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Biopolitics An Advanced Introduction 1st Edition Thomas
Lemke Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Thomas Lemke, Monica J. Casper, Lisa Jean Moore
ISBN(s): 9780814752418, 0814752411
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 3.55 MB
Year: 2011
Language: english
Biopolitics
 biopolitics
Medicine, Technoscience, and Health in the 21st Century
General Editors: Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore

Missing Bodies: The Politics of Visibility

Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore

Against Health: How Health Became the New Morality

Edited by Jonathan M. Metzl and Anna Kirkland

Is Breast Best? Taking on the Breastfeeding Experts and

the New High Stakes of Motherhood
Joan B. Wolf

Biopolitics: An Advanced Introduction

Thomas Lemke
Biopolitics
An Advanced Introduction

Thomas Lemke

Translated by
Eric Frederick Trump

a
NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS
New York and London
NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS
New York and London
www.nyupress.org

© 2011 by New York University

All rights reserved

References to Internet websites (URLs) were accurate at the time of writing.

Neither the author nor New York University Press is responsible for URLs
that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lemke, Thomas.
[Biopolitik zur Einführung. English]
Biopolitics : an advanced introduction /
Thomas Lemke ; translated by Eric Frederick Trump.
p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978–0–8147–5241–8 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–8147–5242–5
(pbk. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–8147–5299–9 (e-book)
1. Biopolitics. I. Title.
JA80.L46 2010
320.01—dc22 2010034537

New York University Press books are printed on acid-free paper,

and their binding materials are chosen for strength and durability.
We strive to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials
to the greatest extent possible in publishing our books.

Manufactured in the United States of America

c 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
p 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The translation of this work was supported by a grant from the

Goethe-Institut, which is funded by the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Contents

Foreword by Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore vii

Preface xi

Introduction 1
 Life as the Basis of Politics 9
 Life as an Object of Politics 23
 The Government of Living Beings: Michel Foucault 33
 Sovereign Power and Bare Life: Giorgio Agamben 53
 Capitalism and the Living Multitude: 65
Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri
 The Disappearance and Transformation of Politics 77
 The End and Reinvention of Nature 93
 Vital Politics and Bioeconomy 105
 Prospect: An Analytics of Biopolitics 117

Notes 125
References 129
Index 139
About the Author 145

v
This page intentionally left blank
Foreword

I N C R E AT I N G T H E“Biopolitics” book series for New York Uni-

versity Press, we hoped to achieve several intellectual and pragmatic
goals. First, we wanted to solicit and encourage new book projects
examining the potent intersection of medicine and technoscience
with human bodies and lives. Second, we wanted to foster interdis-
ciplinary scholarship in this field, realizing that contemporary “prob-
lems of the body” as they relate to technoscience and biomedicine
can only be understood through diverse, overlapping, even compet-
ing analytical lenses. In this vein, the book series becomes a site for
discourse about accounts of the body in relation to technologies,
science, biomedicine, and clinical practices. Third, we were intent
on encouraging scholarship in this field by established experts and
emergent scholars. And finally, we were determined to offer fresh
theoretical considerations of biopolitics alongside empirical and eth-
nographic work.
It is with regard to the goal of theoretical innovation that we are
delighted to offer here the English translation of Thomas Lemke’s
Biopolitics, published originally in Germany. It is, of course, by now
obvious that biopolitics, governmentality, and “life itself ” have be-
come concepts widely used in fields ranging from science and tech-
nology studies (STS) to biomedicalization studies, from cultural
studies to security studies, from body/embodiment studies to health
and illness studies. However, it is not the case that there has been
substantial, or even adequate, theoretical conversation and debate
about these terms and their usage. All too often, scholars take at face

vii
viii Foreword

value the ideas of Foucault, for example, or Agamben as if it is quite

clear to everyone what each has said and how their work might be
applied to contemporary concerns. With the likely continued as-
cendance of scholarship on biopolitical processes and institutions,
alongside investigation of their embodied consequences, we believe
it is a timely task to engage in theoretical innovations regarding 21st-
century biopolitics.
Thomas Lemke is an able guide through this biopolitical land-
scape. His research interests include social and political theory, or-
ganizational sociology, and social studies of genetics and reproduc-
tive technologies. He received his Ph.D. in political science in 1996
at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University Frankfurt am Main, in
Germany. He currently is Heisenberg Professor of Sociology with
focus on Biotechnologies, Nature, and Society at the Faculty of So-
cial Sciences of the Goethe University. From 1997 to 2006, he was
an assistant professor of sociology at Wuppertal University. He also
held visiting fellowships at Goldsmiths College in London (2001)
and New York University (2003). A prolific scholar, Lemke has
served on the editorial board of Foucault Studies and is currently an
editor of Distinktion: Scandinavian Journal of Social Theory. He has
published numerous journal articles in the areas of governmentality,
risk, biopolitics, social theory, genetic technologies, and health and
disease.
In Biopolitics, Lemke offers the first scholarly introduction to the
idea of biopolitics. The book is, in his words, “a general orientation”
designed to present a historical overview of the concept of biopoli-
tics, while also exploring the term’s relevance to contemporary the-
oretical conversations and debates. Yet at the same time, Lemke is
quite reflexive about his project, recognizing that any such “system-
atic overview” necessarily represents the theoretical stance of its au-
thor. He contends that his is not a neutral account of the history of
biopolitics as a social concept but rather a theoretical intervention
in and of itself. Rather than solely a journey through theory’s past,
 Foreword ix

the book is a strategic intellectual intervention into the shifting and

contested field of knowledge about biopolitics. As with our series of
the same name, Biopolitics the book is about knowledge in the mak-
ing at the same time that it is knowledge in the making. The book,
then, is a volley in the ongoing conversation about what biopolitics
is, how it relates to this thing called Life, and where we might go
from here.
Lemke’s ideas are broadly applicable. He gives us fresh ways of
reading theorists such as Michel Foucault, Giorgio Agamben, An-
tonio Negri, Michael Hardt, Agnes Heller, Ferenc Fehér, Anthony
Giddens, Didier Fassin, Paul Rabinow, and Nikolas Rose. He draws
on geographically specific examples to illustrate his work, such as a
discussion of Germany during World War II, but his theories are not
located exclusively in his homeland—just as World War II was not
specific to one nation. His final chapter is an exploration of some
“neglected areas” of biopolitics, such as the work of Rudolf Golds-
cheid, vital politics, the Chicago School of human capital, and bio-
economics. Lemke’s overview is not exhaustive, nor does he intend
it to be. Rather, the book is meant to stimulate dialogue and to foster
new scholarship on biopolitics. The absence of some theorists and
ideas, such as feminist biopolitics, should not be read necessarily
as deliberate elision but instead as an invitation to other scholars to
produce future work in this area.
In short, Thomas Lemke’s Biopolitics is significant in its engage-
ment with a range of scholars, collecting in one book a valuable re-
source on biopolitical concepts, ideas, theorists, and origin stories.
He has offered us who’s who and what’s what in this ever-expanding
domain of knowledge. We look forward to the book’s reception, as
well as to the promise of other scholars using it as a springboard for
further considerations.

Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore

Series Editors
This page intentionally left blank
Preface

THIS BOOK HAS emerged from a specific historical constellation. It

addresses some crucial social and political events we have witnessed
since the turn of the century. In the past ten years, intellectuals inside
and outside the United States have used the notion of biopolitics to
reflect on issues as heterogeneous as the war on terror after 9/11, the
rise of neoliberalism, and biomedical and biotechnological innova-
tions such as stem cell research, and the human genome project. In
these debates, the concept of biopolitics has often served as an in-
terpretive key to analyze how the production and protection of life
is articulated with the proliferation of death; or it seeks to grasp how
the reduction of human beings to “bare life” (e.g., in Guantánamo
and Abu Ghraib) is linked to strategies to optimize and enhance hu-
man capabilities and life expectancy.
While many important political issues and theoretical questions
have been addressed by employing the notion of biopolitics, it is of-
ten used in conflicting or even contradictory ways. However, the in-
tensity of the debate and the prominence of biopolitics indicate that
the term captures something essential in our present era. Neverthe-
less, there had until recently been no attempt to review the specific
meanings of biopolitics in social theories and in philosophy. While
biopolitics seemed to be everywhere, there was no attempt to con-
textualize and confront the different theoretical positions engaged in
this debate. Against this background, I thought it might be useful to
provide a systematic overview of the history of the notion of biopoli-
tics and explore its relevance in contemporary theoretical debates.

xi
xii Preface

The result of this intellectual experiment was originally published

in 2007 in German, with the title Biopolitik zur Einführung. Although
the present book is a translation of that volume, there are some sig-
nificant changes to be noted. First, there is a new title: Biopolitics: An
Advanced Introduction. As one of the anonymous reviewers of the
book rightly pointed out, the original title, “Introduction to Biopoli-
tics,” might deter readers already familiar with the concept. In fact,
the book offers more than an introduction. It identifies the historical
dimensions of the notion of biopolitics and distinguishes systemati-
cally between conceptually different approaches. Second, I have also
revised and updated the book. This edition includes literature on
the topic published in the past two years and minor corrections and
amendments. To make it more accessible for a U.S. readership, the
present version limits references to German academic debates with
which most readers would be unfamiliar and incorporates more lit-
erature in English.
I would like to express my gratitude to some individuals who
made this edition possible, especially Eric Frederick Trump, who
was responsible for the translation (I provided the translations of
quotations from non-English sources), and Kevin Hall and Gerard
Holden, who read and commented on the revisions I made to the
original text. They all helped enormously to improve the quality of
the book.
I am convinced that the book will find an interested readership
among scholars and students in the United States and in the Anglo-
phone world. It invites those working in areas as diverse as sociol-
ogy, political science, cultural studies, anthropology, literature, legal
studies, and philosophy to address questions that require us to go
beyond neat disciplinary divisions of labor. But the book will most
certainly also attract a larger audience already discussing the political
impact of authors such as Michel Foucault, Giorgio Agamben, Mi-
chael Hardt, and Antonio Negri and those engaged in debates on the
social and political implications of biotechnology and biomedicine. I
 Preface xiii

hope that this small volume will contribute to the ongoing debate on
biopolitics by providing the historical and theoretical knowledge to
engage with the political issues at stake—and to define what politics
means in biopolitical times.

Thomas Lemke
Frankfurt am Main
12 February 2010
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But Lola would not, so George took her chin and made her gaze
directly into his eyes. Lola's were filled with tears, but after a time
she began to smile. "Ah, you are not enraged, it was for you I did it.
I wish my dear George to myself--all--all."

"You know that is impossible."

"But it is not. I will have you."

"Not at all," said George, deliberately. "You will marry Bawdsey."

"That pig--cow, horrible and miserable. Non. Ah, non!" She sprang to
her feet. "Jamais. Ah grand jamais! I do swear," and producing a
small black crucifix from her dress she kissed it vehemently.

She was a most impossible person to deal with, being as wild as a

tigress and as impulsive as a child. George made her resume her
seat, and drew his chair close to her. Much delighted, Lola took his
hand within her own and looked at him affectionately. Brendon did
not like the position at all, but it was necessary to humor Lola if he
wished to arrive at the truth. He spoke to her very directly.

"Now, Lola, I wish you to tell me the truth."

"Ah, but I will. When you are kindness I tell you all."

"Do you know that you have done a wrong thing?"

"Pschutt," she said contemptuously. "I give that old mans knocks on
the heads, but he is alive. Oh, yes, I did not kill him.

"I don't mean the assault, though that is bad enough. But your
trying to destroy the register of the marriage.

"It is your fault," cried Lola, impetuously. "For loves of my George I

did so. I wish you not to marry any but me."
"We can talk of that later, Lola. Answer me a few questions, and
make no remarks."

"I will do what you say, my friend," said Lola, nodding. George
thought for a moment. "How did you learn that Wargrove was the
place where my parents were married?"

"I tell not that--indeed, I will not. It is my businesses."

"Mine also. You must tell."

"But I will not."

"For my sake, Lola."

"Ah, you want to know all, and then trick me. I will not tell."

"Then I will explain to you."

"Aha, you cannots--you know nothings at all. Pah! La, la, la, la."

George spoke sternly. "Lola, I know more than you give me credit
for. I have seen the dagger."

This time he struck home, for she started. "What dagger?"

"The stiletto you left in Mrs. Jersey's room."

"I did nothings. I was not there."

"Yes you were. For all I know you may have killed the woman."

"But it is foolish you talk, George. I did not. She was frightened--oh,
very much afraid."

"So much that she gave you the confession you asked for?"
"Ah, yes--yes--yes," cried Lola, then seeing she had betrayed herself,
she began to be alarmed. "Ah, you will say nothing. I would not tell
anys but my George. He loves me. He will not see me dead."

"Good heavens, Lola, did you kill the woman?"

"That fat ladys in black silk? Ah, no, I did not. But she was so afraid
of the knife."

"You left her alive on that night?"

"Why, yes, my George. We part--oh, such good friends." Lola blew a

kiss from her finger-tips. "She quite pleased, immense!"

"Well, Lola, as you have told so much, you must tell me all."

"There is nothing to say," she replied, turning sullen.

George rose. "Then I shall go away," he declared. "I came here to

be your friend, Lola, and to save you from getting into further
trouble. But if you will not be candid--" He moved to the door.

"What is candids? I know not, George." She sprang to her feet. "Ah,
my heart, do not go. Soul of my soul, leave me not. I will do
anythings what you ask of me."

"Then tell me the whole story of your visit to Mrs. Jersey."

"But you will marry Mees Vard!"

"I do that in any case. See here, Lola," he added artfully, "this
marriage register which you wish to destroy does not matter now.
My grandfather has acknowledged me as his heir."

She looked at him with wide eyes and pale cheeks. "And you will be
milor--you will marry Mees Vard--you will--you will--" Her mouth
began to work piteously like a child being reproved.
"I will always be your friend, Lola!"

"You will marry Mees Vard?" she persisted.

"Lola," he took her hand, "if we married we would never be happy. I

and you are different people. Do you wish to see me happy?"

"Ah, yes--if I die I would have you happy," she sobbed.

"Then allow me to marry Miss Ward, and give me up."

"Ah, but it is asking much--always too much."

"Well," said George, a trifle cruelly, "you offered to die for me just
now, yet to see me happy you won't deny yourself anything."

"Yes--yes--but it is all so quick, my dear. Give times--oh, give times

till I become used." She sobbed for a moment, then dried her eyes
and sat down briskly. "I am ready, my George. You shall be happy,
but you must not forget poor Lola--ah, no!"

"Of course not," replied George, patting her hand. "Now tell me the
story. Wait. Was it you mother who told you of my father's death?"

"Yes," assented Lola. "She often talked of your fathers,"

"I heard she was in love with him," said George, slowly.

Lola shrugged her shapely shoulders. "That I know not. My dear

mother was handsome--oh, yes, and dark, and fond of gayness. She
might have loved--eh--it is not impossibles."

"Did she ever hint who killed my father?"

Lola shook her head. "No. Never did she say anythings. He was
found dead--stabbed--" she made a gesture, "that was all--all!"
Evidently she could tell him nothing, so George reverted to more
immediate matters. "How about that night? You knew that I was
going to Mrs. Jersey's on that night?"

"Ah, but yes. You did tell me."

"Then what made you come also? Was it to see me?"

Lola put her finger in her mouth and looked down. "No, my George.
I did want that confessions of the fat old lady, to stop you being
milor, and then I thought you would marry only poor Lola."

"How did you know about the confession?"

"That pig-man told me."

"Bawdsey? Why did he tell you?"

"Pschutt!" said Lola, contemptuously. "He loves me so, I can twist

and twist him so," she made a rapid motion with her fingers. "We
did talk of the death of your fathers. I lamented that my poor
mother did loves your fathers unhappily, as I did love you. And I was
enraged to think that your fathers had died. I did ask Bawdsey who
made the stab--gave the death?--eh, it is, so I asked," she added,
nodding. "He could not say, but he declares that Mrs.--what you call
her--eh, but my friend, Mrs.----"

"Mrs. Jersey. Bawdsey declared that she knew?" Lola nodded. "It
was so," she assented. "Mrs.--what you call that fat ladys--she write
out all she know,--of your father's death and of his marriages. I say
to myself that I would get that confession and learn where the
marriage was made. Then I would burn the book that no one might
learn. After I would say to you, that I could tell who killed your
father if you made me madame your wife."

"That's a very pretty plot," said Brendon, not knowing whether to be

angry with her wrong-doing or touched by a love that to gain him
would not hesitate to commit a crime. "So far you have carried it
out. You have the confession----"

Lola put her hand on her breast. "He is here," she said, nodding. "I
carries him always--always!"

"Give it to me, Lola."

Her eyes opened in wide alarm. "Ah, no, you will not ask me. I keep
him to myself all."

George saw that the moment was not propitious. But he was
determined to get the confession before he left her. However, he
begged her to continue her story. "How did you know the house?"
he asked.

"It was the scarlet windows----"

"I remember. Bawdsey gave you that for guide."

"Bah! He knew not I was going," said Lola with a shrug. "I got out of
him the fool-man all that I did want. I thought I would get to the fat
ladys on the night you were with her, that I might have you for helps
if she was enraged."

"It seems to me that you protected yourself very well."

"With the daggers--oh, yes. I said to myself that if my George did

not come for the fogs, that Mrs.--what you say--Jarsey, oh, yes,
would be enraged, and I would have trouble. I took the stiletto to
save myself."

"How did you get into the house?"

"Wait, ah, wait! I did not dance all that night. I said I was ill and I
came aways. I took the daggers and a cloak, and I went to the
Square--it is not far from my houses----"
"No. You just turn the corner of the street," said Brendon. "Well?"

"I walked by the walls. It was after ten o'clocks. I walk round and
round the Squares, and I then see a red lights. The door open--it
was open, and many people came out of the houses. The fat lady
was on the steps waving her hands--so--" Lola waved her hand. "A
crowd was around. I came into the crowd, and when the fat lady
was down shaking with the handshake, I did slip into the house."

"That was clever of you," said George, wondering at the dexterity

with which Lola had managed to enter without exciting suspicion.
"And then what did you do? Did you meet any one?"

"Ah, but no. I ran into a place; there was a room with a light, and
that I did go into----"

"Mrs. Jersey's sitting-room," murmured George. "Yes?"

"I was afraid to be thrown out, my dear, and I hided behind a

curtain of the window. The fat lady she did come in and close the
door. She talked to herself of Lord Derrington coming, and did seem
enraged at him wishing to come--you understand?"

"Yes. What then?"

"A leetle boy did come in with wine and cakes. She did send him
away, being angry, and did close the door. She took from a box----"

"A green box, Lola?"

"Yes, a green box--she did take a blue--what you, call--paper."

"A blue envelope?"

"Ah, yes, it is so, and she looked at a paper--a white paper she took
from the envelope. She laughed, and said that milor would love to
have this. I say to myself behind the curtains: It is the confessions, I
will have it. Then she did put it in the envelopes and leave it on the
tables. It was near me. I could steal----"

"And you did!" said George, impatiently.

"But no, my George. I did try, and madame she saw my arm. With a
cry she leap to the doors. I come out and, say that I wish to talk of
the deaths of Monsieur Vanes. She turns most white, and did not cry
no more. Then she ask me what I want----"

"You needn't tell all in detail, Lola. Be as short as possible."

"Oh, well--but yes, assuredly. I told madame I was of San Remo,

and did talk of my dear mother, and of her love for Monsieur Vane.
But this pig-womans insult my mother. I become enraged, I bring my
dagger and wave it so--" again Lola made a dramatic gesture. "I say
that I kill her. She fall on her knees and hide her face. Then I did
take the confessions out of the blue envelopes and hide it----"

"That was very clever of you, Lola. Did Mrs. Jersey see?"

"Ah, but no she did not. I take it when she was with the eyes
covered. Then having all what I was desired, and seeing her so
afraid, I had the contempt look you. I say, 'There, there,' and I
throw the dagger at her feets. Then I go to the door and say I
would depart. She beg me to stop. I did stop, and we talk of San
Remo, and of my mother. I say that you were my love, and that
Monsieur Vane was the father of you----"

"Then she knew who I was on that night?"

"Ah, yes, but she did. I say you wish to see her the next day. She
say, 'I will tell him nothing, and now go, for I have to see a great
gentlemans.' I was quite happy."

"Did she not miss the confession?"

"No! I said nothing of wanting that. It was in my pocket. The blue
envelope was on the table. She never thought but what it was
within, Then she ask me to say nothing to any one about San Remo,
and we part quite happy. She allowed me out of the door, and closed
it again, oh, so softly. I saw her no more."

"You left the dagger behind?"

"It was on the floors where I threw it. I wished to get away with the
confessions, lest she should call me thieves. I did not wait for to
take the dagger. I departed. That is all."

"Humph!" said George. The story seemed likely enough. After letting
Lola out of the house, Mrs. Jersey then came to see if he and Train
were in bed. Expecting Lord Derrington, and knowing from Lola who
he was, she no doubt expected George to interrupt the interview.
But finding him--as she thought in bed--she departed satisfied. Then
she met Margery, and after locking her in her room, went down to
meet her death. It was eleven when all this happened, and Bawdsey
in the coat of Lord Derrington arrived close upon twelve. Therefore,
as Lola left Mrs. Jersey alive and Bawdsey found her dead, she must
have been killed in the interval, and whomsoever had done this had
used the dagger left by Lola.

However, George had learned all he wished to know in the mean

time, and it only remained to get the confession from Lola. She
refused to give it up. George entreated, cajoled, stormed, insisted,
she still held out. "No, I will not, I will not," she kept saying.

Finally he hit on a solution of the difficulty. "If you do not give it to

me it will be taken from you when you go to prison."

"Ah, but will it?" cried Lola, wide-eyed with alarm.

"Certainly, and will probably be published in the papers. Keep it if

you like, Lola, but don't blame me if you get into trouble over it. I
assure you if you keep it they will take it."
Lola pulled a white packet from her breast, and ran with it to the
fire. "They will not have it. I burn--I burn," and she threw the papers
on the fire. George shot past her, snatched them out before they
could catch alight, and thrust them into his pocket. Lola turned on
him like a tigress, and he thought she would strike him. She seemed
inclined to do so. Then unexpectedly she threw up her arms and fell
into a chair weeping. "It is the end--you love me no more--we part--
we part. The confessions will part us, all--all, alas!"

CHAPTER XXI
THE CONFESSION OF A JEALOUS WOMAN

George returned to town with the confession of Mrs. Jersey in his

pocket. On arriving at the Liverpool Street Station he wrote a note to
Kowlaski telling him of Lola's plight, and advising him to engage
counsel for her defense. He added that he would come around the
next day to see Kowlaski and discuss what could be done toward
extricating Lola from the mess she had involved herself in. Having
thus done what he could, Brendon took the underground railway to
Kensington, and alighted at the High Street Station. In another half-
hour he was in his rooms.

After making a good meal, for he felt the need of food to sustain
him, he ordered coffee, and sat down to read the manuscript of Mrs.
Jersey. The coffee was brought, George lighted his pipe, and having
poked the fire into a blaze, made himself comfortable.
The confession of the wretched woman who had come to so tragic
an end, was written on several sheets of foolscap loosely pinned
together. Her caligraphy was vile, and George had great difficulty in
making out some of the words. Also the English was not faultless,
but good grammar and fine writing were scarcely to be expected
from a woman in the position of Eliza Stokes.

But she wrote in a most cold-blooded way, and seemingly exulting in

her wickedness. All through her confession ran a venomous strain of
deadly hatred toward George's mother, and indeed against any
woman who paid attention to Vane. Jenny Howard was not spared,
and the woman Velez, "who kept an oil-shop," sneered Mrs. Jersey,
was mentioned. When Brendon discovered that Mrs. Jersey had
Italian blood in her veins he saw perfectly well whence she got her
savage nature and undisciplined affections. She was like a wild beast
let loose among more civilized animals, and the wonder was that
with such a nature she had not committed more crimes than those
she confessed to. The woman was a dangerous creature, and
Brendon when he laid down the manuscript thought it just as well
that she had been removed even by the violent means which
Providence permitted.

"My parents were of humble station," began Mrs. Jersey, abruptly. "I
believe my mother was a lady's maid. She married my supposed
father, who was a butler. I say 'my supposed father' as I have reason
to believe that I was the daughter of a certain Italian count who had
loved and betrayed my mother. In her moments of rage my mother
would taunt my supposed father with this, but when calm she
always denied that there was any truth. When I grew old enough to
understand she rebuked me for asking about the matter. 'You are my
daughter,' she said abruptly, 'and the daughter of Samuel Stokes,
who is the biggest fool and the greatest craven I know.'

"It will be seen that there was no love lost between my parents. My
father Stokes--as I may call him, though I believe the count was my
real sire--was always very kind to me, and shielded me from my
mother's rage. She treated me very cruelly, and when fifteen I was
glad to go out as a scullery-maid so as to escape her persecution.
Shortly after I took up life on my own account she died in a fit of
violent rage, during which she broke a blood-vessel. I think Stokes
was glad when she died. She made his life a misery when she lived,
and tormented every one around her. If I have faults, it is not to be
expected that I could inherit a decent nature from such a mother. I
never loved her, and when she died I did not shed a single tear. I
remember singing at my work on the day I received the news. One
of my fellow-servants asked me why I was so gay? I replied that I
had heard of my mother's death. After that they hated me, and I
had to leave my situation. But had any one of them possessed such
a mother, any one of them would have been as gay and relieved as I
was. So much for my mother.

"As for my presumed father Stokes, I saw very little of him. He

retired from business and bought a public-house. Then he married
again, and was not inclined to see much of me. I did not mind, as I
never loved him in spite of his kindness. I dare say I should have
returned his affection, but my mother had beaten all love out of me.

"It is needless to give my early life in detail. I rose from scullery-

maid to housemaid. Then I became parlor-maid in a suburban villa,
where the wages were poor and the food was bad. I took charge of
children when not doing housework, and managed to get on. But I
was ambitious. I wished to get among the servants of the
aristocracy. A friend of mine who was maid to the Duchess of--
taught me her duties, and I procured a situation. I pleased my
mistress, and she promised to do much for me. However, she died,
and I was thrown on the world. I saw an advertisement for a lady's
maid, and got the situation. It was in this way that I became the
servant of that woman whom I hated so deeply.

"She was called Rosina Lockwood, and was no better born than
myself. Her father was a low man who taught singing, and she
appeared herself on the stage. I never thought she was beautiful,
myself. She had good hair, and her complexion was passable, but
her figure was bad, and she had no brains. An inane, silly, foolish
woman. How Percy Vane could have eloped with her beats me. But
men are such fools. He would not look at me, yet I was ten times as
lovely as this singing-woman, and quite as well born. Oh, how I
hated her!

"At first I rather liked Miss Lockwood. She was kind to me in her silly
way, and the gentlemen who were in love with her gave me plenty
of money to deliver notes and other things. There was one
gentleman who was the best of them all--and the biggest fool over
her blue eyes and fair hair. His name was Ireland, and he had plenty
of money. He came to learn singing from old Lockwood simply to be
near her, and proposed three times, to my knowledge. But she
would have nothing to do with him, which was foolish, as he had
money, and she could have twisted him round her finger. Why he
loved her so and what he saw in her I can't say. She had nothing
attractive about her, so far as I could see.

"I was a handsome girl in those days, though I say it myself. But if a
woman is good-looking, why shouldn't she say so? I had a perfect
figure, and a complexion like cream and roses. My hair was as black
as night, and my eyes were sparkling and large. I taught myself to
read and write, and I learned French. Also I learned to play the
piano, and to conduct myself like a lady, as I always was. I often
dreamed that I would marry a gentleman, and I could have done so
but that my foolish heart was captured by the only man who would
have nothing to do with it, or with me.

"I never loved till I set eyes on him. There was a footman who
wanted to marry me; to join our savings and set up in a public-
house. But I told him I was born for better things. Then a coachman
asked me to be his wife, but I hated a man who had to do with
horses. Oh, I had plenty of offers, as a handsome girl should. But I
knew my own value, and looked about for the gentleman who would
give me my rightful position as a lady. From my Italian father I
inherited aristocratic tastes, and I was not going to remain a low,
vulgar common servant all my life, not me.

"Then he came to the house. Oh, my adored one, my idol, my angel,

how magnificent and beautiful thou wast. Percy was his dear name,
and his blood was very blue. Lord Derrington was his father, a most
aristocratic nobleman, who was an old brute, from my experience of
him. But he was of high rank I don't deny, and Percy had the blood
of heroes in his veins. He came to take lessons in singing. But after
a time I saw that he was in love with my mistress. Afterward I found
out that he had seen her at a concert and had fallen in love with her.
I don't believe it. Who could have loved that bad figure and that silly
brain? Now a woman like myself--but he never cared for me,
although I adored him from the first time I set eyes on his manly
form. It was her arts that captured him, else he would have turned
from her to me. But he never did.

"How handsome and fascinating was my hero Percy Vane. Fair hair
and blue eyes, and the figure of a Life-Guardsman--just the kind of
man I liked. He was kind to me--for her sake, I suppose--and gave
me money and presents. She said she loved him, and used to make
me sick with talking of him. I let her think I was her dear friend, as if
she had known my true feelings she would have sent me away, and
then I would never have seen my hero again. I made the best of my
position, for at least I saw him as often as she did, and that was
something. They both looked on me as their friend. Had they only
known how I hated her, and loved him!

"Lord Derrington was angry with Percy for loving my mistress, and I
don't wonder at it, a low singing-woman. Percy had some money of
his own, inherited from his mother, and he proposed an elopement.
He said that Lord Derrington could not leave the estates away from
him, and that some day he would come in for the title. She never
lived to be Lady Derrington. I was glad of that. I should have killed
her had she reached that pitch of splendor. Her position should have
been mine. But it never was.
"Well, they eloped. After singing at a concert in St. James's Hall, he
met her outside, and took her to Liverpool Street Station. I was
waiting there with the luggage. We went down to a place called
Wargrove, in Essex, and the very next day they were married in the
church of that parish. I was furious, but what could I do? Had I told
Lord Derrington, he might have stopped the marriage, but Percy
would never have forgiven me, and I did not wish to lose sight of
him. As Mrs. Vane's maid, I had chances of seeing him daily, and of
basking in the light of his eyes. It was weak of me, but I loved him
so dearly that I would have done anything simply to be in his
presence. But I wish now that I had prevented the marriage. Since I
could not get him, I didn't see why she should bear off the prize. But
I was a girl then, and sentimental and foolish. And she was a cat, as
she always was.

"Afterward we went to Paris, and from that place Percy wrote to tell
his grandfather that he was married. I know he did not mention the
place, for the letter was given to me to post, and I opened it. I
never gave it a thought at the moment, but afterward Percy's
mistake in not telling where the marriage had taken place did me a
lot of good. I should not now be writing in this house, but for that
lucky omission. Lord Derrington would have nothing to do with his
son, and there was trouble with Mr. Lockwood.

"But I don't think they minded much. Percy was wrapped up in the
creature, and she loved him in her silly simpering way. I pretended
to be quite happy, but I inwardly was raging all the time. For his
sake I put up with the unpleasant position, and I never received my
reward, never, never, never. Oh, how some women's hearts are
broken by the cruelty and neglect of men.

"I lived with the two of them during their married life. A son was
born, and she died. I was glad when she died, and I was sorry she
left the boy. Percy was wrapped up in the child, and gave him to me
to nurse. Mrs. Vane was buried in Père la Chaise, and then Percy,
with myself and the baby, went to Monte Carlo. He gambled there in
order to forget his grief--though I don't see what he had to moan
over, seeing what a silly fool his late wife was. Percy lost money, and
wrote to his father, who declined to help him. Then he went to Italy
and wandered about. Now that he was free I hoped to marry him.
When not nursing that horrid child--he was called George after his
maternal grandfather, and was a scrubby little beast. Some said he
was a fine child. I could not see it, myself. He was her child, and
that was enough to make me hate him as I did. But as I say, when
not nursing him, I devoted myself to study so as to be worthy of the
time when Percy would marry me. I knew that the future Lady
Derrington would hold a high rank, and I qualified myself to fill the
position gracefully. I did work. I learned arithmetic, and could write
beautifully. I talked Italian and French like a native. I got an old
artist to teach me to paint in water-colors, and I bought a book
which taught the manners of good society. Also I tried to dress well,
and do my hair becomingly. Percy saw the change in me, and
congratulated me on the improvement which had taken place in me
since leaving England. Had he only known that it was for his sake I
had improved!

"As to that child, I should have liked to drown it, or to have given it
to gypsies. As Lady Derrington, I did not wish to be troubled with
her brat. Besides, Percy loved the boy so, that he used to make me
envious the way he nursed him. But had I got rid of the child--and I
thought of a thousand safe ways I could have done so--I should only
have been sent away, and then some woman would have got hold of
him. I thought it best to bear with my aching pain and put up with
the child so that I might be near to watch over Percy.

"The end of it came in Milan. We were stopping at the Hôtel de Ville,

and there was a waiter who fell in love with me. He was an English
boy, called George Rates--a horrid, scrubby, red-haired, nasty, pale-
faced creature, who worried me to death. Besides, he was younger
than I was, and I wished for a husband to protect me. I should have
had to look after George Rates, whereas Percy, in the days to come,
would look after me. Besides, I felt that it was an impertinence for a
low waiter to expect me to marry him--me, who had done so much
to improve myself, and who looked forward to taking proud rank
among the British aristocracy.

"At first I laughed at him, but he became such a nuisance that I told
him plainly that I would have nothing to do with him. He then
accused me of being in love with my master. I acknowledged it
proudly. Why should I not? A woman should glory in her love. I did!
I told George Rates that I worshiped the very ground Percy walked
on; I gave my passionate feelings full vent, and bore him to the
ground under the storm of my indignation. He told the other
servants, and they insulted me, especially the English ones, as there
were two or three in the hotel. I was persecuted, but I bore all for
his dear sake. Then it came to his ears. Percy heard what I had said
to George Rates. He called me in: he accused me of making him
ridiculous, of being out of my mind, of a thousand and one cruel
things. I lost my head. I told him how I loved him. I knelt at his feet.
I implored that he would reward my love--my long, long sufferings.
He laughed in my tearful face. At that moment I hated him, but not
for long. My life was bound up in his. When he dismissed me, I
thought that my heart was broken.

"I was dismissed. He procured a new nurse from England--a Scotch

hussy, as ugly as she was silly. I saw her often in Milan after my
dismissal. Oh, that time--oh, those weary days! I wept. I prayed. I
moaned. I was a wreck. With what money I had I went to a convent
near Milan, and stopped there for a month. But I could not remain
away from him. I came out. He was gone. I went to inquire at the
hotel. He had gone to Rome. Afterward a message came that all
letters were to be sent to San Remo. I determined to go to San
Remo, and to be near him. I would have died else. George Rates,
who was still in love with me, proved a willing tool. I could not get to
San Remo without money. He offered to advance me the railway
fare, and he got me a situation in the Hôtel d'Angleterre as
housemaid. He also was going there for the season as a waiter. I
said that if he took me to San Remo I would marry him. He did so,
and I--but that comes later. Sufficient it is to say that George
believed in my promise, and that I found myself again in the
presence--the heavenly presence--of my adored Percy.

"But I had only come to submit myself to fresh anguish. He saw me,
but took no notice of me. I was afraid to follow him too closely lest
he should ask the police to interfere. George Rates was jealous, too,
and I had to consider him, as, failing Percy rewarding my love I
could fall back on George. He was always useful to supply the
money for me to get back to England, where I was certain of a
situation. I handled the situation in a masterly manner, and contrived
to see Percy without his seeing me, and without exciting too openly
the jealousy of George Rates.

"But it was the horrid girl that caused me pain. She was one of the
daughters of General Howard, whom Percy had met at Como. The
two girls both laid themselves out to catch my darling. But their arts
did not succeed at Como. Jenny was the one who tried hardest to
get him, but Violet took her chance also. When they came to San
Remo they stopped at the Hôtel d'Angleterre. I looked after their
room, and, knowing what they were, I made myself their friend.
They knew me as the former nurse of Percy's horrid, little son, and
wondered how I came to be a housemaid. I told some story which
satisfied them. I forget what it was. They believed in me thoroughly,
and they found out that I loved Percy. Then they were amused, and
I hated them for it. They told Percy that I was watching him, and he
came to the hotel no more. But I still pretended to be their friend,
for my own ends. There was a masked ball coming off, and the Miss
Howards wished to go unbeknown to their father. I entered into the
spirit of the joke. I procured them two blue dominoes and each a
sprig of yellow holly, so that they might know one another. They
went to the ball thus disguised.

"I went also--in the same dress. I had got a third blue domino and I
also wore a sprig of holly. In my pocket I took a stiletto. Why did I
do that? Because I was determined to kill any one who tried to make
love to my Percy. I knew that Jenny Howard, the little cat, would try
and get him to love her, and I would have killed her with pleasure
had she become Percy's bride. As I was masked, I had no fear of
being discovered should I stab any one, and, moreover, were there
trouble, the Miss Howards, being dressed as I was, even to the sprig
of yellow holly, might be accused of any crime that might happen.
Moreover, even if I killed Jenny I knew that the two sisters
quarreled, and that on the evidence of the holly and the domino
Violet might be charged with the crime. Oh, I made myself quite
safe! I am a clever woman.

"About the stiletto. I received that from a low shopkeeper called

Velez, who was in love with Percy. She and her husband kept an oil-
shop, and her husband was very jealous of her. She was madly in
love with Percy, as I found out when buying something at her shop,
and I got to know her intimately, so that I could make use of her if
the occasion arose. I did make use of her, by getting the stiletto, and
I took it to the ball.

"I heard Percy propose to marry Jenny, and I was minded then to kill
her. I drew the stiletto from my breast, and would have rushed
forward, hoping to escape in the confusion when I killed her. But my
heart failed me; even when she was left alone my heart failed me.
Jenny took off her mask, and I left her sitting waiting for Percy's
return. Then I followed Percy and saw Violet join him. I knew it was
Violet, owing to the unmasking of Jenny, and, moreover, I had seen
Violet listening, as I was. She loved him also--the cat! However, I
saw that she wanted to get Percy out of the place by making him
think she was Jenny. She did. I followed. He took her home to the
gates of the hotel and left her there. When he was coming back to
the ball I stopped him at the bottom of the parade. There was no
one in sight, it was late, and a clear moon was shining.

"Percy thought I was Violet, whom he mistook for her sister. He

addressed me in such endearing tones as Jenny, and remonstrated
so gently about what he called the rashness of following him from
the hotel, that I lost my temper. I snatched off the mask and poured
out my wrath. Percy burst out laughing when he recognized me. He
said--never mind what he said--but it was an insult, and my Italian
blood boiled in my veins. I drew the stiletto and rushed on him. At
that moment my hand was caught from behind, and I fell. It was
that man Ireland, who was then at San Remo, and a great friend of
Percy's. He had wrenched the stiletto out of my hand. For a moment
no one said anything, and I arose to my feet. Ireland addressed me
as Miss Howard--Miss Violet Howard. Percy laughed again and
corrected his mistake, saying that I was a love-sick nursemaid whom
he had discharged. Then I lost my temper.

"Stop! I must say exactly how it happened. Percy was leaning

against the parapet of the parade in a careless attitude. He did not
even move when I rushed on him with the stiletto, and had Ireland
not caught my arm, I should have killed him. Ireland said that he
had followed me--thinking I was Violet Howard--to ask me to return
to the hotel. He talked some rubbish about a gentle-born English girl
being out at night; but when he found that I was only a servant
there was no more of that talk. Poor Eliza Stokes could have been
out till dawn for all these gentlemen cared. They laughed at me,
Percy leaning against the parapet, Ireland beside me, holding the
stiletto carelessly in his hand. As I said, I lost my temper, and I told
Percy what I thought of that fool Rosina Lockwood. He lost his
temper also, but that only made me more angry. At last he dashed
forward, and I believe he would have struck me but that Mr. Ireland
intervened. I don't know exactly how it happened, but, in moving,
Mr. Ireland evidently forgot how he held the stiletto, and put out his
hand with the weapon pointing outward. In rushing on me, Percy
came against it, and it ran right into his heart. With a choking cry he
fell dead. I was terrified, and began to wring my hands. Ireland knelt
down and found that Percy was dead. He seized my wrist and told
me to hold my tongue lest I should be accused of the death. I said it
was his fault. He replied it was an accident. But I had got the
stiletto, I had tried to kill Percy, and Ireland declared that if I said
anything that he would denounce me as the criminal. I was terrified
as I saw the danger in which I was placed. Ireland suggested that
we should throw the body over the parapet on to the beach, and
that it would be thought robbers had killed Percy. I agreed, and we
threw the body of my darling over. Oh, how my heart ached when I
heard it fall on the cruel, cruel stones.

"With Ireland I arranged to hold my tongue, and on his part he

promised he would say nothing. The next day the news of the
discovery of the body came. I was nearly out of my mind. Señora
Velez, from whom I had borrowed the stiletto, knowing of my love
for Percy, and being in love with him herself, accused me of the
crime. I denied it, and said that if she did not hold her tongue I
would tell her husband how she had loved Percy. She was afraid of
her husband, who was a jealous brute, so she remained quiet. I
gave her back the stiletto, which I had obtained from Ireland. We
were both safe, but I was so ill that I left the hotel and returned to
England. George Rates, who never suspected my share in the death,
followed----"

It was at this point that George ceased reading. He now knew the
worst. His father had died by accident, and Ireland had been the
unwitting cause of his death. Brendon wondered how the old man
could have carried the knowledge all these years without speaking.
He determined to have an interview with him. But at last he knew
the truth about the death in San Remo. It inculpated no one, and he
could not see how--according to Bawdsey--it could be connected
with the murder of Mrs. Jersey.

CHAPTER XXII
WHO BAWDSEY WAS
George read the remainder of Mrs. Jersey's confession and then put
it away. Even when he got to the end he could not connect the San
Remo crime with that of Amelia Square. It was in his mind to see his
grandfather and tell the story to him, backed by the production of
the confession. But on second thought he decided to see Bawdsey
first. He wired for an appointment, and received a reply stating that
Bawdsey was going out of town at three o'clock that day, but would
be in his rooms till then. George lost no time. He called a cab, and
within an hour of receiving the answer to his request he was on his
way to Bloomsbury.

On arriving he found that the detective expected him, and went to

his room. Bawdsey was still in a disturbed state, as he was most
anxious to get down the country and to help Lola out of her
difficulty. He received Brendon irritably and in silence. George saw
that the man was all nerves, and did not resent his sharp greeting.
He sat down and opened the conversation.

"You are going down to see Lola?" he asked.

"Of course. I am much worried over her. She may get into serious
trouble over this freak."

"Well, why not tell the judge she is insane at times? Then she will
get off lightly."

"Would that be true?" asked the detective, struck by the idea.

"As true as most things. She really is not accountable for her actions
when she gets into these frenzies, and in such a one she must have
been to attempt the burglary."

"Poor soul, I wonder how she is now?"

"Oh, she is not troubled much. Her spirits are as good as usual. She
hardly seems to realize the enormity of her offense."

"How do you know?" asked Bawdsey with a stare.

"Because I saw her last night."

"You saw her?"

"I did. After I left you I took the train to Wargrove and had an
interview with her."

"You might have told me, Mr. Brendon," said Bawdsey, in a wounded
tone.

"Where would have been the use of that? I can manage my own
business, I hope."

"Considering how I love her, it is my business also."

George shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you see, Bawdsey, it was your
intention to see Lola first. I guessed as much, so I stole a march on
you."

Bawdsey fenced. "I don't see how you can say that."

"I can. You know that Lola was in this house on the night the
woman died."

"I presume so, since she got the confession, and she must have
secured it to know where your parents were married."

"Well, then, knowing that, you wished to get that confession."

"Yes, I did," said the detective, "and why not? I desired to know if
Mrs. Jersey said anything about the San Remo crime in it."

"I can tell you that. She did. I have the confession."
Bawdsey bounded from his chair. "Where is it?" he asked.

"In my rooms, locked away."

"I do call that a shame," grumbled Bawdsey. "You might have

trusted me, Mr. Brendon?"

"Might I? Would you have trusted me?"

"I do; you know I do."

"To such an extent as suits yourself. But would you have shown me
that confession had it come into your possession?"

"You are not showing it to me," said Bawdsey, evasively.

"That is not an answer. But I'll show you the confession whenever
you like. Come, now, would you have shown it to me?"

"Since you have read it, why ask me that question?" snapped the
detective. "You know----"

"Yes, I know that you would have burnt the confession. I know that
to have a paper in existence which sets forth that Mr. Bawdsey's true
name is George Rates is not to your liking."

"I never did anything to disgrace that name, Mr. Brendon."

"That is between yourself and your conscience," replied George,

coolly, "and has nothing to do with me. You are George Rates?"

Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "There is no use denying it," he

said; "you have my wife's handwriting."

"Was Mrs. Jersey really your wife?"

"She was. We married soon after we left San Remo. She was hard
up or she would not have married me."
"And you went to the States?"

"We did. There I took the name of Jersey, and tried a variety of
things, none of which came to any good. Then I left Eliza."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because she was a devil," said Bawdsey, his face lighting up. "I
tried all the means in my power to make her happy, but she was
always quarreling and nagging, and lamenting that she had not
married that Vane--your father, Mr. Brendon."

"Did she tell you about the murder?"

"It wasn't a murder," protested Bawdsey. "No, she did not tell me,
but from a hint or two she dropped about getting money from Mr.
Ireland I guessed that he had something to do with it. I came across
to England and I saw him. He told me the whole story."

"Did you get money from him?"

"I did not. I am an honest man, although you do not seem to think
so. I left all that blackmailing to my wife. She came over to get
money out of Ireland. He simply said that he would tell the whole
truth and would call the woman Velez as a witness about the
dagger."

"But that woman is dead?"

"Oh, no, she isn't," said Bawdsey, coolly. "Lola told me that she was
alive and still in San Remo. She could have made things very hot for
my wife. But failing Ireland, my wife--Mrs. Jersey we will call her--
had another string to her bow. She heard how Lord Derrington
denied the marriage, and how you were living with your grandfather
Lockwood. She went to Derrington and----"

"I know the rest. And you came to live in this house."
"Not at the time. I went back to the States, but as I could do
nothing there I returned to England. Then I took up the private-
inquiry business and called myself Bawdsey. I came to see my wife.
She would not let me call myself her husband, and, as I had no
great liking for her, I agreed. I was in this house for a few weeks
and then I got my own diggings. I saw as little of Mrs. Jersey as was
possible."

"Why was that?"

"Well, sir," replied Bawdsey, frankly, "I didn't hold with the annuity
she was getting."

"In a word, you disapproved of the blackmail?"

"That's a good, useful word, sir," said Bawdsey, easily. "Yes, I did. I
never would take a penny from her, and when I lived here during the
few weeks I paid my board. Yes, sir, I'm an honest man."

George stretched out his hand and shook that of Bawdsey heartily. "I
am convinced you are, Bawdsey, and I apologize for my suspicions.
But in some ways--eh?"

"I didn't act very straight, you mean. Well, sir, when one deals with a
criminal case one can't be too careful. I have had to tell lies, sir. And
I say, Mr. Brendon," cried the detective, with a burst of confidence,
"I would not have shown you that agreement. I guessed that Eliza
would state who I was, and I didn't wish you to think that I was
connected with her."

"Why not?"

"Well, sir, I fancied, seeing what you know, that you might suspect
me of killing her."

"No, Bawdsey. As you have acted so fairly all through, I am

convinced that you are innocent on that score. But why did you say
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