The End
“And the moral of the story?” I said to Severin when I put the
manuscript down on the table.
“That I was a donkey,” he exclaimed without turning around, for he
seemed to be embarrassed. “If only I had beaten her!”
“A curious remedy,” I exclaimed, “which might answer with your
peasant-women–”
“Oh, they are used to it,” he replied eagerly, “but imagine the
effect upon one of our delicate, nervous, hysterical ladies–”
“But the moral?”
“That woman, as nature has created her and as man is at present
educating her, is his enemy. She can only be his slave or his despot,
but _never his companion._ This she can become only when she has
the same rights as he, and is his equal in education and work.
“At present we have only the choice of being hammer or anvil, and I
was the kind of donkey who let a woman make a slave of him, do you
understand?
“The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to be
whipped, deserves to be whipped.
“The blows, as you see, have agreed with me; the roseate supersensual
mist has dissolved, and no one can ever make me believe again that
these ’sacred apes of Benares’ [Footnote: One of Schopenhauer's
designations for women.] or Plato’s rooster [Footnote: Diogenes
threw a plucked rooster into Plato's school and exclaimed: "Here
you have Plato's human being."] are the image of God.”
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