not for her. She was in the hospital a month, undergoing treatment-infection was at the cervix, had not yet reached into the uterus-and the treatment was to prevent it doing so. She was pronounced cured but went to the doctor (the celebrated woman surgeon who took her over to the hospital: she was killed later in an auto accident) a youthful woman doctor successor (former helper) each month to make sure. After a year or more she took a course or two at a school of social work and there had one instructor who seemed very efficient, thorough, etc.
To make a long story short, they fell deeply, permanently, desperately, soulstirringly in love. And he was married to his first cousin (his mother's sister's daughter) both Jews, had two children, a girl and a boy; 'Was no longer,' (he said, swearing the truth) 'married to the woman, lived daily, hourly in mind and soul with 'our girl'; planned to marry her!' They seemed to be perfectly mated in every way. He seemed to become younger-he was ten years older than she. However, like all men, this man seems to be a coward from the heel up. I omit all the heart- rending details, of his waving back and forth, of their not being sure that she was pregnant (the doctor said she could not become pregnant for a year) and upon a thorough examination (when later events showed that she had been three months pregnant) said she was not pregnant.
Eventually after much pain and sorrow at the defection of the adored one, the baby came.
Our girl had been in the valley of humiliation and death of spirit and even loving the man, decided she was not after 'the past' worthy unless-so in all honesty, truthfulness and sincerity, she told him before even their 'marriage' was consummated so that he could retreat if he wished to. Everything was talked over frankly and they reverenced and respected each other.
So therefore (he lied like a devil) he went back to his cousin and the girl paid all the bills of suffering, humiliation and anguish, always asking her to pity him, that he would never again be happy, that he loved only her, etc., etc., that be was poor (the girl did the economizing; he did the spending while talking of poverty), if he had money (he had a salary of $7,500 a year) it would all be different.
Meanwhile other men thinking our girl a widow are perfectly willing to offer themselves as lovers, provided it cost them nothing much in the way of responsibility, and they can get a 'beautiful thrill' out of a most beautiful experience, and she has learned that men can be sudden and tempestuous and bold and brutal, and they can be sly and cunning and long-time-patient with that goal in view, and they can be devilishly unjust and mean and wicked when they don't get what they want-always talking nicely about 'beauty' in such intimacy.
The head of the Children's Bureau, mentioned before, came to the front again, killed the man's love for his child, took him under his wing, to bring him back to his 'holy family,' told a lot of dirty, cowardly, fiendish, impossible lies about the girl (he said if the thing became known it would hurt social work in his city, so the man must be saved, regardless). And the man's megalomaniac wife had just had a miscarriage while the man does not pay for the support of his daughter by his beloved!
Our girl is supporting her child among many obstacles and hardships and can't run the risk of having a government put her in jail for writing to you.
Hence the anonymity.
You seem not to care much about children, or the next generation in your second volume, nor how you may be injuring a dear and beautiful girl-child in your quest for your own pleasure.
I liked your 'Contemporary Portraits' and your 'The Man Shakespeare' very much. And I liked a great deal of your 'Life.'
This letter appears to me to be an authentic human document, revealing curiously the average woman's point of view; it bears the imprint of reality on every page, partly because of its contempt of English usage in its ignorance of grammar; but it is quite exceptional in pain and suffering; not once does 'the girl' describe, or even mention, the joys of sexual intercourse, and if she had few of the pleasures, she had assuredly more than a fair share of the suffering.
Finally, she gave herself out of love to a married man; she had a child by him, and was brutally abandoned-a sad, sad story.
I have enjoyed all the pleasures I could in life, while always seeking to do as much good as possible and as little harm to the girl or woman-partner. I believe that, with one exception, I have not done much harm to any one.
The reason why girls don't give themselves freely is the fear of getting a child: they are usually too ignorant or too trusting to feel the fear of getting some disease, though it is this fear which obsesses and scares the man; but the dread of becoming enceinte is even less founded: with a little care that catastrophe can be avoided. As a rule the man covers his sex with a French letter or else covers the neck of the woman's womb with a pessary; but both of these diminish the enjoyment and are not so sure as they might be, for the French letters sometimes burst, and the pessary falls off occasionally, and the result is that pregnancy may take place.
The method suggested in the Bible in the story of Onan is the one I think best: when Onan got excited, he withdrew his sex, and we are told that 'he spilled his seed on the ground.' I found out in Vienna that as a rule one needs only to do this after the first orgasm: in ordinary cases, there is little or no danger in the second or in following consecutive embraces. And usually this selfrestraint is worth practicing on the part of the man since it gives almost complete security to the girl.
But if the girl is caught and pregnancy results, to get rid of the foetus and bring on the monthly period is comparatively easy in the first two months, especially easy at the end of the first month: a dose of ergot usually suffices.
Indeed, I have known jumping down two or three stairs to bring about the desired result; but as a rule, the girl does not act energetically this first month, and the difficulty is enormously increased by leaving the matter for two months; but it is still easy to bring it about the second month, and without much danger of inflammation or consequent illness; the third, fourth, and fifth months are excessively dangerous, and abortion then should be carried out by a skilled hand, for as soon as the foetus adheres to the side of the womb, it is not easy to get rid of; even when a miscarriage is brought about, one must take care to remove all the filaments attached to the side of the womb with a silver spoon, of course perfectly disinfected; a skilled hand is needed in this case. In the sixth, seventh, eight, and ninth months, abortion is comparatively easy, but there is life in the child.
We had in Vienna a method of bringing about abortion, especially at the end of the first, or even the second month, which had no ill effects; we made a pointed pencil of certain ingredients which swell with the heat of the body; this pencil would be introduced slowly and carefully into the neck of the womb; as soon as it began to swell, the abortion was begun: nature then made its own effort and got rid of the intruding semen.
Of course, in all cases in which the girl seeks to bring about abortion she ought, if possible, to have the advice and skilled assistance of a good doctor; and in spite of the insane legal prohibitions, it is not difficult to find such help.
I am now going to complete this chapter by giving a personal experience which may have a certain interest as revealing the depths over which ordinary life is built.
When I first went to Berlin as a student, nearly fifty years ago, now, I went out looking for rooms not too far from the university and near the great avenue, Unter den Linden. I soon found two excellent rooms and a bathroom on the third floor, which were let by a nice looking woman of about forty or fortyfive.
'Who will attend to me?' I asked, for the price was rather high. 'Either I myself or my daughter,' said the woman, and going to the door she called,
'Katchen!' A pretty girl of sixteen or so came running and bowed to me smiling. 'All right,' I said, 'I'll take the rooms and move in this afternoon.' In a few hours I came in and the mother and daughter helped me to arrange everything and make myself comfortable.
The woman brought me my coffee in the morning at eight o'clock, got my bath ready and went away. I was perfectly content, and even better satisfied when, after a couple of mornings, Katchen brought me my coffee, arranged the bath, chatting to me the while.
Everything went perfectly for about a month: Katchen and I had become great friends and I had already taught her that kissing sweetened service. To do her justice, she seemed eager to profit by the teaching, but at the same time showed a fear of being caught, I thought by her mother; and that seemed to me extraordinary.
One Sunday morning she hurried away and the mother came in her stead.
'Where's Katchen?' I asked.
'Her father's there,' the woman replied, 'and he doesn't like her to serve anyone.'
'Send your younger daughter, Lisabeth!' I said cheekily, and the woman, as if scared, answered, 'Oh, that would be worse!'
