Chapter LIV: Section 3: All this was the harder for him, because it came at a black

and spectral hour of his life. It was not enough that the book was falling flat, and that all their hopes were collapsing; a new and most terrible calamity befell them. For three months now they had been dissolved in the bliss of their young dream of love; and now suddenly had come a thunderbolt, splitting the darkness about them, and revealing the grim hand of Fate closing down!

For several years of her life Corydon had carried a trying burden--once each month she would have to lie down for three or four days and be a semi-invalid. And last month this had not happened; the time had come and gone, and she was as well as ever. She had told Thyrsis about it, and how it disturbed her; it might mean nothing, it had happened several times before to her; but then again--it might mean that she had conceived.

The idea had been too frightful to contemplate, however, and they had put it aside. It was not possible--the doctor had told them how to prevent it; he had told them that “everybody” did it, and that they could feel safe.

But now came the second month; and Corydon, filled with a vague terror, waited for the day. And horrible beyond all telling--the day came and went once more! And two days came--three days! And so finally Corydon went to see the doctor.

When she came home again, and entered the room, Thyrsis saw it all in her face, without her uttering a word. He went sick, all at once; and Corydon sank down upon the bed.

“Well?” he asked, in a hoarse voice.

“It’s true,” she said.

“And what did he say?”

“He said--he said I was in splendid shape, and that I would have a fine baby!”

And Thyrsis stared at her, and then suddenly burst into wild laughter, and hid his head in his arms. Such was their mood that she could not feel sure whether he was laughing or crying.

Now, indeed, they were facing the reality of life. All the problems with which they had ever wrestled were as child’s play to this problem; they could sit and read the deadly terror in each other’s eyes. Corydon’s lip was trembling, and her face was white and drawn and old. So swiftly had fled her young dream of joy!

“Thyrsis,” she said, in a low voice, “it means ruin!”

“Yes,” he answered.

And she clenched her hands tightly. “I will kill myself first!” she whispered. “I will not drag you down!”

He made no reply.

“Listen, Thyrsis,” she went on. “There is only one thing to be thought of. I must get rid of it.”

“Get rid of it?” he echoed. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But women often do it.”

“I’ve heard of it,” he replied. “But isn’t it dangerous?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t care.”

There was a pause.

“Why don’t you ask the doctor?” he inquired.

“The doctor? There was no use us asking him, Thyrsis.”

“Why not?”

“Because--he doesn’t understand. He likes babies. That’s his business.”

They argued this. But in the end Thyrsis resolved that he must see the doctor himself. He must see him if it was only to pour out his anguish. It was the doctor’s fault that this fearful accident had befallen them!

But the boy soon saw that it was as Corydon had said, there was nothing to be gained in that quarter. Babies were indeed the doctor’s business; they were the business of the whole world, from his point of view. People got married to have babies; they were in the world to have babies, and anything else was just nonsense. Nowadays babies were the only excuse that people had for living--their morality began and ended with them. Moreover, babies were fine in themselves; they were beautiful and fat and jolly. The pagan old gentleman sang a very paean in praise of babies--the more of them there were, the more laughter upon earth.

Also, having them was the business of women--that, and not reading German poetry and playing the piano. They all made a little fuss at the outset, but then they submitted, and they soon found that Nature knew more than they. Babies completed women’s lives, they settled their nerves; they gave them something to think about, and saved them from hysteria and extravagance and sentimentalism, and all the rest of the ills of the hour.

Then the doctor fixed his keen eyes upon him. “Are you and Corydon thinking about an abortion?” he demanded.

“I--I don’t know,” stammered Thyrsis. The word sounded ugly.

“I got that impression from her,” said the other. “And now let me tell you--if you do that, it’ll be something you’ll never forgive yourself for as long as you live. In the first place, you may lose your wife. It’s a very dangerous thing, and a woman is seldom the same after it. You might make it impossible for her ever to have a child again, and so blast her whole life. You’ll have to trust her in the hands of some vile scoundrel--you understand, of course, that it’s a crime?”

“I suppose so,” said Thyrsis.

“It’s a crime not only against the law--it’s a crime against God. And it’s the curse of our age!”

There was a pause.

“What’s the matter with Corydon, anyway?” demanded the doctor.

“She’s so young!” cried Thyrsis.

“Nonsense! She’s nineteen now, isn’t she? And she couldn’t be in better condition.”

“But she’s so undeveloped--mentally, I mean.”

“There’s nothing in the world will develop her like maternity. And can’t you see that she wants the baby?”

“Wants it!” shouted Thyrsis.

“Why, of course! She’s dead in love with you, boy. And she wants the baby! Why shouldn’t she have it?”

“If I could only make you understand--” protested Thyrsis, feebly.

“Yes!” exclaimed the doctor. “That’s what they all say! Not a day passes that some woman doesn’t sit in this office and say it! Each case is different from any other case that ever was or could be. They tell me how much they suffer, and what a state their nerves are in, and how busy they are, and how poor they are--their social duties, and their artistic duties, and their religious duties, and their philanthropic duties! And they weep and wring their hands, and tell me agonizing stories, and they offer me any sum I could ask--many a time I might earn a thousand dollars by something that wouldn’t take me ten minutes, if only I didn’t have a conscience!--Go away, boy, and get those ideas out of your head!”