 
 than his minions as if the latter were not 
 mere tools executing the distinct or im 
 plied orders and wishes of the former- 
 she journeyed to St. Petersburg, and after 
 endless trouble, after endless humiliations, 
 she was admitted to the czar s august 
 presence. A look at his brutish face con 
 vinced her, as she told me, that her mission 
 was in vain. But she laid the case before 
 him, pleaded with all her heart and art. 
 He listened coldly. "No rebellion can be 
 tolerated in my domain, and no mercy 
 can be shown to revolutionists." And he 
 indicated that the audience was over. 
 She left the winter palace as if in a dream, 
 97
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 and she preserved but a confused memory 
 of how she reached Warsaw. She was 
 unrecognizable when she reached home. 
 Again, I must say, if I were to live an 
 other eighty years I would not forget her 
 face. Such anguish and despair I have 
 not seen since, neither on a living human 
 face nor on a picture. Why wasn t a 
 painter there to depict and eternalize this 
 acme of human anguish and misery! 
 
 "But she knew she had to see Arnold 
 the following day and the will power of 
 that girl (she was only twenty-five at the 
 time) was marvelous she at once began 
 to pull herself together. The next day, 
 tho pale and weak, she appeared calm. I 
 accompanied her that day to the prison. 
 When the door of the miserable dark cell 
 opened, her face I watched her closely 
 assumed a cheerful expression, and I am 
 sure Arnold had no suspicion of what she 
 was going thru. 
 
 "What did she tell Arnold? She told 
 98
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 him a lie, Father Clancy, a deliberate lie. 
 This lie, however, sinks into insignificance 
 in comparison with the much bigger lie 
 which she told him a few days later. To 
 return. She told Arnold that the em 
 peror received her graciously, said he 
 would give the matter his personal atten 
 tion, and while he did not commit himself, 
 he gave her to understand that she had 
 nothing to fear, and tell your husband 
 to hope for the best. 
 
 "This pious lie had a cheering, vivifying 
 effect on Arnold. He needed it. For a 
 great change had taken place in him. I 
 see I have not mentioned it until now. 
 Yes, a great change. His spirit was 
 completely broken. He was going thru 
 a period which comes into the life of every 
 reformer and revolutionist, except per 
 haps the most exalted fanatic, when he be 
 gins to ask himself: Was it or is it worth 
 while? Is the game worth the candle? 
 He needn t go so far as to ask: Are the 
 99
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 people worth the sacrifice, is it worth 
 while that I should give away my life for 
 them? He needn t go so far, I say, to 
 feel in despair. Let him only begin to 
 ask : Is my way the right way, is revolu 
 tion or violent reform really the best 
 method to advance, and to increase the 
 happiness of humanity? and he is in great 
 danger of falling into the slough of de 
 spondency. And Arnold did ask himself 
 these questions, as Selma could notice 
 from her brief interviews with him. 
 When he saw, he said, that the very best 
 men in the country, the most intellectual 
 and the most kind-hearted were in exile, 
 in the Siberian mines, in subterranean 
 dungeons, shot or hanged, then he thought 
 that the sacrifice was too great, that the 
 method of warfare was a wrong one, and 
 that the people were not only temporarily 
 but ultimately the losers thereby. No 
 nation can far advance whose men and 
 women of the highest type are systemat- 
 100
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 ically weeded out, either by killing them 
 outright or by slow torture in prisons. 
 
 "And so Arnold doubted whether he did 
 right in participating in the revolution, 
 and these doubts increased his suffering. 
 And besides he became imbued with a ter 
 rible desire to live. Many people, not 
 only thousands, but millions of them, 
 think they do not care for life particu 
 larly. But as soon as they get seriously 
 ill, or when they feel the approach of 
 death, every fiber of their body and soul 
 begins to quiver, and they begin to hold 
 on to life with a passion and despair which 
 excite the deepest pity in friends and rela 
 tives. With every fiber of his strong, 
 healthy being Arnold revolted against the 
 thought of death. The solitary confine 
 ment had a terrible effect on him. For 
 bidden to see a living being, except his 
 wife for a few minutes twice a week un 
 der the eyes of soldiers, forbidden to read 
 or to write, or do anything at all, Arnold 
 101
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 suffered tortures, and these sufferings 
 affected his character as well as his hody. 
 He became very irritable. And he once 
 told Selma that he feared she was not do 
 ing all that was possible in order to save 
 him. What Selma felt at these words 
 can be better imagined than described. 
 But not a syllable of reproach did she ut 
 ter. She felt instinctively that it was his 
 intense love for her a love and a passion, 
 that could now find no exit, no safety 
 valve that made the imprisonment so 
 much harder for him, that made the 
 thought of death such a torture to him. 
 She assured him that everything possible 
 was done and that she hoped to receive 
 soon good news from the emperor. 
 
 "And then Selma poor Selma! de 
 cided upon a desperate step. She de 
 cided to go and see Muravin personally. 
 She knew it was a terribly dangerous step 
 and she had very, very little hope of ac 
 complishing anything but if there had 
 102
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 been one chance in a million to save Ar 
 nold, and if she had to pay with her life 
 for that chance, she would have paid it 
 gladly. Some of you may consider such 
 a love pathologic, abnormal: but the 
 deepest depths of love that a woman is 
 capable of for a man, especially if the 
 man is suffering and unhappy, have not 
 been explored yet, and until this is done 
 we have no right to designate any kind 
 of love as abnormal or pathologic. 
 
 "Selma wrote Muravin asking for a 
 private interview. The answer came 
 promptly, making the appointment late 
 for the evening of the following day. He 
 was too busy to see her on official business 
 in the daytime, he said. Selma hesitated 
 to go, and trembled as she went, but go 
 she did. When she was shown into his 
 somber, prison-like office, when she saw 
 the peculiar brutish passion-distorted ex 
 pression on Muravin s face, she wanted to 
 go back. But it was too late. The door 
 103
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 was locked behind her. She began to 
 plead for Arnold s life ; he listened with a 
 cruel sneer; she pleaded and pleaded; he 
 only sneered. It seemed to him a huge 
 joke. She finally threw herself at his 
 feet, and this, instead of softening the 
 brute, threw him into a fit of frenzy. His 
 physical strength was proverbial. . . . 
 "In an hour, Selma, outraged, utterly 
 crushed in spirit and in body, was shown 
 out of the room. How she ever reached 
 home was a marvel. Her will-power was 
 truly superhuman. But as soon as she 
 reached home she swooned away, and it 
 took two devoted physicians over two 
 hours to bring her to consciousness. But 
 all night and the entire following day she 
 kept on fainting, sobbing and shivering. 
 It was pitiful to look at her. She seemed 
 to have shrunk, to have become a little 
 child. Every few minutes a convulsive 
 spasm would go thru her body, she would 
 give a violent start, and look about her 
 104
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 with large, staring, frightened eyes. The 
 doctors were afraid for her life or reason. 
 
 "We all trembled. But she pulled her 
 self together. 
 
 " No. I must not die; not yet. I 
 must see Arnold once more. And I have 
 something to tell to Vladimir. I haven t 
 mentioned, have I, that Selma had a 
 brother, a high-strung, hot-headed youth 
 of twenty, who loved Selma as passion 
 ately as a lover, and who would have been 
 ready at any time to make any sacrifice 
 for her. 
 
 She sent for Vladimir, and when he 
 came in she asked everybody to leave the 
 room. She whispered something to him, 
 whispered it so low, so low that he had 
 difficulty in understanding her. But 
 when he understood he trembled from 
 head to foot. 
 
 I will kill the scoundrel, even if I have 
 to forfeit my life for a certainty. 
 
 : I expect you to do it, my dear, she 
 105
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 answered. It is a mortal, unpardonable 
 sin to permit such a monster to live. He 
 is the incarnation of everything cruel and 
 wicked, and he sows misery and death 
 wherever he goes. But you must not at 
 tempt anything now. He is well guarded 
 now and he is constantly on the lookout. 
 Wait a year, or five if necessary, only you 
 must make sure that when you strike the 
 blow, you do not miss your aim. 
 
 Dr. Bonner stopped here. The narra 
 tive was tiring him, and toward the end 
 the pauses were becoming longer and more 
 frequent. 
 
 As we were waiting for the doctor to 
 proceed, Father Clancy murmured more 
 to himself than to us: "Mustn t take the 
 law into one s own hands. Should leave 
 vengeance to God." 
 
 A spark thrown into dynamite could 
 not have produced a more violent effect 
 than these words produced on Dr. Bon 
 ner. The change was instantaneous. 
 106
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 We did not recognize him. He moved to 
 the edge of the chair, sitting up erect, 
 threw away his cigar, which he had lit a 
 few minutes before, and proceeded to grill 
 Father Clancy in a fashion of which we 
 did not consider him capable. The young 
 revolutionist of sixty years ago was be 
 fore us. I wish I could remember his 
 exact words. But their intent is per 
 fectly clear to me. He spoke to the ef 
 fect that this teaching about leaving 
 vengeance to God has been Humanity s 
 greatest curse. Every tyrant, every 
 royal oppressor, every official murderer, 
 has had the aid of this pernicious doctrine, 
 and all the horrors and cruelties perpe 
 trated by officials have gone unpunished 
 on account of it. 
 
 "Your church, Father Clancy, as well 
 as other churches, has always been on the 
 side of oppression, on the side of obscur 
 ity, on the side of tyranny. Whenever a 
 king or a pope wanted to banish, to im- 
 107
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 prison, to burn, to murder individually, 
 or to assassinate by wholesale, your church 
 never failed to give its sanction ; but when 
 ever an exhausted and exasperated peo 
 ple wanted to put a stop to the official 
 misdeeds, wanted to rid itself of a mon 
 strously cruel king or a degenerate em 
 peror, you always cried: You must not 
 take the law into your own hands; the 
 king is a sacred person ; and when the 
 royal brutalities were too clearly apparent 
 to everybody, you played your last card: 
 Leave vengeance to the Lord. The non- 
 resistance doctrine would be all right 
 if everybody were guided by it. But 
 preached as it has been for twenty cen 
 turies to the disinherited and downtrod 
 den only, it has hindered progress terri 
 bly. Why, without that enervating doc 
 trine we would have been a thousand years 
 further advanced than we are now." 
 
 And in this strain spoke Dr. Bonner 
 for a long time, Father Clancy remain- 
 108
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 ing silent. He did not try to interrupt 
 or to contradict him. After a little while, 
 Dr. Bonner got up, bade us good-night, 
 and was about to retire to his stateroom, 
 but we were all deeply interested; we 
 wanted to know the end of the story in 
 which, we felt, he played more than the 
 role of a mere spectator, and we implored 
 him to stay on deck and tell us the end. 
 If we were interested in Arnold s fate, we 
 were much more so in Selma s, to whom 
 our hearts went out in longing sympathy. 
 Dr. Bonner rested a while, asked for a 
 glass of Rhine wine and resumed the 
 story : 
 
 "Selma could not have slept a wink that 
 night. There was a frightful pallor on 
 her face, her eyes, deep-sunken and large, 
 shone with an unearthly splendor; we 
 could see that she was at the highest 
 point of nervous tension. We feared that 
 something would soon snap in her. But 
 she prayed for a little more strength, a 
 109
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 little more endurance. Arnold s execu 
 tion was to take place in three days, and 
 this was the last day she would be permit 
 ted to see her husband. 
 
 * I still have one duty to perform; oh, 
 for the strength to perform it properly, 
 so that Arnold notices nothing. 
 I must, I must. I know it requires su 
 perhuman strength, but I must. 
 
 "And swaying to an fro she went into 
 her room. When she came out we were 
 shocked at the change; in fact, we did not 
 recognize her at the first moment. She 
 had put on her gayest dress and hat, she 
 had used paint and powder liberally but 
 skillfully, and she looked as happy and 
 gay a creature as ever she did before 
 the terrible calamity came into her life. 
 Only a most experienced observer and 
 psychologist could have noticed that un 
 der this calm and cheerful exterior a storm 
 was brewing, a heart was breaking, nerves 
 were snapping, a brain was reeling. 
 110
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 "When she came to the prison she found 
 Arnold in the deepest despair; he looked 
 weak, shabby, spiritless and anything 
 but the picture of a great revolutionary 
 leader. Had he been led to the execution 
 in that condition, the former popular hero 
 would have fallen greatly in popular es 
 timation. Our old perverted ideas are 
 more particular as to how a man dies than 
 as to how he lives. And still it is much 
 easier to die a hero than to live like one 
 all thru one s life. 
 
 "But Arnold could not reconcile himself 
 to the thought of death. And it was this 
 knowledge, this fear that her Arnold 
 would disgrace himself, would go to his 
 untimely death like a coward, that helped 
 her to go thru the supreme test. She 
 threw herself on his neck, kissed him pas 
 sionately and began to talk to him in a low 
 voice. The jailers, who knew this was 
 the last interview, showed some delicacy 
 in keeping at a distance and permitting 
 111
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 the two to talk without interference. 
 After the first few words Arnold bright 
 ened up, life came into his eyes, he 
 stretched his legs and stood up erect in 
 short, he became Arnold of the former 
 days. The interview lasted longer than 
 usual, the guards became impatient, but 
 with a smile they could not resist, she 
 begged them for an additional half hour, 
 and they yielded. The time for the final 
 parting came. She kissed him passion 
 ately and her last words were: "So re 
 member, dear, courage and a triumphant 
 smile on your face; and then we will 
 be together, never to part again." He 
 waved her a cheerful au revoir, and in a 
 buoyant high-spirited mood he settled 
 down to wait for the day of his execu 
 tion, which was to be his day of deliver 
 ance. 
 
 "What did the poor girl tell him? 
 What strange tale did Selma whisper in 
 his ear, that at once carried him from deep
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 despair to hopeful buoyancy? I ll tell 
 you. 
 
 "Poor Selma told him that she had re 
 ceived that morning an order from Mu- 
 ravin to come at once. That when she 
 came, he was most kind to her and showed 
 her a letter from the emperor, giving Ar 
 nold a full pardon. But the emperor 
 wished to give the thing an impressive 
 and melodramatic setting; he therefore 
 gave orders that the pardon should re 
 main a deep secret; that the preparation 
 for the execution should be proceeded 
 with in the usual way, and only just be 
 fore giving the order to fire, would Gov 
 ernor Muravin read the ukase of his gra 
 cious and merciful Majesty, bestowing 
 the full pardon upon Arnold. It will 
 have a better effect on the people and it 
 will help considerably in pacifying them. 
 
 "Arnold swallowed the whole story. 
 Everybody else in his place would have. 
 Nobody would have suspected for a mil- 
 113
 
 lionth of a second that a human being 
 would be capable of telling such a lie with 
 out betraying himself or herself. 
 
 "And, by the way, Father Clancy, do 
 you think Selma was morally justified in 
 telling that terrible I call it divinely 
 sublime lie?" 
 
 But Father Clancy refused to commit 
 himself this time. And Dr. Bonner con 
 tinued : 
 
 "Whatever Father Clancy may think of 
 the morality of Selma s act, it had an ex 
 cellent moral effect on Arnold. He went 
 to the execution which he thought would 
 be no execution at all, but a liberation 
 bravely, smilingly. There was a spring 
 to his walk, and he carried his beautiful 
 head high and proudly. The admiration 
 of the people for their hero was greater 
 than ever before, and, for many decades 
 after, the people talked of the insouciance 
 and courage with which Arnold met his 
 death. And when he noticed Selma smil- 
 114
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 ing and waving to him with her handker 
 chief, he smiled back and waved her a 
 kiss. (On account of his high social po 
 sition he was permitted to meet his death 
 standing and unbandaged.) 
 
 "When the order Fire! was given and 
 the twelve bullets riddled his body, an ex 
 pression of painful surprise seemed to 
 come to his face. But death was instan 
 taneous and he sank in a heap. And as 
 Arnold sank, another report was heard, 
 and poor, noble Selma fell dead, shot thru 
 the heart. Poor thing. She could not, she 
 would not live without Arnold, with this 
 last horrible scene, which was made a thou 
 sand times more horrible by the presence 
 of the triumphantly sneering Muravin, 
 constantly haunting her. Peace be to her 
 dear, sweet soul. Her grave, I learn, has 
 been kept green these many years, and is 
 a place of pilgrimage for the romantic 
 young ladies of the town. 
 
 "What else is there to tell? Very little. 
 115
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 A year passed. It was evening. Muravin 
 was sitting on a bench in a public park, 
 listening to the military band. Selma s 
 brother, dressed like a foreigner to all 
 intents and purposes an English dandy- 
 was walking to and fro behind the bench. 
 He was watching for a signal. As he 
 perceived the waving of a handkerchief, 
 he turned on his heel and in the fraction 
 of a minute he was behind Muravin, press 
 ing a pistol to the back of his head. In 
 another fraction half of Muravin s head 
 was blown off. A tumult arose, but Sel 
 ma s brother was gone, the carriage that 
 was waiting bearing him with the utmost 
 speed to the residence of a friend." 
 
 "What became of him?" we asked. 
 
 "In another week he crossed the frontier 
 in disguise and very soon we find him 
 studying medicine in Germany, under an 
 assumed name, of course. After his 
 graduation he went to America, where he 
 became a very prominent physician." 
 116
 
 WAS SELMA JUSTIFIED? 
 
 "Is he still alive?" we inquired. 
 
 "He is right before you," answered Dr. 
 Bonner. 
 
 We were reverently silent. 
 
 And the steamer glided along the 
 smooth aqueous mirror, and the golden 
 stars twinkled as if they were asking: 
 "Why, why, do you humans cause one 
 another so much misery?" And the moon 
 scattered its cold and indifferent rays in 
 all directions. 
 
 And then the bell rang clear and dis 
 tinct in the pure Mediterranean atmos 
 phere, telling us that it was 1 A. M., and 
 we all went to our staterooms to court the 
 embraces of the beneficent tho occasion 
 ally cruel god Morpheus; cruel, for the 
 most troubled souls, who need his gift of 
 oblivion the most, often pray for it in vain. 
 
 Poor, noble Selma! 
 
 Was she justified? 
 
 117
 
 LOVE: A LITTLE STORY FOR 
 FREE LOVERS 
 
 AN EARNEST WORKER IN HUMANITY S VINEYARD
 
 LOVE: A LITTLE STORY FOR 
 FREE LOVERS 
 
 EATE, destiny and luck are ana 
 chronistic terms which should be 
 eliminated from the vocabulary 
 of thinking men and women. But chance 
 and accident still play an important role 
 in our individual existences. Often a 
 greater role than our most carefully 
 worked-out designs. 
 
 A brief, aimless stroll will sometimes 
 change the course of a man s life. It 
 changed Arnold Trolling s life. It was in 
 a library they met. He was traveling with 
 his parents, and they stopped in a mid 
 dle-sized town of western New York. It 
 was an hour to lunch and he thought he 
 would take a stroll and see the town. He 
 had walked for about half an hour, when, 
 almost without any warning, he was over 
 taken by a terrific downpour of rain. He
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 looked about for a place of shelter, and 
 noticed that he was standing near a public 
 library. He walked in. 
 
 The library was in charge of a solitary 
 young girl. He explained that he came 
 in to seek protection from the rain, but as 
 he was in, would she mind giving him such 
 and such a book. He had heard a good 
 deal about it and wanted to see it. She 
 was very sorry, but the book was loaned 
 out. Her voice was so soft, so sweet and 
 vibrant that it thrilled him. Would he 
 care to see some other book, or some of the 
 recent magazines? And she handed him 
 several. 
 
 He looked at her. She was slight and 
 slim. She was dressed in black, with just 
 a tiny bit of white around the collar and 
 cuffs. The face was small and thin; it 
 surely wasn t pretty; some might call it 
 homely, others might call it beautiful, on 
 account of the large, beautiful, earnest 
 eyes, but pretty it was not. Yes, 
 122
 
 LOVE 
 
 besides her beautiful, very beautiful 
 eyes, he said to himself, there was another 
 beautiful thing about her her hair, her 
 silky, jet black, abundant hair. And her 
 entire figure was a delight. So perfect 
 and supple ; and it wasn t the corsets either 
 that helped to make it perfect, for she 
 wore no corsets, but this he found out only 
 later. 
 
 He glanced thru the magazines, ex 
 changed a few trivial remarks, and as the 
 rain had stopped, and he was expected at 
 the hotel for dinner, he left. But he left 
 with a feeling of undefinable dissatisfac 
 tion, a strange regret. But in this feeling 
 there was also a substratum of peculiar 
 exaltation and buoyancy. Of course he 
 didn t and couldn t give himself any ac 
 count of his feelings. He didn t suspect 
 that his feeling could in any way be related 
 to the little librarian in the black dress. 
 The next morning, very soon after the 
 stroke of nine, at which hour he knew the 
 123
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 library opened, he was in the reading 
 room, apparently interested in the weekly 
 comic papers. 
 
 But before we go any further, let us say 
 a word about Arnold and Esther, for 
 Esther was the young librarian s name. 
 
 Arnold was twenty-one years old. His 
 parents were not rich, but just fairly well 
 off. His father was in business, the 
 dry goods business, I believe. Arnold s 
 mother died when he was six years old, 
 and a year later his father married again. 
 His stepmother was not very loving, either 
 to him or to her own children, and Arnold 
 withdrew into himself. He was a serious, 
 timid boy, studied his lessons well, and as 
 soon as he began to read books, he devoted 
 all his spare time to reading. Books were 
 his only companions. He went thru 
 grammar school, high school and college, 
 and now he was studying law. He did 
 not have much taste for law, but his father 
 thought that that would be the best career
 
 LOVE 
 
 for him, and as no other profession made 
 any special appeal to him, he consented. 
 As a young man he remained the same se 
 rious, timid boy. All his free time he spent 
 home, reading and studying. He never 
 participated in the good times his fellow 
 students invited him to. His high moral 
 principles would not permit him, and he 
 had no taste for any kind of pranks, ex 
 cesses or license. 
 
 Esther was twenty-four years old. 
 Yes, I regret to say, she was three years 
 older than Arnold. If I were inventing a 
 story, I would make the heroine younger. 
 But in a true tale the facts must be stated 
 as they were. To some people it might 
 spoil the romance of the story; some 
 people cannot imagine passionate love be 
 tween a man and a woman, if the woman is 
 older than the man; the woman, the girl, 
 must always be several years younger than 
 the man; but some of the noblest, most 
 125
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 passionate and most constant unions that 
 I have known, have been between men and 
 women, the husbands younger than the 
 wives. And so Esther was twenty-four 
 years old. But she looked much younger. 
 Not more than eighteen. Some ten years 
 previously she had come over with her 
 mother from Russia. Her father was 
 killed in one of those horrible massacres, 
 called pogroms, in which innocent and 
 peaceful Jewish men, women and children 
 are beaten, maimed, outraged and slaugh 
 tered, just for the fun of the populace. 
 These massacres are organized with irreg 
 ular periodicity by the brutalized, drunken 
 mobs, with the support or at least the con 
 nivance of the brutal Russian government 
 and its minions. The mob knows that the 
 punishment will be merely nominal or 
 none at all, and indulges in the wildest, 
 most savage crimes and excesses. It was 
 in trying to prevent the raping of a young 
 Jewish girl by a drunken fiend, that 
 126
 
 LOVE 
 
 Esther s father was killed. When, with 
 all their property destroyed by the insane 
 rabble, they emigrated to America, they 
 had settled in the town of S , because 
 an uncle and aunt of Esther s had been liv 
 ing there for several years. Esther entered 
 public school, was rapidly promoted from 
 class to class and was graduated from high 
 school with the highest honors. She be 
 gan to teach school. But she was delicate. 
 The horror of the massacre, the scene when 
 her father, covered with blood, with his 
 skull crushed, was carried into the house, 
 the unconscious condition of her mother 
 which lasted for several days, left an in- 
 eraseable impression on her nervous sys 
 tem, and she could never become robust. 
 School teaching had a bad effect on her, 
 and the doctor told her she must give it up. 
 Just at that time the city was endowed 
 with a library, and the choice of a librarian 
 fell upon her. She was well known and 
 well beloved. Her mother had died two 
 127
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 or three years after their removal to 
 America, and she was now living with her 
 aunt. 
 
 Had Arnold not been engrossed in the 
 papers, he would have noticed that his 
 arrival at the library was coincident with a 
 sudden blush on the pale face of the little 
 librarian. He would not have known 
 whether his arrival was the cause of the 
 blush, but he could not have failed to see 
 that it was synchronous with it. But it 
 was the direct cause of it. For when Ar 
 nold had left the library the previous day, 
 Esther became aware of a sensation which 
 she had never experienced before. In a 
 little town in which you see the same faces 
 over and over again, every new, strange 
 face is apt to cause a pleasurable feeling. 
 But this was a new, distinct sensation. 
 When Arnold left, the room seemed so 
 drearily empty, and she only mechanically 
 filled the orders of the few visitors. Will 
 128
 
 LOVE 
 
 she ever see him again? This question 
 kept on recurring again and again. 
 
 Our psychologists have some important 
 work to do to explain, if it ever can be ex 
 plained, the rationale of love at first sight. 
 Perhaps they will have to call in the aid of 
 the exact sciences. Some students of the 
 problem of the greatest sensation in the 
 world, are trying to explain Love on 
 purely chemical principles. They say 
 that the sight of the beloved or to-be- 
 beloved object excites a chemical reaction 
 in the lover, starts up a kind of fermenta 
 tion, which can be soothed or neutralized 
 only by the presence or the possession of 
 the beloved object. Be that as it may, it 
 was love at first sight, in the case of Ar 
 nold and Esther. 
 
 When Arnold left that day, he knew 
 that his happiness depended on Esther, 
 and Esther knew that her life without Ar 
 nold would be a long, dreary, endless 
 desert. She passed a restless night. She 
 129
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 dreamed of a horrible massacre, in which 
 Arnold s life was threatened, and she 
 awoke with a start and a scream. She 
 went to the library earlier than usual, and 
 she had hardly opened the door when Ar 
 nold came in. They passed the forenoon 
 in talking, and when he left for dinner each 
 knew everything that was to be known of 
 the other s life. He came after dinner 
 and spent the afternoon with her. On the 
 following day, he told her that he loved 
 her, and that he would love her to the end 
 of his days, and that of course he would 
 marry her and nobody else. And Esther 
 knew that he meant it, and she told him 
 that she loved him from the first moment 
 she saw him, and that he was her life and 
 her ideal. He had to leave the following 
 day, and he spent the evening with her. 
 The parting was painful, but the absolute 
 assurance of each other s complete and 
 eternal possession, filled them with a hope 
 and radiance that did not permit them to 
 130
 
 LOVE 
 
 feel despair or experience any sadness. 
 They knew they belonged to each other; 
 they would live for each other, and they 
 had an interest which would fill their lives 
 forever. 
 
 They corresponded daily. It was soon 
 after that Esther suggested that she didn t 
 think law was the proper vocation for him. 
 She told him that under our present social 
 conditions, law was not a desirable profes 
 sion, that strictly honest men could not 
 practice it without injury to their ideal 
 ism, for success in it depended principally 
 in taking advantage of the other party s 
 weakness; to be financially successful one 
 must be unscrupulous and a bully. Alto 
 gether she did not think it the proper life- 
 work for Arnold. He fully agreed with 
 her. He felt the same way, before she 
 wrote. They began to discuss what pro 
 fession to select, and they decided on med 
 icine. She wrote to him that medicine 
 was the only profession a man could prac- 
 131
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 tice without any loss of self-respect, and 
 without any detriment to his ideals. Be 
 sides it offered a great field for discoveries 
 and improvements. Since calling in the 
 aid of the exact sciences, physics, chemis 
 try and biology, it was itself becoming 
 every year more and more of an exact sci 
 ence. And above everything, no other 
 vocation brought one in so close and inti 
 mate relations with human life, and of 
 fered so many opportunities for doing 
 good, and being helpful, as did the prac 
 tice of medicine. And Arnold entered 
 upon the study of medicine, the noblest of 
 all studies, dealing with the alleviation of 
 suffering, the prevention and cure of dis 
 ease, and the prolongation of human life. 
 His father objected at first to his son s 
 changing his career, but at last he yielded 
 to his arguments. Arnold put all his 
 heart into his studies ; whatever he did, he 
 did with a will. His only recreation and 
 pleasure was the daily letter from Esther. 
 132
 
 LOVE 
 
 When the examinations of the first 
 year were over, Arnold told his father 
 that he was going to spend his vacation at 
 S . His father was surprised and 
 asked for a reason, and Arnold told him. 
 It was the first time that Arnold had re 
 ferred to the subject. His father became 
 furious and blustered. Arnold was pale 
 but silent. He remained silent until his 
 father made some disparaging remark 
 about Esther, referring to her as probably 
 being an adventuress, or something like 
 that. And then Arnold told him calmly 
 but tensely, that if he said another bad 
 word about his beloved and future wife, he 
 would leave the house at once and never 
 return to it. And Arnold s father knew 
 his son. Always submissive and yielding 
 in little things, inflexible and unswervable 
 in big things. He was permitted to have 
 his own way. He spent a blissful sum 
 mer with Esther. Their happiness was 
 supreme, sublime. His love was not like 
 133
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 a fire that bursts out into an all-consuming 
 flame; it was a fire that burnt steadily, 
 constantly, and forever. And so he spent 
 the next three years: nine months of the 
 year in the college and laboratory, three 
 months with Esther. 
 
 Immediately after his graduation they 
 were married. They lived an unclouded 
 life, unmarred by a cross word or an un 
 pleasant action. Their love seemed to 
 grow stronger with each passing year. 
 They had no children. A medical exam 
 ination showed that it would be difficult 
 for Esther to give birth to a child, that it 
 might be dangerous to her life, and so he 
 took precautions she should have no chil 
 dren. But they wanted to have children 
 to care for and so they adopted one; then 
 another and then still another. It was 
 their idea that well-to-do people who had 
 no children, were in duty bound to adopt 
 some poor children and give them the ben 
 efits of the best possible environment and 
 134
 
 LOVE 
 
 education. But with them it was not 
 only a duty, but a pleasure. And they 
 loved their adopted children just as much 
 as if they had been of their own flesh and 
 blood. One of the adopted children was 
 what is called an illegitimate child. 
 
 Arnold was called in a hurry to the 
 house of a well-known and well-to-do fam 
 ily. When he arrived there, he found 
 that a girl in the house was to be delivered 
 of a child, and he found that the girl was 
 no other than the twenty-year-old unmar 
 ried daughter of the house. The father 
 was in a condition of suppressed fury and 
 anguish, the mother was in a continually 
 recurring faint, and the new mother-to-be 
 was in the agony of labor pains. He 
 asked the parents to remove themselves 
 from the room, as his duty was now only 
 to the daughter, who had enough physical 
 and mental torture to undergo, and it was 
 no use making things worse than they 
 were. Arnold was left alone with the 
 135
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 daughter. His kind, earnest face and his 
 sympathetic voice acted soothingly on the 
 sufferer, and in six hours he had delivered 
 her of a large, strong boy. The matter 
 was conducted with the utmost secrecy. 
 When on the eighth day he made his last 
 visit, he learned that the intention was to 
 send the child away to a foundling 
 asylum, or to the home of some poor 
 woman. Arnold offered to take the child 
 and care for it for the rest of his life. And 
 the boy grew up to bless his foster parents. 
 His mother married some two years later, 
 went to another city to live and exhibited 
 no interest in her boy. Perhaps deep in 
 her heart, she had some sentiment for him, 
 but she thought it best and safest not to 
 see him, and not to nurture that sentiment. 
 
 For ten years Arnold and Esther lived 
 
 in supreme bliss. Then Esther began to ail. 
 
 An affection of the heart valves which she 
 
 had had for many years it probably 
 
 136
 
 LOVE 
 
 dated from the period of the horrors of the 
 massacre became considerably worse and 
 forced her to take to bed. Any attempt 
 to be up was followed by painful attacks 
 of syncope, which on several occasions 
 threatened to become fatal. So she made 
 no further attempt to be up. Her bed 
 was put near the window, looking out into 
 the garden. And there she lay all the 
 time, reading a book, or watching the chil 
 dren playing. The children idolized her, 
 and all the time that they could spare from 
 their studies, they spent in her bedroom. 
 She loved to have them around her. She 
 felt they would not have her for long. 
 Arnold spent the greater part of the day 
 with her. He gave to a colleague the 
 greater part of his outside practice, at 
 tending only to such patients as could visit 
 his office. This lasted for three years. 
 Not once did his love wane, not once did 
 his tenderness suffer any jar, not once did 
 he find his voluntary imprisonment irk- 
 137
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 some. To sit near Esther and pat her 
 hands, or smooth her hair, to read to her, 
 to tell her the news of the day, to whisper 
 to her tender and loving words this was 
 his greatest pleasure, his greatest pleasure 
 now just as much as in the days of court 
 ship or during the first years of their mar 
 ried life. 
 
 Esther was gradually losing ground. 
 She was so pitifully thin, her skin was so 
 transparent that all over the veins could be 
 seen like bluish streaks. And her attacks 
 of dyspnea were getting more frequent 
 and more severe. One evening she drew 
 Arnold to herself. 
 
 "Let me kiss you, dearest," she said. 
 She now spoke in a scarcely audible 
 whisper. "I feel that this will be my last 
 night." He broke out in a sob. "Don t 
 cry, dearest. Promise me you will brace 
 up. Let me thank you for your love, and 
 for the happy years you have given me. I 
 would love to live, for your sake, but it is 
 138
 
 LOVE 
 
 not to be. I die content. No woman had 
 a happier married life than I. Do not 
 cry, love. Do not make the last hours 
 harder for me. For my sake do not cry. 
 And promise me you will be strong." 
 
 She became silent, exhausted. Her 
 eyes closed, and only by carefully listen 
 ing could Arnold make out that she was 
 breathing. He felt his heart would burst, 
 but by a supreme effort he restrained his 
 sobs, tho he could not restrain his tears. 
 He remained all night at the head of the 
 bed; towards morning he heard a hoarse 
 whisper, in which he could distinguish the 
 words : "Arnold, Arnold, help," and she 
 was gone. 
 
 He remained stunned. In the morning 
 he was found sitting in the same place, 
 holding Esther s cold hands. He did not 
 cry ; he remained dead, apathetic. Friends 
 begged him to brace up, and he came 
 somewhat to himself. But he was good 
 139
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 for nothing. He seemed to be in a daze. 
 A friend took it upon himself to attend 
 to all the funeral arrangements. When 
 Esther was put into the coffin, he gave a 
 sudden lurch, and would have fallen prone 
 to the ground, if not caught by those 
 around him. He was put in a carriage, 
 and his friends spoke to him firmly and 
 gently. They told him that he owed it to 
 her whom he loved so much to brace up 
 and be a man. Oh, yes, she also asked 
 him to brace up and he promised her. He 
 must try. By a supreme effort of the 
 will, he succeeded in acting in a normal 
 manner. But when the coffin was low 
 ered into the grave, and he was handed the 
 shovel to throw some earth onto it, he fell 
 in a dead faint. It took the better part of 
 half an hour to bring him to. It was 
 feared at one time that the syncope would 
 prove fatal. 
 
 And now there began for Arnold a 
 period of extreme suffering and torture. 
 140
 
 LOVE 
 
 The three years vigil over Esther, com 
 bined with the shock of her death, pro 
 duced a state of complete nervous ex 
 haustion. He was unable to walk unless 
 supported by two people, he could eat 
 nothing, and worst of all, he became af 
 flicted with the greatest of all curses, an 
 obstinate insomnia, which resisted all 
 treatment. The most eminent physicians 
 took a great personal interest in him, and 
 the most ingenious combinations of hyp 
 notics were suggested and prescribed for 
 him. But they had only a feeble, tempo 
 rary effect, or none at all. His lack of 
 appetite and lack of sleep caused him to 
 lose flesh rapidly he looked like a living 
 skeleton and fears were entertained for 
 the integrity of his mind. At the same 
 time, any attempt to take him out for a 
 drive into the fresh air, was followed by 
 dangerous fainting spells. He spent a 
 year in bed. His practice was, of course, 
 given up. The house was being neg- 
 141
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 lected. He became a sore problem to his 
 friends. 
 
 One of them, his best and bluntest 
 friend, decided to have a talk with him. 
 He knew that with neurasthenics only 
 blunt talk could have any effect. He told 
 him that his conduct was a disgrace, both 
 to the memory of Esther, and to his chil 
 dren. He had a duty to his children 
 whom he had adopted; they were being 
 neglected, they felt themselves not only 
 motherless, which was hard enough for 
 them, but also fatherless. Whether time 
 was having its healing effect, or whether 
 his friend s conversation changed the cur 
 rent of his thoughts, but he began to im 
 prove slowly. In three months he was 
 able to leave the house, and three or four 
 months later he began slowly to attend to 
 his practice. 
 
 Six years have passed since Esther s 
 death. Arnold is paler, more reserved 
 than he was, he is somewhat stoop-
 
 LOVE 
 
 shouldered, but he attends to his work and 
 his duties earnestly and industriously. 
 No woman exists for him, for the best and 
 gentlest and cleverest women possess one 
 irremediable defect: they are not Esther. 
 And a week seldom passes, that in the 
 midst of his work, he does not take his 
 autocar and run over to the city of the 
 dead, where a granite stone marks the 
 resting place of Esther. He will sit there 
 an hour, sometimes two; he will sit and 
 meditate, and usually weep. His free- 
 thinking friends call it superstition and 
 morbid sentimentality, but who can fully 
 comprehend the psychology of another 
 man s soul? 
 
 And if one should take the trouble to 
 pass a night near the door of Arnold s 
 bedroom and listen, he would often hear 
 somebody quietly sobbing, sobbing. . . . 
 
 143
 
 THE RISE OF RICHARD MAR- 
 TINDALE 
 
 Gto 
 IRarte 
 
 SWEET, DAINTY AND LOYAL
 
 THE RISE OF RICHARD MAR- 
 TINDALE 
 
 v__ ^rp j g a gi or i ous d av Not a cloud 
 let in the azure sky. The god of 
 ^ """** the sun is caressing the earth with 
 his warm rays and the Adriatic Sea, 
 stretching boundlessly beyond the horizon, 
 is waving invitations to all living creatures 
 to come and taste the delicious coolness 
 of its waters. 
 
 And men, women and little children 
 joyfully accept the invitation. And as 
 you watch them in the water, splashing, 
 swimming, teaching others to swim, som 
 ersaulting and indulging in all kinds of 
 pranks, they make a pretty picture, a 
 happy picture, and one is ready to agree 
 for the nonce with the optimist, that this 
 is a good world, the best of all possible 
 worlds. And the grayish-white warm 
 sand of the Lido beach is covered with gay 
 colored humanity. The children run 
 147
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 about with their balls and hoops, or build 
 mountains or throw sand into each other s 
 faces; the young maidens disport their 
 pretty bathing suits while listening to the 
 compliments or amorous declarations of 
 their ephemeral admirers; others lie pros 
 trated on the sand, enjoying the warmth, 
 the sunshine, the sky, the salty odor of the 
 sea and wishing that it might always 
 be so. 
 
 And the children! 
 
 The happy children ! It is hard to tear 
 one s self away from them. Free of care, 
 happy, full of exuberant spirits and ani 
 mal vitality for they are children of the 
 rich they romp about with their expen 
 sive toys, build figures and castles out of 
 sand and quickly destroy them, bury their 
 playmates under little mounds, run to the 
 edge of the water to the discomfiture of 
 their nurses and governesses, squeal, 
 scream and run away and are as happy 
 as only children can be. In the future all 
 148
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 children will be happy there will be no 
 tenement starvelings, no child labor slaves, 
 no tots in cotton mills, no babies in fac 
 tories, and no little mothers with the cares 
 and the faces of old women. 
 
 But let us be glad that at least some 
 children are happy and the children on 
 the beach are all supremely happy. 
 
 All, except one. 
 
 He lies flat on his back, with his face 
 wistfully upturned to the sky. He lies 
 for hours at a time, apparently thinking, 
 thinking. His governess and then his 
 mother asks him to go for a little stroll, 
 but he refuses. He lies and thinks and 
 listens. His acute ear catches the talk 
 of the children, and failing to understand 
 some of the words, his sweet delicately 
 chiseled little face twitches convulsively, 
 and at times he seems to be on the point 
 of crying. But he knows that his crying 
 hurts his mother, and he therefore won t 
 cry. No, he won t. He has even given 
 149
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 up asking questions of his mother, for he 
 noticed that his questions distressed her 
 and sometimes would even make her cry. 
 And for nothing, nothing in the world 
 would he make his beloved mamma cry. 
 Never again will he torment her with ques 
 tions as to what is red, what is blue, what 
 is the difference between black and white. 
 Never will he ask her why he is so differ 
 ent from other children, why they can go 
 about all by themselves, while he always 
 needs somebody to lead him. In short, 
 he will never ask his mother the reason 
 why God made him blind. For little 
 Rostand Martindale is blind, completely 
 blind. 
 
 And while Rostand lies stretched on 
 the sand, thinking whatever can his little 
 brain think about with his mother pain 
 fully tho resignedly watching over him, 
 Richard Martindale, Rostand s father, 
 sits in a wicker chair, on the hotel veranda, 
 looks out on the beach and over the surf, 
 150
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 smokes a cigar and thinks. His thoughts 
 are apparently not very cheerful ones, for 
 his face is clouded and it costs him some 
 effort to smile back at his wife, when she 
 smiles at him from below. He puffs at 
 his cigar slowly and as the curls of smoke 
 dissolve into fantastic shapes, his life 
 passes before him in rapid view. 
 
 His childhood was happy and cloudless. 
 He always had everything he wanted. 
 While he was not particularly brilliant 
 in his studies, he got along well and never 
 failed in any examinations. His parents 
 were very indulgent to him, perhaps too 
 indulgent, he thinks bitterly. He always 
 had more money than he needed or knew 
 what to do with. But his real life com 
 menced when he entered college. He was 
 rapidly introduced to different phases of 
 life, with which up to that time he had 
 been entirely unfamiliar. He proved an 
 adept pupil. The morals of the college 
 students were rather elastic, and things 
 151
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 which at home he would have condemned 
 as wrong and wicked, he here accepted as 
 a matter of course, because his fellow stu 
 dents said it was all right and all or almost 
 all acted the same way. 
 
 It was during his third year in college 
 that he met Ida Rosen. Tho he had lost 
 much of the youthful innocence which he 
 had brought with him to college, he was 
 not blase, like so many of his friends. 
 Yes, he remembers distinctly, he still re 
 spected women ; he still believed that there 
 were good women, and he still refused to 
 consider all women as playthings, made 
 for man s pleasure and amusement, and 
 to be discarded when they became a bore. 
 
 He was struck by the healthy beauty of 
 Ida s face, a beauty which knew nothing 
 of paint or powder, by her innocent limpid 
 eyes, by her glorious hair, which had no 
 need of puffs and switches, by the sweet 
 charm of her manners. She was a sales 
 girl in one of the department stores, but 
 152
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 he smiled when he thought of it when 
 they got better acquainted she surprised 
 him by her culture. He felt humiliated 
 at the thought that she was more familiar 
 with modern literature than he was he, 
 the college student. He does not remem 
 ber now whether it was love at first sight, 
 but he remembers that very soon after he 
 met her he was deeply in love with her 
 and had made up his mind that he could 
 not live without her. It so seemed to him. 
 He began to pay visits to the store in 
 which Ida worked. He was a good cus 
 tomer in Ida s department. But soon 
 his visits began to excite attention and 
 Ida became the butt of the other store 
 employes who twitted her on her admirer. 
 She had to request him to cease his visits. 
 
 He then asked her to meet him in the 
 evening. She refused. But he was so 
 persistent, he assured her so earnestly that 
 no harm would ever come to her, her life 
 was so drab and dreary, and as she con- 
 153
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 f essed later on she took so much pleasure 
 in his company, that she finally yielded. 
 He thought with pleasure of those walks 
 in the evening, when merely being by her 
 side was a delight, when the conversation 
 about nothing in particular was bliss, and 
 when he felt his love for her was pure and 
 unselfish. But while woman can be satis 
 fied with the mere closeness of her beloved 
 one, man can not. He may at first, but 
 after a time, he demands more. Where 
 a pressure of the hand sufficed at first, 
 he now must have kisses and embraces. 
 While Ida was perfectly happy to close 
 the day with a walk by the side of Martin- 
 dale, he began to tire of just walking. 
 He began to take her to theaters, to res 
 taurants, on steamboat outings. And one 
 beautiful summer night the inevitable 
 happened. 
 
 After that he did not permit her to go 
 back to the store. She was to be his wife 
 and he could not permit her to work as a 
 154
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 salesgirl in a drygoods store for nine dol 
 lars a week. He rented a little flat for 
 her where he could visit her to his heart s 
 content. Ida passed three months of 
 exquisite happiness. Only one thing 
 marred it, she told him. Every now and 
 then, when he w r ould be away, a terrible 
 fear would seize her, that such happiness 
 could not last; she did not deserve such 
 happiness, and no human being could 
 stand such bliss for long. It is the 
 blighted result of our vicious bringing up ; 
 of our cruel theologic teachings, that hap 
 piness is something improper, something 
 to apologize for. But her fear was gen 
 eral, vague, indefinite. She had no mis 
 givings as to Richard. He, she knew and 
 she told him so repeatedly, would not for 
 sake her, he would stand by her, no matter 
 what happened. And so he thought him 
 self. She had nobody in the world but 
 him, and without him life to her would 
 be intolerable. 
 
 155
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 One morning she told him that she 
 feared she was pregnant. He took the 
 news, he remembers, with rather bad grace. 
 For that meant the need of some definite 
 decision, taking a radical step. And he 
 did not like definite decisions and radical 
 steps. To her the thing seemed very plain : 
 all they had to do was to get married. 
 He called her his dear little wife ; she was 
 his wife in fact; all he had to do was to 
 make her his wife before the world and 
 before the law. He thought so too. 
 
 Fain would he cast the mantle of im 
 penetrable oblivion over all that followed : 
 the stormy scenes with his father, the re 
 peated swoonings of his mother she could 
 swoon very conveniently the angry con 
 temptuous looks of his sisters, who were 
 afraid that their chances would be spoiled 
 by their brother making a mesalliance. 
 The horror of it a Martindale marrying 
 a salesgirl! No, it could not be allowed. 
 And then his forcible packing off to Eu- 
 156
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 rope. Was it really forcible? Consid 
 ering now things calmly and being strictly 
 honest with himself, he was bound to con 
 fess that it was not altogether forcible. 
 That in the depth of his heart he was 
 grateful to his parents for compelling him 
 to part with Ida. For he began to fear 
 that Ida was not a proper wife for him. 
 And he began to find faults in Ida. Any 
 man who begins to tire of his wife or his 
 mistress has no difficulty in finding ex 
 cuses for his tired feeling, finds it very 
 easy to discover a whole list of de 
 fects. 
 
 And then coming to think of it, he never 
 really promised to marry her. Oh, how 
 he blushed now at this contemptible, cow 
 ardly thought ! Many cowards try to jus 
 tify their craven conscience by this dis 
 honest subterfuge that they have given 
 no formal promise to marry. That all 
 their actions were promises, that it was so 
 self-understood that the poor girl would 
 157
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 have considered it a deadly insult to either 
 doubt it or to ask any questions, is of little 
 significance with them. But he thought 
 with satisfaction that he did not enjoy 
 his European trip. Ida s face stood be 
 fore him when awake, it stood before him 
 when he was asleep. What has become of 
 her? How did she take his good-bye let 
 ter? And were the two hundred dollars 
 that he enclosed of any use to her in get 
 ting her out of her difficulty? And what 
 was she doing now? All these questions 
 kept on recurring to his mind, but the 
 answers to them he was to learn only on 
 his return to America. 
 
 His mother, who accompanied him to 
 Europe, noticing his depression, tried to 
 argue with him, upbraiding him for his 
 infatuation for an "unprincipled adven 
 turess," who, she was sure, only wanted 
 him for his position and his money; but 
 when she saw that her arguments had an 
 effect just contrary to what she expected, 
 158
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 she left him alone. And he liked it bet 
 ter so. 
 
 Six months they traveled in Europe. 
 The rich can afford such luxuries. To 
 wards the end his young nature began to 
 assert itself. The beautiful scenery, the 
 interesting sights, the new customs and 
 languages, the numerous people, the bevies 
 of dainty, fresh, refined young girls he 
 came in contact with, began to produce 
 their effect on him, and the multitude of 
 new impressions began to efface the old 
 ones. Ida s face appeared at rarer in 
 tervals, and the question of her sufferings, 
 or what had become of her, did not pre 
 sent itself with the same implacable in 
 sistence as before. And when he did 
 think of her, his evil genius would whisper 
 to him: Oh, such things happen every day, 
 and his conscience would be satsified. At 
 least he would try to make himself believe 
 that it was, tho in his subconsciousness he 
 would feel that that was no excuse, that 
 159
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 he was lying to himself and that his wound 
 was not really healed from the bottom, 
 that it was merely granulated on the sur 
 face, was merely patched over with a thin 
 layer of adhesive plaster. And he felt 
 that it would require but a slight pres 
 sure of circumstances to tear that plaster 
 away, and to make the wounds of his heart 
 and conscience reopen and bleed anew. 
 
 He had been barely a month in New 
 York when his longing for Ida or perhaps 
 his great pity for her returned in full 
 force. He had to see her, he had to find 
 out what had become of her. But where 
 to look? 
 
 He walked the streets, he visited the 
 various department stores, thinking that 
 perhaps she took another position, he in 
 serted somewhat masked personal ads. in 
 the newspapers, but all in vain. There 
 was no trace of Ida. A year passed. He 
 had been graduated from college in the 
 meantime, passing a rather mediocre ex- 
 160
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 animation, and to find Ida became now his 
 idee fixe. 
 
 He told a newspaper friend the whole 
 story, and begged him to help him find 
 Ida Rosen if alive. If she was dead, he 
 had to know the circumstances under 
 which she died. Ida Rosen! The name 
 was familiar to his friend. He thought 
 he had heard it, he thought she had figured 
 in the newspapers. Some three days later 
 he brought Martindale a file of old news 
 papers in which the gruesome story was 
 told, with harrowing details, photographs 
 and illustrations, of how a young girl, Ida 
 Rosen, threw herself in the river, how she 
 was rescued by a burly policeman who 
 jumped after her in full uniform, how 
 dangerously ill she became the shock 
 produced a miscarriage so that she had 
 to be taken from the station-house to the 
 hospital, how for several weeks she hov 
 ered in the hospital between life and death, 
 and how finally she recovered and was dis- 
 161
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 charged by the magistrate with a sus 
 pended sentence. Some of the yellow 
 newspapers got wind that the author of 
 Ida s troubles was a rich young man, the 
 scion of an aristocratic family. The re 
 porters and special story writers tried by 
 wiles, ruses and threats to get Ida to di 
 vulge the name of the young man, but 
 all their endeavors to make a sensational 
 salacious story proved unavailing. Ida 
 obstinately, and without disguising her 
 contempt, refused to utter as much as a 
 syllable on the subject. 
 
 What became of her afterward the 
 newspaper friend did not know. He 
 promised to try to find out. He made in 
 quiries at the Police Headquarters, and 
 there he was told that they thought she 
 had "gone to the bad." 
 
 One evening he met her. When she 
 
 saw him coming, she wanted to run back, 
 
 run, run as fast as she could. But her 
 
 feet refused to move. And then Martin- 
 
 162
 
 dale was upon her and held her fast by the 
 wrist. She tried to avoid his eyes. She 
 covered her face with her free hand, that 
 pale, almost unrecognizable face, on which 
 there were expressed horror, doubt, shame 
 and humiliation and j oy. And then she 
 broke out into quiet sobs which shook her 
 small emaciated body. 
 
 He took her into a side street and spoke 
 to her lovingly, soothingly. They went 
 into a quiet little French restaurant and 
 there they talked. That is, she talked. 
 He begged her to tell him all, to relieve 
 her overburdened, bursting heart. 
 
 And he heard the sordid, painful, pitiful 
 story of her disheartening struggles, after 
 her discharge by the hospital and the 
 court; with what scant courtesy she was 
 treated w r hen she applied for a position 
 at the drygoods stores and how finally un 
 able to stand the hunger any longer his 
 check she destroyed in a fit of passion to 
 gether with the letter and threatened 
 163
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 with dispossess from her little ballroom, 
 she took up the shameful trade she was 
 now pursuing. Why she hadn t tried 
 again to make an end of it all ? It seemed 
 to her as if that question was in his mind 
 (tho it wasn t) . Because she was too un 
 happy, and too indifferent to life to at 
 tempt suicide. She had no pride, no am 
 bition, no manhood left. In order to com 
 mit suicide a person must still possess 
 some love of life. He or she must have 
 some of their ideals left, some shame, some 
 manhood. Those who have sunk to the 
 lowest rung of the ladder do not commit 
 suicide. Ida had no life left in her, and 
 for this reason she did not seek death. 
 And the horror, humiliation and notoriety 
 attendant upon her first unsuccessful at 
 tempt were still fresh in her memory and 
 restrained her from making a second at 
 tempt. 
 
 And as she was trying to explain and 
 justify herself as if she needed justifi- 
 164
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 cation she broke out again into uncon 
 trollable sobs. He soothed her. 
 
 "Whatever you are," he told her as he 
 now recollected with satisfaction, "I have 
 made you so. You are not to blame. I 
 am the only one that is guilty. But it is 
 all over; there will be an end to all your 
 troubles. I have been a brute, but I will 
 make amends, and you shall yet be a 
 happy woman." 
 
 "Too late," she replied in her sad pa 
 thetic voice, "I have no life left in me and 
 my heart is broken. I do not even know 
 whether I am a safe person to associate 
 with. There was a time when I could 
 have made you a fit mate for life, but not 
 now." 
 
 But, of course, he would not give in. 
 He tried to persuade her. And tho she 
 felt that it was more duty than love that 
 spoke in him, she let herself be persuaded. 
 Who can willfully, deliberately push away 
 happiness or the promise of happiness 
 165
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 from one s self? A drowning man can 
 not refuse the life-saving belt or raft, a 
 man parched with thirst cannot refuse 
 the sparkling draught which he knows 
 will allay his agony, and a human being 
 living in shame, penury, fear and humili 
 ation cannot refuse the helping hand of 
 a friend, especially when that friend was 
 once a lover, a lover whose mere presence 
 was still supreme happiness for her. Her 
 present life w r as so horrible, that any 
 change from it would be a salvation. And 
 tho she did not mean to keep it up for 
 long so she confessed to him later on 
 she did so long for a little of the former 
 pleasures, of the former happiness, which 
 he had promised her would be permanent, 
 and which ended so suddenly, so quickly, 
 so abruptly. 
 
 She moved into a new neighborhood, 
 
 and he began to visit her frequently. Not 
 
 as frequently as she might have wished, 
 
 but as frequently as he could without ex- 
 
 166
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 citing his parents suspicions. She re 
 gained some of her former beauty and 
 health, but not happiness. While he tried 
 to convince her to the contrary, she felt 
 that this was but temporary, that it could 
 not last forever or for long. And when he 
 spoke of marrying her as soon as he got 
 some independent position, she only smiled 
 sadly. So sadly that now after the lapse 
 of so many years it still hurt him. 
 
 A succession of events brought about 
 the tragic denouement. One evening as he 
 was taking her to the theater, two painted 
 and powdered damsels came up to them. 
 They greeted her effusively, saying how 
 glad they were to see her, and how they 
 wondered what had become of her. She 
 shrank back in fear and humiliation, with 
 out responding to their greeting. They 
 passed on muttering some coarse remark 
 about her being stuck up because she 
 landed a rich "sucker." The evening in 
 theater was spoiled. They hardly ex- 
 167
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 changed a word. Her former life stood 
 before her in all its hideousness, and his 
 heart was heavy. The next day she spoke 
 to him. She insisted that he must leave 
 her, that she was not a proper companion 
 for him. Life is not a slate, from which 
 you can wipe off the disagreeable facts 
 by passing a sponge over them. Certain 
 events leave their indelible marks, which 
 nothing can erase, nothing can obliterate, 
 nothing can even cover up. But he was 
 man enough to laugh at her suggestion. 
 He said that it was only a matter of time, 
 when her past would be forgotten by her 
 self and others, and they Avould be able to 
 live openly and peacefully. 
 
 At about the same time his newspaper 
 friend found out about his relations with 
 Ida, and out of pure friendship he con 
 sidered it his duty to notify Martindale s 
 parents. He wanted to save him from 
 an entanglement which would be sure to 
 stand in the way of his future, which might 
 168
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 entirely ruin his career. Another terrific 
 scene between his hardhearted and dicta 
 torial father and himself. High words 
 were exchanged, and the result was an 
 ultimatum: to give up that "wretch" at 
 once or to leave the house. He left the 
 house. When Ida learned of it, she did 
 not say anything, but she began to get 
 ready to escape, to leave New York, so 
 that he could not find her. With the self- 
 sacrifice of women who love truly, she did 
 not want to be in his way, she did not 
 want to ruin his "future." He discov 
 ered her plans and reprimanded her se 
 verely. He told her that he would follow 
 her anywhere, that he would not go back 
 home, that he would stand by her thru 
 thick and thin, and that she should not 
 make it harder for him than it was. She 
 might have let him persuade her we are 
 easily persuaded toward things which are 
 the sweetness and happiness of life but 
 one morning she noticed that she was suf- 
 169
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 fering with a well-known infectious dis 
 ease. The germs of the disease must have 
 been dormant in her for some time. And 
 she thought with horror that she must 
 also have given the disease to Martindale. 
 And tho he tried to conceal it from her, 
 she found out that she did infect him, 
 that he was suffering from the same dis 
 ease. It was apparently in a mild form, 
 but, as the doctor told him, some of the 
 mild forms of the disease leave sometimes 
 very severe sequelae. And then her mind 
 was made up. 
 
 The following morning he received a 
 letter from Ida. He was surprised, as 
 she was not in the habit of writing to him. 
 And he was to see her the same day. 
 When he opened the letter, a cold sweat 
 came out on his forehead and his heart 
 stood still. He remembers every word of 
 it, for he still has it in his possession, and 
 he has read it many, many times. It ran 
 as follows: 
 
 170
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 Dearly beloved friend: I have decided 
 to take the final fatal step. This is the 
 only solution. You know as I do, that I 
 cannot become your wife. My heart is 
 broken, my spirit is crushed, my body is 
 diseased. If you have sinned against me, 
 you have tried nobly to expiate it, and I 
 thank you with all my soul for the ad 
 ditional happiness which you have allowed 
 me to taste. I have loved you from the 
 minute I saw you, and I love you now, and 
 because I love you it is best I should die 
 (and this time I will make sure). From 
 the moment I saw you my thoughts have 
 been of you only, and my last thought 
 will be of you. I am a victim of our un 
 just social conditions. Not the first, not 
 the last. If I may leave a last request, 
 it is you should devote your life to work 
 which will improve our social conditions, 
 and which will perhaps make such victims 
 unnecessary. I beg of you, do nothing 
 after you receive this letter. It will be too 
 171
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 late to do anything. Do nothing rash, that 
 will bring you into useless notoriety, which 
 can serve no purpose except to make your 
 family unhappy. Heart of my heart, life 
 of my life, I embrace you and kiss you. 
 The little happiness in my life I owe all to 
 you. I kiss you. Yours forever, 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Even now, so many years after, he was 
 touched to tears by that last letter of love. 
 How even at the last solemn moment all 
 her thoughts, all her solicitude was for him 
 and him only ! 
 
 His first impulse was to run to her 
 room. But as he went into the street, the 
 newsboys were already screaming their 
 extras. "Beautiful girl commits suicide." 
 And he bought the paper and read the 
 harrowing details. And he thought of 
 the unpleasantness to himself, of the nasty 
 insinuations of the newspapers, of the 
 painful notoriety that would result to his 
 father and mother and sisters. And so 
 172
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 he refrained from going. The affair 
 soon blew over. He received a letter from 
 his father telling him that his absence was 
 killing his mother and asking him to come 
 home. He returned to the parental roof. 
 His grief was respected and he was let 
 alone. 
 
 Years passed. Ida became a vague and 
 cherished memory. He met Elaine Stud- 
 diford on one of his European trips. A 
 warm friendship followed, and he asked 
 to be permitted to call, on their return to 
 the United States, which permission was 
 readily granted. In three months he pro 
 posed and was accepted. He loved 
 Elaine, tho he confessed to himself that it 
 was not with the same elemental passion 
 that he had loved Ida. But he knew that 
 it was a love that would endure, for it was 
 based on genuine affection and respect. 
 She was not a silly butterfly, but a girl 
 who was familiar with modern advanced 
 literature and did a good deal of thinking 
 173
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 on her own account. He told her of his 
 affair with Ida, tho he didn t consider it 
 necessary to tell her all the details. The 
 story caused her an unpleasant hour, but 
 she got over it quickly. As a sensible girl 
 she knew that very few young men that 
 amount to anything reach Richard s age 
 without having had some love affair. He 
 did not tell her, however, of the infectious 
 disease that he had had. What was the 
 use bringing up such disagreeable details? 
 It was a mild attack and he was cured 
 long ago. 
 
 How much would he have given for the 
 advice to have had himself subjected to a 
 thoro examination at the hands of a com 
 petent authority. How much lifelong 
 irremediable suffering he would have 
 avoided, he, his wife and his only child, if 
 he had done that? But such an idea did 
 not even come into his head. The family 
 doctor who had treated him told him he 
 was cured, and did not suggest that in 
 174
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 years to come before entering matrimony 
 it might be advisable to subject himself to 
 an examination. 
 
 Both Richard and Elaine disliked pom 
 pous notoriety and they were married 
 quietly. As he had decided to devote him 
 self to literary work, they took a house in 
 a small town near New York, and there 
 they lived happily and peacefully, only 
 coming down to the Metropolis to attend 
 a lecture, a dinner, a play, or to get some 
 books. A year later Elaine gave birth to 
 a child a bouncing boy. The doctor who 
 attended her thought that the child s eyes 
 looked somewhat red and puffy, but he 
 paid no particular attention to that, only 
 telling the nurse to wash them with boric 
 acid solution. The condition instead of 
 getting better was getting steadily worse, 
 and very soon the horrible suspicion 
 flashed upon the doctor s mind that he 
 was having to deal with a case of ophthal 
 mia neonatorum of a very virulent type. 
 175
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 Specialists were hurried from New York, 
 one with several nurses stayed there day 
 and night, and tho everything known to 
 skill and science was done to save the 
 baby s eyesight, all was in vain. TKe 
 child became totally blind. 
 
 This was a cruel blow to Richard Mar- 
 tindale, the cruelest blow fate has ever yet 
 dealt him. He became morose, irritable, 
 and he ached at the cruelty of fate and 
 the injustice and stupidity of the world. 
 Mrs. Martindale was completely pros 
 trated. Besides, she was ailing with some 
 internal trouble, which kept her in bed 
 for several weeks. The specialists ex 
 plained to Richard the nature of his wife s 
 trouble, which was also the cause of the 
 boy s blindness. Mrs. Martindale and he 
 himself were treated by one of New 
 York s best specialists, until they could 
 be pronounced radically cured. The doc 
 tor said, however, that while Mrs. Martin- 
 dale would probably never have any 
 176
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 trouble, he feared that she was not very 
 likely to give birth to any more children. 
 They were very anxious to have at least 
 one more child, and Mrs. Martindale took 
 every treatment that had in it the slightest 
 promise of success, but as the months and 
 then the years passed by, the doctor s fear 
 proved well-founded. Mrs. Martindale 
 was another victim added to the thousands 
 and thousands of victims of "one-child 
 sterility." And so he will have to go thru 
 life with poor delicate blind Rostand, 
 whose mere presence is a constant re 
 proach, whose every groping step is a stab 
 in his heart. 
 
 And Richard Martindale thinks it all 
 over. He wonders if, after all, there is 
 not a Nemesis on this earth even for peo 
 ple who have freed themselves from reli 
 gious superstitions and theologic dogmas; 
 if every immoral, unjust or anti-social act 
 does not carry within it its own punish 
 ment. And isn t there something noble 
 177
 
 STORIES OF LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 in the idea of the expiation of sin? But, 
 of course, expiation of sin should not con 
 sist in hermitic seclusion, in self-castiga- 
 tion, which is of no use to anybody. It 
 should consist in active, efficient social 
 work, work which should help dry the 
 tears and diminish the terrible, terrible 
 suffering of humanity. For, in spite of 
 the progress we have made, humanity s 
 suffering is still world-wide and ocean- 
 deep. This at least he is doing. For the 
 sins he has committed against Ida, against 
 Rostand and against beloved, patient non- 
 murmuring Elaine he is trying to expiate 
 to the best of his ability. He is devoting 
 all his time and fortune to the enlighten 
 ment of the people, to the breaking down 
 of social barriers, to the eradication of 
 cruel superstitions and racial hatred, to 
 the amelioration of our economic condi 
 tions. He is giving all his life to the 
 bringing about of a better and saner so 
 cial system, where there will be less hun- 
 178
 
 RICHARD MARTINDALE 
 
 ger, less poverty, less weeping, less heart 
 breaking, less suffering, less agony, less 
 hatred and less disease. To this work he 
 is devoting every fiber of his soul and 
 he finds in Elaine a willing helpmate 
 and his work is bearing fruit. 
 
 * * * 
 
 And the god of the sun is caressing the 
 earth with his warm rays. And the Adri 
 atic Sea stretching boundlessly beyond the 
 horizon is waving invitations to all living 
 creatures to come in and taste the de 
 licious coolness of her waters. And the 
 soft, snowy-white clouds which have in the 
 meantime appeared from somewhere, 
 hurry past as if on a mission bent, and dis 
 appear in the East. 
 
 It is a glorious day. 
 
 179
 
 All tHo DooKs and Pnmphlets we P-ublisK ro 
 
 \Vorth \VKil. 
 
 NOS. 1 TO 7 CONSTITUTE 
 
 The Critic and Guide 
 
 SEX LIBRARY 
 
 A. Complete Collected Works of Dr. A. Jacobi, 
 President of the American Medical Asso 
 ciation, in 8 splendid volumes $ 15.00 
 
 1. The Prevention of Sexual Diseases. By Vic 
 
 tor G. Vecki, M. D 1.50 
 
 2. Never-Told Tales. A vivid presentation of 
 
 the results of sexual ignorance. By Wm. 
 
 J. Robinson, M. D 1.00 
 
 3. Sexual Problems of To-day. By Wm. J. 
 
 Robinson, M. D 2.00 
 
 4. Sex Morality, Past, Present and Future; or 
 
 Monogamy vs. Variety. By Wm. J. Rob 
 inson, M. D., Leo Jacobi, M. D., and oth 
 ers 1.00 
 
 5. Practical Eugenics: Four Means of Im 
 
 proving the Human Race. By Wm. J. 
 Robinson, M. D .50 
 
 6. The Venereal Peril. By Wm. L. Holt, M. D. .f5 
 
 7. The Social Evil. By Wm. L. Holt, M. D. .10 
 
 8. The Present Status of 606 or Salvarsan 25 
 
 9. The Treatment of Pollutions and Spermator- 
 
 rhea. By Wm. J. Robinson, M. D .20 
 
 10. Scientific Medicine vs. Quackery. By Wm. 
 
 J. Robinson, M. D .10 
 
 11. The Hunter (Schreiner) and A Page From 
 
 My Life (Robinson) 35 
 
 12. The Ten Greatest Humanitarians of the 19th 
 
 Century. A Symposium. By Victor Rob 
 inson .25 
 
 All sent prepaid on receipt of price. On personal 
 checks add lOc for collection. 
 
 THE, CRITIC AND GUIDE CO. 
 
 12 Mt. Morris ParK W New YorK
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF THE ALTRURIANS 
 
 THE VENEREAL PERIL 
 
 A popular treatise on the three venereal diseases: their 
 nature, cause, course, symptoms and prevention. 
 
 y William L. Holt, M. D. 
 
 Edited with notes and additions by 
 
 William J. Robinson, M. D. 
 
 Editor of the American Journal of Urology and Vene 
 real Diseases, The Critic and Guide, and 
 
 Therapeutic Medicine. 
 
 The only work of Its kind in the English language. 
 Every layman should read it. 
 PAPER BOUND 25 CENTS. 
 
 CLOTH BOUND 50 CENTS. 
 
 THE SOCIAL EVIL: 
 ITS CAUSES AND CURE 
 
 By William L. Holt, M. D. 
 
 A remarkably thought-provoking booklet. Goes to the 
 root of the evil. Price 10 cents. 
 
 Address: 
 
 THE ALTRURIANS 
 
 Publishers of Books that Enlighten, Uplift and Ennoble. 
 
 12 Mount Morris Park West NEW YORK CITY 
 
 The prices include postage to any part of the world. 
 
 If you intend to publish a good book, a book with a 
 purpose, submit the manuscript to us. We can print it 
 better and cheaper than others; we are not after the 
 profit.
 
 The Critic and Guide 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROBINSON, M. D. 
 
 Is the most unique journal on the conti 
 nent. It is the only one of its kind. It is 
 admired and enjoyed by every intelligent 
 man and woman who is not afraid to think, 
 who is not afraid to read the logical conclu 
 sions of other thinkers. 
 
 The CRITIC AND GUIDE it was that started 
 the fight against the fraudulent and poison 
 ous patent medicines, and against the many 
 varieties of quacks; and it is due largely to 
 its efforts that the battle is now being fought 
 successfully on the side of justice, decency and 
 health. 
 
 Numerous problems, untouched by any other 
 publication, such as the regulation of offspring, 
 prevention of venereal disease, instruction on sex 
 matters, the economic cause of disease, etc., 
 are handled by the CRITIC AND GUIDE in a 
 bold, breezy, unconventional and, withal, strictly 
 scientific manner. 
 
 Every physician and every intelligent layman 
 will be better off for reading the CRITIC AND 
 GUIDE. You will not be sorry for subscribing 
 to it you will be sorry for not having subscribed 
 before. One dollar a year. Three dollars for 
 four years. Ten dollars for life. If you belong 
 to the skeptical class, remit twenty-five cents for 
 a three months trial subscription. Stamps ac 
 ceptable. 
 
 Address 
 
 THE CRITIC AND GUIDE 
 
 12 Mt. Morris Park West New York
 
 COLLECTANEA JACOBI 
 
 THE COLLECTED ESSAYS, ADDRESSES, SCIENTIFIC PAPERS 
 AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS OF 
 
 A. JACOBI, M.D., LL.D. 
 
 (UNIVERSITY of MICHIGAN, YALE, COLUMBIA, HARVARD) 
 In Eight Volumes 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROBINSON, Ph. G., M.D. 
 
 EDITOR or "THB CRITIC AND GUIDF," "THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF 
 UROLOGY" AND "THERAPEUTIC MEDICINB" 
 
 Illustrated with Half-Tones and Three Portraits of 
 
 the Author 
 
 Introductory Price, $10.00 Net 
 Single Volumes, $2 per Volume Net 
 
 Sold bf Subicriftion tnlj. fht trdtr must bt sent directly tt thi 
 PuUiiktrt 
 
 Volumes 1, 2 and 3 are devoted to Pediatrics; Vol. 
 4, Pediatrics and Therapeutics; Vol. 6, Pathology; 
 Vol. 6, The Author s Important Medical Addresses; 
 Vol. 7, Addresses, Biographical and Historical Pa 
 pers; Vol. 8, contains the Author s miscellaneous 
 writings, a complete topical index, and also a com 
 plete personal index. Complete prospectus, contain 
 ing the full tables of contents of the eight volumes, 
 etc., sent free on request. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 THE CRITIC AND GUIDE COMPANY 
 
 Publishers of Scientific Books 
 12 Mt. Morris Park W. New York City. N. Y. 
 
 The Critic and Guide Company is in a position to 
 publish any book a pamphlet, a 1000 page text-book, 
 or a hundred volume encyclopedia more cheaply, 
 more promptly, and altogether more satisfactorily 
 than any other publishing house in America. We 
 translate from any European language, correct and 
 edited the MS., prepare the index, attend to the 
 illustrations; in short, we take off all care from the 
 author from the time he delivers his MS. until the 
 book is ready to be sent to the reader. And we 
 attend to the publicity and sale of the book too. 
 Any physician contemplating; the publication of a 
 book will do well to communicate with us.