Part 9 (1/2)

”But,” I ventured, ”is not maternal love a sentimental emotion?”

”By no means,” replied Frau Karoline. ”Maternal love of the highest order, such as I possess, is purely intellectual; it recognizes only the pa.s.sions for the greatness of race and the glory of the Royal House.

Such love must be born of the intellect; that is why we women of the scientific group are the best of all mothers. Thus, were I not wholly free from weak sentimentality, I might desire that my second child be sired by the father of my first, but the Eugenic Office has determined that I would bear a stronger child from a younger father, therefore I acquiesced to their change of a.s.signment without emotion, as becomes a proper mother of our well bred race. My first child is extremely intellectual but he is not quite perfect physically, and a mother such as I should bear only perfect children. That alone is the supreme purpose of motherhood. Do you not see that I am fitted for perfect motherhood?”

”Yes,” I replied, as I recalled that my instructions were to pay compliments, ”you seem to be a perfect mother.”

But the cold and logical perfection of Frau Karoline dampened my curiosity and oppressed my spirit of adventure, and I closed the interview with all possible speed and fled headlong to the nearest elevator that would carry me from the level.

~4~

In my first experience I had suffered nothing worse than an embarra.s.sing half hour, so, with more confidence I pressed the bell the second evening, at the apartment of Frau Augusta, daughter of Gustave Schnorr, Authority on Synthetic Nicotine.

Frau Augusta was a woman of thirty-five. She was well-preserved, more handsome and less coldly inhuman than the younger woman.

”We will get the formalities over since you have been told they are necessary,” said Frau Augusta, as she reached for my card and folder and, at the same time, handing me her own pedigree.

Peering over the top of the chart that recorded the antecedents of Gustave Schnorr, I saw his daughter going through my own folder with the business-like dispatch of a society dowager examining the ”character” of a new housemaid.

”Ah, yes,” she said, raising her brows. ”I thought I knew the family.

Your Uncle Otto was my second mate. He is the father of my third son and my twin girls. I have no more promising children. Have you ever met him?

He is in the aluminum tempering laboratories.”

I could only stare stupidly, struck dumb with embarra.s.sment.

”No, I suppose not,” went on Frau Augusta, ”it is hardly to be expected since you have upwards of a hundred uncles.” She arose and, going toward a shelf where half a dozen pictures of half a dozen men reposed in an orderly row, took the second one of the group and handed it to me.

”He is a fine man,” she said, with a very full degree of pride for a past and partial possession. ”I fear the Staff erred in transferring him, but then of course the twin girls were most unexpected and unfortunate since the Armstadt line is supposed to sire seventy-five per cent, male offspring.

”What do you think? Isn't the Eugenic Office a little unfair at times?

My fifth man thought so. He said it was a case of politics. I don't know. I thought politics was something ancient that they had in old books like churches and families.”

”I am sure I do not know,” I murmured, as I fumbled the portrait of my putative uncle.

”Of course,” continued the voluble Fran Augusta, ”you must not think I am criticizing the authorities. It is all very necessary. And for the most part I think they have done very well by me. My ten children have six fathers. All of them but the first were men of most gracious manner and superior intelligence. The first one had his paternity right revoked, so I feel satisfied on that score, even if his son is not gifted--and yet the boy has beautiful hair--I think he would make an excellent violinist. But then perhaps he wouldn't have been able to play, so maybe it is all right, though I would think music would be more easily learned than chemistry. But then since I cannot read either I ought not to judge. I will show you his picture. I may as well show you all their pictures. I don't see why you elected fathers should not see our children--but then I suppose it might produce quarrels. Some women are so foolish and insist on talking about the children they have already borne in a way that makes a man feel that his own children could never come up to them. Now I never do that. Why should one? The future is always more interesting than the past. I haven't a single child that has not won the porcelain cross for obedience. Even my youngest--he is only fourteen months--obeys as if he were a full grown man. Some say mental and physical excellence are not correlated--but that is a prejudice because of those great labour beasts. There isn't one of my children that has fallen below the minimum growth standards, except my third daughter, and her father was undersized, so it is no fault of mine.”

As the loquacious mother chattered on, she produced an alb.u.m, through which I now turned, inspecting the annual photographs of her blond brood, each of which was labelled with the statistics of physical growth and the tests of psychic development.

Strive as I might I could think of no comments to make, but the mother came to the rescue. Unfastening the binding of the loose leaf alb.u.m she hastily shuffled the sheets and brought into an orderly array on the table before me ten photographs all taken at the age of one year. ”That is the only fair way to view them,” she said, ”for of course one cannot compare the picture of a boy of fifteen with an infant of one year. But at an equal age the comparison is fair to all and now you can surely tell me which is the most intelligent.”

I gazed hopelessly at the infantile portraits which, despite their varied paternity, looked as alike as a row of peas in a pod.

”Oh, well,” said Frau Augusta, ”after all is it fair to ask you, since the twins are your cousins?”

Desperately I wondered which were the twins.

”They resemble you quite remarkably, don't you think so? Except that your hair is quite dark for an Armstadt.” Frau Augusta turned and glanced furtively at my identification folder. ”Of course! your mother.

I had almost forgotten who your mother was, but now I remember, she had most remarkably dark hair. It will probably prove a dominant characteristic and your children will also be dark haired. Now I should like that by way of a change.”