Dr. Sevier Part 52

"Richling"-- It was the Doctor's hardest voice. Richling looked up at him as a child looks at a thundercloud. The Doctor pointed to the doc.u.ment:--

"Is that a subscription paper?"

"Yes."

"You needn't unfold it, Richling." The Doctor made a little pushing motion at it with his open hand. "From whom does it come?"

Richling gave a name. He had not changed color when the Doctor looked black, but now he did; for Dr. Sevier smiled. It was terrible.

"Not the little preacher that lisps?" asked the physician.

"He lisps sometimes," said Richling, with resentful subsidence of tone and with dropped eyes, preparing to return the paper to his pocket.

"Wait," said the Doctor, more gravely, arresting the movement with his index finger. "What is it for?"

"It's for the aid of an asylum overcrowded with orphans in consequence of the late epidemic." There was still a tightness in Richling's throat, a faint bitterness in his tone, a spark of indignation in his eye. But these the Doctor ignored. He reached out his hand, took the folded paper gently from Richling, crossed his knees, and, resting his elbows on them and shaking the paper in a prefatory way, spoke:--

"Richling, in old times we used to go into monasteries; now we subscribe to orphan asylums. Nine months ago I warned this community that if it didn't take the necessary precautions against the foul contagion that has since swept over us it would pay for its wicked folly in the lives of thousands and the increase of fatherless and helpless children. I didn't know it would come this year, but I knew it might come any year.

Richling, we deserved it!"

Richling had never seen his friend in so forbidding an aspect. He had come to him boyishly elated with the fancied excellence and goodness and beauty of the task he had a.s.sumed, and a perfect confidence that his n.o.ble benefactor would look upon him with pride and upon the scheme with generous favor. When he had offered to present the paper to Dr. Sevier he had not understood the little rector's marked alacrity in accepting his service. Now it was plain enough. He was well-nigh dumfounded. The responses that came from him came mechanically, and in the manner of one who wards off unmerited buffetings from one whose unkindness may not be resented.

"You can't think that only those died who were to blame?" he asked, helplessly; and the Doctor's answer came back instantly:--

"Ho, no! look at the hundreds of little graves! No, sir. If only those who were to blame had been stricken, I should think the Judgment wasn't far off. Talk of G.o.d's mercy in times of health! There's no greater evidence of it than to see him, in these awful visitations, refusing still to discriminate between the innocent and the guilty! Richling, only Infinite Mercy joined to Infinite Power, with infinite command of the future, could so forbear!"

Richling could not answer. The Doctor unfolded the paper and began to read: "'G.o.d, in his mysterious providence'--O sir!"

"What!" demanded Richling.

"O sir, what a foul, false charge! There's nothing mysterious about it.

We've trampled the book of Nature's laws in the mire of our streets, and dragged her penalties down upon our heads! Why, Richling,"--he shifted his att.i.tude, and laid the edge of one hand upon the paper that lay in the other, with the air of commencing a demonstration,--"you're a Bible man, eh? Well, yes, I think you are; but I want you never to forget that the book of Nature has its commandments, too; and the man who sins against _them_ is a sinner. There's no dispensation of mercy in that Scripture to Jew or Gentile, though the G.o.d of Mercy wrote it with his own finger. A community has got to know those laws and keep them, or take the consequences--and take them here and now--on this globe--_presently_!"

"You mean, then," said Richling, extending his hand for the return of the paper, "that those whose negligence filled the asylums should be the ones to subscribe."

"Yes," replied the Doctor, "yes!" drew back his hand with the paper still in it, turned to his desk, opened the list, and wrote. Richling's eyes followed the pen; his heart came slowly up into his throat.

"Why, Doc--Doctor, that's more than any one else has"--

"They have probably made some mistake," said Dr. Sevier, rubbing the blotting-paper with his finger. "Richling, do you think it's your mission to be a philanthropist?"

"Isn't it everybody's mission?" replied Richling.

"That's not what I asked you."

"But you ask a question," said Richling, smiling down upon the subscription-paper as he folded it, "that n.o.body would like to answer."

"Very well, then, you needn't answer. But, Richling,"--he pointed his long finger to the pocket of Richling's coat, where the subscription-list had disappeared,--"this sort of work--whether you distinctly propose to be a philanthropist or not--is right, of course.

It's good. But it's the mere alphabet of beneficence. Richling, whenever philanthropy takes the _guise_ of philanthropy, look out. Confine your philanthropy--you can't do it entirely, but as much as you can--confine your philanthropy to the _motive_. It's the temptation of philanthropists to set aside the natural const.i.tution of society wherever it seems out of order, and subst.i.tute some philanthropic machinery in its place. It's all wrong, Richling. Do as a good doctor would. Help nature."

Richling looked down askance, pushed his fingers through his hair perplexedly, drew a deep breath, lifted his eyes to the Doctor's again, smiled incredulously, and rubbed his brow.

"You don't see it?" asked the physician, in a tone of surprise.

"O Doctor,"--throwing up a despairing hand,--"we're miles apart. I don't see how any work could be n.o.bler. It looks to me"-- But Dr. Sevier interrupted.

"--From an emotional stand-point, Richling. Richling,"--he changed his att.i.tude again,--"if you _want_ to be a philanthropist, be cold-blooded."

Richling laughed outright, but not heartily.

"Well!" said his friend, with a shrug, as if he dismissed the whole matter. But when Richling moved, as if to rise, he restrained him.

"Stop! I know you're in a hurry, but you may tell Reisen to blame me."

"It's not Reisen so much as it's the work," replied Richling, but settled down again in his seat.

"Richling, human benevolence--public benevolence--in its beginning was a mere nun on the battle-field, binding up wounds and wiping the damp from dying brows. But since then it has had time and opportunity to become strong, bold, masculine, potential. Once it had only the knowledge and power to alleviate evil consequences; now it has both the knowledge and the power to deal with evil causes. Now, I say to you, leave this emotional A B C of human charity to nuns and mite societies.

It's a good work; let them do it. Give them money, if you can."

"I see what you mean--I think," said Richling, slowly, and with a pondering eye.

"I'm glad if you do," rejoined the Doctor, visibly relieved.

"But that only throws a heavier responsibility upon strong men, if I understand it," said Richling, half interrogatively.

"Certainly! Upon strong spirits, male or female. Upon spirits that can drive the axe low down into the causes of things, again and again and again, steadily, patiently, until at last some great evil towering above them totters and falls crashing to the earth, to be cut to pieces and burned in the fire. Richling, gather f.a.gots for pastime if you like, though it's poor fun; but don't think that's your mission! _Don't_ be a f.a.got-gatherer! What are you smiling at?"

"Your good opinion of me," answered Richling. "Doctor, I don't believe I'm fit for anything but a f.a.got-gatherer. But I'm willing to try."

"Oh, bah!" The Doctor admired such humility as little as it deserved.

"Richling, reduce the number of helpless orphans! Dig out the old roots of calamity! A spoon is not what you want; you want a _mattock_. Reduce crime and vice! Reduce squalor! Reduce the poor man's death-rate!

Improve his tenements! Improve his hospitals! Carry sanitation into his workshops! Teach the trades! Prepare the poor for possible riches, and the rich for possible poverty! Ah--ah--Richling, I preach well enough, I think, but in practice I have missed it myself! Don't repeat my error!"

"Oh, but you haven't missed it!" cried Richling.

"Yes, but I have," said the Doctor. "Here I am, telling you to let your philanthropy be cold-blooded; why, I've always been hot-blooded."

"I like the hot best," said Richling, quickly.

"You ought to hate it," replied his friend. "It's been the root of all your troubles. Richling, G.o.d Almighty is unimpa.s.sioned. If he wasn't he'd be weak. You remember Young's line: 'A G.o.d all mercy is a G.o.d unjust.' The time has come when beneficence, to be real, must operate scientifically, not emotionally. Emotion is good; but it must follow, not guide. Here! I'll give you a single instance. Emotion never sells where it can give: that is an old-fashioned, effete benevolence. The new, the cold-blooded, is incomparably better: it never--to individual or to community--gives where it can sell. Your instincts have applied the rule to yourself; apply it to your fellow-man."

"Ah!" said Richling, promptly, "that's another thing. It's not my business to apply it to them."

"It _is_ your business to apply it to them. You have no right to do less."

"And what will men say of me? At least--not that, but"--

The Doctor pointed upward. "They will say, 'I know thee, that thou art an hard man.'" His voice trembled. "But, Richling," he resumed with fresh firmness, "if you want to lead a long and useful life,--you say you do,--you must take my advice; you must deny yourself for a while; you must shelve these fine notions for a time. I tell you once more, you must endeavor to reestablish your health as it was before--before they locked you up, you know. When that is done you can commence right there if you choose; I wish you would. Give the public--sell would be better, but it will hardly buy--a prison system less atrocious, less destructive of justice, and less promotive of crime and vice, than the one it has.

By-the-by, I suppose you know that Raphael Ristofalo went to prison last night again?"