Love's Pilgrimage Part 23

"Now tell me what you mean," said the other.

"I mean that we--we're just brother and sister," said Thyrsis.

"But--why did you get married?"

"We got married because we wanted to study."

"To study what?"

"Well, everything--music, princ.i.p.ally."

"And how long do you expect to keep that up?"

"Oh, for a good many years--until we've accomplished something, and until we've got some money."

And the doctor sank back and drew his breath. "I don't wonder your stomach's out of order!" he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Thyrsis.

But the man did not answer that question. Instead he asked, "Don't you realize what you'll do to Corydon?"

"What?"

"You'll wreck her whole life--her health, to begin with."

"But how, doctor? She's perfectly happy. It's what we both want to do."

"But doesn't she love you?"

"Why, yes--but not that way."

The doctor smiled. "How do you know?" he asked.

"Because--she's told me so."

"And if it was otherwise--do you think she'd tell you that?"

"Why, of course she would."

"My boy," said the man, "she'd die first!"

Thyrsis was staring at him, amazed.

"Let me tell you a little about a good woman," said the other. "I've been married for thirty years--really married, I mean; we've got five children. And in all those thirty years my wife has never made an advance of that sort to me!"

After which the doctor went on to expound his philosophy of s.e.x. "Love is just a little thing to you," he said; "you've got your books and your career. And you want it to be the same with Corydon--you've succeeded in persuading her that that's what she wants also. You're going to make her a copy of yourself! But you simply can't do it, boy--she's a woman. And a woman's one interest in the world is love--it's everything in life to her, the thing she's made for. And if you deprive her of love, whole love, I mean, you wreck her entirely. Just now is the time when she ought to be having her children, if she's ever to have any--and you're trying to satisfy her with music and philosophy!"

"But," cried Thyrsis, horrified, "I know she doesn't feel that way at all!"

"Maybe not," said the other. "Her eyes are not opened. It's your business to open them. What are you a man for?"

"But--she's all right as she is---"

"Isn't she nervous?"

"Why, yes--perhaps---"

"Isn't she sometimes melancholy? And doesn't she like you to kiss her?

Doesn't she show she's happy when you hold her in your arms."

Thyrsis sat mute.

"You see!" said the other, laughing. "The girl is in love with you, and you haven't sense enough to know it."

Again Thyrsis could find no words. "But if we had a child it would ruin us!" he cried, wildly. "I've not a cent, and my whole career's at stake!"

"Well," said the other, "if it's as bad as that, don't have any children yet."

"But--but how _can_ we?"

"Don't you know how to control it?"

Thyrsis was staring at him, open-eyed. "Why, no!" he said.

"Good lord!" laughed the other. "Where have you been keeping yourself?"

And then the doctor proceeded to explain to him the "artificial sterilization of marriage." No whisper of such a thing had ever come to the boy before, and he could hardly credit his ears. But the doctor spoke of it as a man of the world, to whom it was a matter of course; he went into detail as to the various methods that people used. And when finally Thyrsis rose to leave he patted him indulgently on the shoulder, and laughed, "Go home to your wife, my boy!"

Section 7. The effect of this conversation upon Thyrsis was alarming to him. At first he tried to put the thing aside, as being something utterly inconceivable between him and Corydon. But it would not be put aside.

The doctor had planted his seed with cunning. If he had told Thyrsis that he was doing harm to himself, Thyrsis would have said that it was not true, and stood by it; for he knew about himself. But the man had made his statements about Corydon--and how could he be sure about Corydon?

The crucial point was that it set him to thinking about her in this new way; a way which he had not dreamed of previously. And when once he had begun to think about her so, he found he could not stop. For hitherto in his life, whenever he had thought of pa.s.sion it had been as a temptation; he had known that it was wrong, and all that was best in him had risen up to oppose it. But now all that was changed--the image of Corydon the doctor had called up was one that broke down all resistance, and left him at the mercy of his impulses.

These impulses awoke--and with a suddenness and force that terrified him. He thought of her as his wife, and this thought was like a rush of flame upon him. His manhood leaped up, and cried aloud for its rights.

He discovered, almost instantly, that he loved her thus, that he desired her completely. This was true now, and it had been true from the beginning; he had been a fool to try to persuade himself otherwise. What else had been the meaning of the pa.s.sionate protests in his letters to her? Of the images he had used--of carrying her away in his arms, of breaking her to his will? And she loved him, too--she desired him completely! Why else had it been that those pa.s.sages were precisely the ones that satisfied her? Why was it that she was always most filled with joy when he was aggressive and masterful?

Ah G.o.d, what an inhuman life it was they had been living all these months! In that inevitable proximity--shut up in a little room! And with the most intimate details of her life about him--with her kisses always upon his lips, her arms always about him, the subtle perfume of her presence always in his senses! Was it any wonder that they were nervous and restless--always sinking into tenderness, and exchanging endearments, and then starting up to scourge themselves?

He went home, and there was Corydon preparing supper. He went to her and caught her in his arms and kissed her. "I love you, sweetheart!" he whispered. And as she yielded to his embraces, he kissed her again and again, upon her lips and upon her cheeks and upon her neck. Ah, she loved him--else how could she let him kiss her like that!

But it was not so quickly that the inhibitions of a lifetime could be overcome. A sudden fear took hold of Thyrsis. What was he doing? No, she must have no idea of this--at least not until he had reasoned it out, until he had made up his mind that it was right.

So he drew back--and as he did so he noticed in her eyes a look of surprise. He did not often greet her in that way!

"I'm hungry as a bear," he said, to change the subject; and so they sat down to their supper.

Thyrsis had important writing to do that evening, and he tried his best, but he could not put his mind upon anything. He was all in a ferment.