The Woman Who Vowed Part 18

"Yes, but Campbell has made a money of his own; besides, before he did this, he h.o.a.rded gold."

"But I thought all the gold was owned by the state and used exclusively for foreign exchanges?"

"So it is--as currency; but the state could not refuse to allow skillful workers in the precious metals to exercise their skill in ornaments, and so there comes into the market not only state manufacture of gold and silver, but also for some years past the products of individual enterprise. Don't you remember the beautiful necklace Neaera wears?

Lydia, too; even Irene wears a heavy bracelet of solid gold.

"And do you mean to say that Campbell h.o.a.rds ornaments?"

"My dear fellow, there is nothing unusual in h.o.a.rding ornaments; most of the wealth of the Rajahs at the time of the conquest of India consisted of ornaments and precious stones; and later, the h.o.a.rding of ornaments by the natives const.i.tuted one of the financial difficulties with which the English Government had to contend. Then, too, a miser is not actuated by intelligence; he is the slave of an instinct--the h.o.a.rding instinct. He must h.o.a.rd something, and as there is no gold coin to h.o.a.rd, Campbell h.o.a.rds gold ornaments."

We found that both Ann and Anna had left the tea-room, so we ventured to the inhospitable door of their apartment. Anna opened it to us and ushered us into a room where her father was sitting. He was a small man with an intelligent face, but the hair grew on his head in a manner that was characteristic; some people would have called him bald, but he was not bald; the hair was extremely thin, so thin that it gave his scalp the appearance of not being perfectly clean. He greeted us courteously and inquiringly, as though we could not have called upon him except for some definite purpose. So Ariston at once suggested that he and his family should join us that evening at Theodore's.

"We should be delighted," said he. "But we are expecting our boy this evening--Harmes."

Harmes was the young man who had been convicted of using violence with Neaera and had been sent to the Penal Colony.

"You will want to spend your first evening with Harmes _en famille_,"

said Ariston, "so let us say to-morrow."

Campbell consulted his wife, and accepted.

"When does Harmes arrive?" asked Ariston.

"We are expecting him every moment," answered Campbell.

"To-morrow, then, at Theodore's at seven," said Ariston, and we left.

The absence of all shame as to the imprisonment of Harmes struck me as remarkable, but Ariston soon set me straight.

"You are possessed by the notions that prevailed in your day--notions that resulted in great part from the fact that most of your criminals were poor and dirty. Your system created a residuum--a criminal cla.s.s--as surely as the thresher by sifting out the wheat leaves behind the residuum we call chaff. And the residuum of your compet.i.tive system, which recognized practically only one prize (that is to say, money), necessarily consisted of those who being unable to earn this prize became dest.i.tute; of these the most enterprising were criminals, the least enterprising, paupers. This is the state of things to which Collectivism puts an end. Because all work for the state all are ent.i.tled to an equal share in the national income; there are no dest.i.tute, no paupers, no criminal _cla.s.s_. Indeed, it may be said that the criminal, such as you were accustomed to see him in your police courts, does not exist among us at all. Occasionally a man is tempted beyond endurance, as in the case of Harmes, or in the case of Chairo and his confederates. But if Chairo were convicted and sent to a penal colony, he would on his release recover the social position to which he was by his conduct ent.i.tled without regard to the fact that he had served a term. No one would think of applying the Word 'criminal' to either Chairo or Harmes. Of course there are men born among us, as among you, with what may be termed truly criminal instinct--moral perverts who take pleasure in causing pain. Such are rarely curable. They seldom return to social life. They are treated like lepers. We try to make their lot as little wretched as we can. But we recognize that the happiness of the entire community must be preferred to that of these exceptions; they are kept in confinement, and above all, they are not allowed to perpetuate the type."

There was nothing new in all this. We were as familiar in my day with this reasoning as Ariston. But we were dominated by our inst.i.tutions, our penal codes, our criminal lawyers, our prisons, and, above all, our amazing doctrines of individual liberty, which vindicated it for the criminal and disregarded it for the workingman. So that the industrious were bound to as enforced labor as the convict all the time, whereas the convict was periodically let loose on the community to idle and to steal.

CHAPTER XX

ON FLAVORS AND FINANCE

Next evening we met at Theodore's restaurant and sat down to a dinner, which reminded me of the best I had ever tasted in Paris.

Theodore himself was a type. Rather short in stature and stout, he had a large head off which was combed thick hair, treated very much as a sculptor would treat hair in a monument. For Theodore took himself very seriously. He believed gastronomy to be one of the fine arts, and that he was its high priest. He would never allow any one to joke about it, and admitted to his restaurant only those who behaved toward him with the respect to which he felt ent.i.tled.

He received us at the door with a napkin over his arm, for of this napkin he was as proud as a British peer of his robes; it was the emblem of his art, and as such he bore it proudly. Ariston greeted him and introduced us to him each by name. He bowed at every introduction.

"And now," said Ariston, turning to us, "you have before you the greatest culinary artist in the world."

Theodore smiled sadly--as indeed he might--for possessed of the finest palate in New York, he had for years been confined, by an ungovernable indigestion, to a milk diet.

Theodore showed us to a private room, and explained that he meant to open the ceremonies with a _pot au feu garbure_, and that the cheese used on the toast had just arrived from France. He left us to seat ourselves, and very soon after we were settled, the door was thrown open by his son and Theodore appeared, with an air of almost stern solemnity, holding a silver soup tureen in both hands, the inevitable napkin on his arm. He placed the soup tureen on a side table, lifted off the lid, and with religious care ladled the soup into plates, carefully providing that each had his share of the preciously prepared toast.

A chorus of approval from us brought the sad smile back into his face again, and as we sat he told us that he had "created" a new dish for us.

He was very particular about the use of this word "created." He kept a list of his special dishes, and Ariston told us afterwards that he had once asked Theodore for this list, describing it as the list of his inventions. Theodore had offendedly corrected him. "_Creations_, you mean." The dish he had created for us that day was a pheasant stuffed with ortolans, all cooked in their own juice--_braise_--over a slow fire during six hours. He explained that it was a great mistake to roast pheasants. For those who insisted on his roasting them he provided himself with vine twigs (sarments), the fire made with them imparting a subtle flavor to the meat. But the meat of a pheasant though delicious was dry, and the method he had adopted was altogether the best for bringing out the full meaning of the bird. The same was true of ortolans.

Theodore did not appear more than twice: at the opening ceremony of the soup and at the climax--the newly created combination. While we were partaking of this last, he told us of a great discussion that was about to be settled as to the respective flavor of three kinds of mutton. He had been enlisted on the side of the Long Island breed, and had that day selected the sheep which was to have the honor of representing Long Island interests. He explained that much depended on the choice of the animal. In his selection he had picked out one upon whose hind legs were the tooth marks of the shepherd dog, for these marks showed him to be so keen on sweet pasture that it took an actual bite to drive him from it.

Theodore was a determined individualist and warm supporter of Chairo's.

It was insufferable, he said, that an artist like himself--and bowing condescendingly to Anna, he added--"and our young lady, too"--should have to work half the day for the state, when under individualistic conditions thousands of rich men would have been delighted to cover him with gold in recognition of his services. I could not help thinking of a distinguished cook I had known in Paris once who, under these very individualistic conditions, had struggled with debt all his life and never escaped from it.

After Theodore had served the birds he withdrew. We were enjoying the dish when Anna surprised us by saying, as though she had just made the discovery:

"This is really quite nice!"

"Why, my dear child," said her father, "it is a _chef d'oeuvre_! What have you been thinking about all this time?"

"I have been looking at Theodore; do you know, he has a good head to sculpt."

We all laughed at this view of Theodore, and Harmes said:

"This kind of thing is rather a jump from what we have at the colony."

"Is the food bad there?" asked I.

"No, not bad; but nothing nice until we can afford to pay for it with the wages we earn."

This led to a long account by Harmes of how the colony was managed and the system--often proposed in my day--for slowly restoring the inmates of a reformatory to social life.

Harmes spoke so freely of the whole subject that I ventured to ask him:

"And Neaera--was it her fault or yours?"

Harmes' eye flashed a moment, and then looking around the table, and finally at Ariston, asked:

"Can I speak freely?"

"Certainly," said Ariston. "Our friend here knows, perhaps, more about Neaera than you do."

"Am I to condole with you, then?" asked Harmes.

"No," I answered. "I had the advantage over you of age and experience."

"She is a little devil," said Harmes. "And the devil of it is that if I were to see her to-morrow I believe I should want to make love to her again."

"Harmes!" exclaimed his mother protestingly.

"Oh, I have learned my lesson! I won't make love to her again; but the amazing thing is that after all she has cost me I cannot make up my mind to dislike her as I ought."