Jennie Gerhardt

 
 
177

---

CHAPTER XXXIV 
In this world of ours the activities of animal life seem to be limited to a plane 
or circle, as if that were an inherent necessity to the creatures of a planet 
which is perforce compelled to swing about the sun. A fish, for instance, 
may not pass out of the circle of the seas without courting annihilation; a 
bird may not enter the domain of the fishes without paying for it dearly. 
From the parasites of the flowers to the monsters of the jungle and the deep 
we see clearly the circumscribed nature of their movements—the emphatic 
manner in which life has limited them to a sphere; and we are content to 
note the ludicrous and invariably fatal results which attend any effort on 
their part to depart from their environment. 
In the case of man, however, the operation of this theory of limitations has 
not as yet been so clearly observed. The laws governing our social life are 
not so clearly understood as to permit of a clear generalization. Still, the 
opinions, pleas, and judgments of society serve as boundaries which are 
none the less real for being intangible. When men or women err—that is, 
pass out from the sphere in which they are accustomed to move—it is not as 
if the bird had intruded itself into the water, or the wild animal into the 
haunts of man. Annihilation is not the immediate result. People may do no 
more than elevate their eyebrows in astonishment, laugh sarcastically, lift 
up their hands in protest. And yet so well defined is the sphere of social 
activity that he who departs from it is doomed. Born and bred in this 
environment, the individual is practically unfitted for any other state. He is 
like a bird accustomed to a certain density of atmosphere, and which cannot 
live comfortably at either higher or lower level. 
Lester sat down in his easy-chair by the window after his brother had gone 
and gazed ruminatively out over the flourishing city. Yonder was spread out 
before him life with its concomitant phases of energy, hope, prosperity, and 
pleasure, and here he was suddenly struck by a wind of misfortune and 
blown aside for the time being—his prospects and purposes dissipated. 
Could he continue as cheerily in the paths he had hitherto pursued? Would 
not his relations with Jennie be necessarily affected by this sudden tide of 
opposition? Was not his own home now a thing of the past so far as his old 
easy-going relationship was concerned? All the atmosphere of unstained 
affection would be gone out of it now. That hearty look of approval which 
used to dwell in his father's eye—would it be there any longer? Robert, his 
relations with the manufactory, everything that was a part of his old life, 
had been affected by this sudden intrusion of Louise. 
"It's unfortunate," was all that he thought to himself, and therewith turned 
from what he considered senseless brooding to the consideration of what, if 
anything, was to be done. 
178

---

"I'm thinking I'd take a run up to Mt. Clemens to-morrow, or Thursday 
anyhow, if I feel strong enough," he said to Jennie after he had returned. 
"I'm not feeling as well as I might. A few days will do me good." He wanted to 
get off by himself and think. Jennie packed his bag for him at the given 
time, and he departed, but he was in a sullen, meditative mood. 
During the week that followed he had ample time to think it all over, the 
result of his cogitations being that there was no need of making a decisive 
move at present. A few weeks more, one way or the other, could not make 
any practical difference. Neither Robert nor any other member of the family 
was at all likely to seek another conference with him. His business relations 
would necessarily go on as usual, since they were coupled with the welfare 
of the manufactory; certainly no attempt to coerce him would be attempted. 
But the consciousness that he was at hopeless variance with his family 
weighed upon him. "Bad business," he meditated—"bad business." But he 
did not change. 
For the period of a whole year this unsatisfactory state of affairs continued. 
Lester did not go home for six months; then an important business 
conference demanding his presence, he appeared and carried it off quite as 
though nothing important had happened. His mother kissed him 
affectionately, if a little sadly; his father gave him his customary greeting, a 
hearty handshake; Robert, Louise, Amy, Imogene, concertedly, though 
without any verbal understanding, agreed to ignore the one real issue. But 
the feeling of estrangement was there, and it persisted. Hereafter his visits to 
Cincinnati were as few and far between as he could possibly make them.