Part 6
They have taken her away. _Let her taste the fire!_ Let her sin receive its meet and inexorable punishment! Let righteousness prevail! Let her go with "the fearful and unbelieving, the abominable and murderers, the white-slave traders and sorcerers." Off with her to that lake "which burneth with fire and brimstone!" (Revelation XXI, 8.)....
Go, Jezebel! Go, Athaliah! Go, Painted One! Thy sins have found thee out.
February 11.
I spoke myself at to-night's meeting--simple words, but I think their message was not lost. We must wage forever the good fight. We must rout the army of sin from its fortresses....
_VIII.--LITANIES FOR THE OVERLOOKED_
_VIII.--Litanies for the Overlooked_
_I.--For Americanos_
From scented hotel soap, and from the Boy Scouts; from home cooking, and from pianos with mandolin attachments; from prohibition, and from Odd Fellows' funerals; from Key West cigars, and from cold dinner plates; from transcendentalism, and from the New Freedom; from fat women in straight-front corsets, and from Philadelphia cream cheese; from _The Star-Spangled Banner_, and from the International Sunday-school Lessons; from rubber heels, and from the college spirit; from sulphate of quinine, and from Boston baked beans; from chivalry, and from laparotomy; from the dithyrambs of Herbert Kaufman, and from sport in all its hideous forms; from women with pointed fingernails, and from men with messianic delusions; from the retailers of smutty anecdotes about the Jews, and from the Lake Mohonk Conference; from Congressmen, vice crusaders, and the heresies of Henry Van Dyke; from jokes in the _Ladies' Home Journal_, and from the Revised Statutes of the United States; from Colonial Dames, and from men who boast that they take cold shower-baths every morning; from the Drama League, and from malicious animal magnetism; from ham and eggs, and from the _Weltanschauung_ of Kansas; from the theory that a dark cigar is always a strong one, and from the theory that a horse-hair put into a bottle of water will turn into a snake; from campaigns against profanity, and from the Pentateuch; from anti-vivisection, and from women who do not smoke; from wine-openers, and from Methodists; from Armageddon, and from the belief that a bloodhound never makes a mistake; from sarcerdotal moving-pictures, and from virtuous chorus girls; from bungalows, and from cornets in B flat; from canned soups, and from women who leave everything to one's honor; from detachable cuffs, and from _Lohengrin_; from unwilling motherhood, and from canary birds--good Lord, deliver us!
_II.--For Hypochondriacs_
From adenoids, and from chronic desquamative nephritis; from Shiga's _bacillus_, and from hysterotrachelorrhaphy; from mitral insufficiency, and from Cheyne-Stokes breathing; from the _streptococcus pyogenes_, and from splanchnoptosis; from warts, wens, and the _spirochæte pallida_; from exophthalmic goitre, and from septicopyemia; from poisoning by sewer-gas, and from the _bacillus coli communis_; from anthrax, and from von Recklinghausen's disease; from recurrent paralysis of the laryngeal nerve, and from pityriasis versicolor; from mania-à-potu, and from nephrorrhaphy; from the _leptothrix_, and from colds in the head; from tape-worms, from jiggers and from scurvy; from endocarditis, and from Romberg's masticatory spasm; from hypertrophic stenosis of the pylorus, and from fits; from the _bacillus botulinus_, and from salaam convulsions; from cerebral monoplegia, and from morphinism; from anaphylaxis, and from neuralgia in the eyeball; from dropsy, and from dum-dum fever; from autumnal catarrh, from coryza vasomotoria, from idiosyncratic coryza, from pollen catarrh, from rhinitis sympathetica, from rose cold, from _catarrhus æstivus_, from periodic hyperesthetic rhinitis, from _heuasthma_, from _catarrhe d' été_ and from hay-fever--good Lord, deliver us!
_III.--For Music Lovers_
From all piano-players save Paderewski, Godowski and Mark Hambourg; and from the _William Tell_ and _1812_ overtures; and from bad imitations of Victor Herbert by Victor Herbert; and from persons who express astonishment that Dr. Karl Muck, being a German, is devoid of all bulge, corporation, paunch or leap-tick; and from the saxophone, the piccolo, the cornet and the bagpipes; and from the theory that America has no folk-music; and from all symphonic poems by English composers; and from the tall, willing, horse-chested, ham-handed, quasi-gifted ladies who stagger to their legs in gloomy drawing rooms after bad dinners and poison the air with Tosti's _Good-bye_; and from the low prehensile, godless laryngologists who prostitute their art to the saving of tenors who are happily threatened with loss of voice; and from clarinet cadenzas more than two inches in length; and from the first two acts of _Il Trovatore_; and from such fluffy, xanthous whiskers as Lohengrins wear; and from sentimental old maids who sink into senility lamenting that Brahms never wrote an opera; and from programme music, with or without notes; and from Swiss bell-ringers, Vincent D'Indy, the Paris Opera, and Elgar's _Salut d'Amour_; and from the doctrine that Massenet was a greater composer than Dvorák; and from Italian bands and _Schnellpostdoppelschraubendampfer_ orchestras; and from Raff's _Cavatina_ and all of Tschaikowsky except ten per centum; and from prima donna conductors who change their programmes without notice, and so get all the musical critics into a sweat; and from the abandoned hussies who sue tenors for breach of promise; and from all alleged musicians who do not shrivel to the size of five-cent cigars whenever they think of old Josef Haydn--good Lord, deliver us!
_IV.--For Hangmen_
From clients who delay the exercises by pausing to make long and irrelevant speeches from the scaffold, or to sing depressing Methodist hymns; and from medical examiners who forget their stethoscopes, and clamor for waits while messenger boys are sent for them; and from official witnesses who faint at the last minute, and have to be hauled out by the deputy sheriffs; and from undertakers who keep looking at their watches and hinting obscenely that they have other engagements at 10:30; and from spiritual advisers who crowd up at the last minute and fall through the trap with the condemned--good Lord, deliver us!
_V.--For Magazine Editors_
From Old Subscribers who write in to say that the current number is the worst magazine printed since the days of the New York _Galaxy_; and from elderly poetesses who have read all the popular text-books of sex hygiene, and believe all the bosh in them about the white slave trade, and so suspect the editor, and even the publisher, of sinister designs; and from stories in which a rising young district attorney gets the dead wood upon a burly political boss named Terrence O'Flaherty, and then falls in love with Mignon, his daughter, and has to let him go; and from stories in which a married lady, just about to sail for Capri with her husband's old _Corpsbruder_, is dissuaded from her purpose by the news that her husband has lost $700,000 in Wall Street and is on his way home to weep on her shoulder; and from one-act plays in which young Cornelius Van Suydam comes home from The Club at 11:55 P. M. on Christmas Eve, dismisses Dodson, his Man, with the compliments of the season, and draws up his chair before the open fire to dream of his girl, thus preparing the way for the entrance of Maxwell, the starving burglar, and for the scene in which Maxwell's little daughter, Fifi, following him up the fire-escape, pleads with him to give up his evil courses; and from poems about war in which it is argued that thousands of young men are always killed, and that their mothers regret to hear of it; and from essays of a sweet and whimsical character, in which the author refers to himself as "we," and ends by quoting Bergson, Washington Irving or Agnes Repplier; and from epigrams based on puns, good or bad; and from stories beginning, "It was the autumn of the year 1950"; and from stories embodying quotations from Omar Khayyam, and full of a mellow pessimism; and from stories in which the gay nocturnal life of the Latin Quarter is described by an author living in Dubuque, Iowa; and from stories of thought transference, mental healing and haunted houses; and from newspaper stories in which a cub reporter solves the mystery of the Snodgrass murder and is promoted to dramatic critic on the field, or in which a city editor who smokes a corn-cob pipe falls in love with a sob-sister; and from stories about trained nurses, young dramatists, baseball players, heroic locomotive engineers, settlement workers, clergymen, yeggmen, cowboys, Italians, employés of the Hudson Bay Company and great detectives; and from stories in which the dissolute son of a department store owner tries to seduce a working girl in his father's employ and then goes on the water wagon and marries her as a tribute to her virtue; and from stories in which the members of a yachting party are wrecked on a desert island in the South Pacific, and the niece of the owner of the yacht falls in love with the bo'sun; and from manuscripts accompanied by documents certifying that the incidents and people described are real, though cleverly disguised; and from authors who send in saucy notes when their offerings are returned with insincere thanks; and from lady authors who appear with satirical letters of introduction from the low, raffish rogues who edit rival magazines--good Lord, deliver us!
_IX.--ASEPSIS_
_IX.--Asepsis. A Deduction in Scherzo Form_
CHARACTERS:
A CLERGYMAN A BRIDE FOUR BRIDESMAIDS A BRIDEGROOM A BEST MAN THE USUAL CROWD
PLACE--_The surgical amphitheatre in a hospital._
TIME--_Noon of a fair day._
_Seats rising in curved tiers. The operating pit paved with white tiles. The usual operating table has been pushed to one side, and in place of it there is a small glass-topped bedside table. On it, a large roll of aseptic cotton, several pads of gauze, a basin of bichloride, a pair of clinical thermometers in a little glass of alcohol, a dish of green soap, a beaker of two per cent. carbolic acid, and a microscope. In one corner stands a sterilizer, steaming pleasantly like a tea kettle. There are no decorations--no flowers, no white ribbons, no satin cushions. To the left a door leads into the Anesthetic Room. A pungent smell of ether, nitrous oxide, iodine, chlorine, wet laundry and scorched gauze. Temperature: 98.6 degrees Fahr._
THE CLERGYMAN _is discovered standing behind the table in an expectant attitude. He is in the long white coat of a surgeon, with his head wrapped in white gauze and a gauze respirator over his mouth. His chunkiness suggests a fat, middle-aged Episcopal rector, but it is impossible to see either his face or his vestments. He wears rubber gloves of a dirty orange color, evidently much used._ THE BRIDEGROOM _and_ THE BEST MAN _have just emerged from the Anesthetic Room and are standing before him. Both are dressed exactly as he is, save that_ THE BRIDEGROOM'S _rubber gloves are white. The benches running up the amphitheatre are filled with spectators, chiefly women. They are in dingy oilskins, and most of them also wear respirators._
_After a long and uneasy pause_ THE BRIDE _comes in from the Anesthetic Room on the arm of her_ FATHER, _with_ THE FOUR BRIDESMAIDS _following by twos. She is dressed in what appears to be white linen, with a long veil of aseptic gauze. The gauze testifies to its late and careful sterilization by yellowish scorches. There is a white rubber glove upon_ THE BRIDE'S _right hand, but that belonging to her left hand has been removed_. HER FATHER _is dressed like_ THE BEST MAN. THE FOUR BRIDESMAIDS _are in the garb of surgical nurses, with their hair completely concealed by turbans of gauze. As_ THE BRIDE _takes her place before_ THE CLERGYMAN, _with_ THE BRIDEGROOM _at her right, there is a faint, snuffling murmur among the spectators. It hushes suddenly as_ THE CLERGYMAN _clears his throat_.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_In sonorous, booming tones, somewhat muffled by his respirator._) Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the face of this company to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended by God to be honorable among men, and therefore is not to be entered into inadvisedly or carelessly, or without due surgical precautions, but reverently, cleanly, sterilely, soberly, scientifically, and with the nearest practicable approach to bacteriological purity. Into this laudable and non-infectious state these two persons present come now to be joined and quarantined. If any man can show just cause, either clinically or microscopically, why they may not be safely sutured together, let him now come forward with his charts, slides and cultures, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.
(_Several spectators shuffle their feet, and an old maid giggles, but no one comes forward._)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_To_ THE BRIDE _and_ BRIDEGROOM): I require and charge both of you, as ye will answer in the dreadful hour of autopsy, when the secrets of all lives shall be disclosed, that if either of you know of any lesion, infection, malaise, congenital defect, hereditary taint or other impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in eugenic matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured that if any persons are joined together otherwise than in a state of absolute chemical and bacteriological innocence, their marriage will be septic, unhygienic, pathogenic and toxic, and eugenically null and void.
(THE BRIDEGROOM _hands over a long envelope, from which_ THE CLERGYMAN _extracts a paper bearing a large red seal._)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Reading_): We, and each of us, having subjected the bearer, John Doe, to a rigid clinical and laboratory examination, in accordance with Form B-3 of the United States Public Health Service, do hereby certify that, to the best of our knowledge and belief, he is free from all disease, taint, defect, deformity or hereditary blemish, saving as noted herein. Temperature _per ora_, 98.6. Pulse, 76, strong. Respiration, 28.5. Wassermann,--2. Hb., 114%. Phthalein, 1st. hr., 46%; 2nd hr., 21%. W. B. C., 8,925. Free gastric HCl, 11.5%. No stasis. No lactic acid. Blood pressure, 122/77. No albuminuria. No glycosuria. Lumbar puncture: clear fluid, normal pressure.
Defects Noted. 1. Left heel jerk feeble. 2. Caries in five molars. 3. Slight acne rosacea. 4. Slight inequality of curvature in meridians of right cornea. 5. Nicotine stain on right forefinger, extending to middle of second phalanx.
(_Signed_) SIGISMUND KRAUS, M.D. WM. T. ROBERTSON, M.D. JAMES SIMPSON, M.D.
Subscribed and sworn to before me, a Notary Public for the Borough of Manhattan, City of New York, State of New York.
_(Seal_) ABRAHAM LECHETITSKY.
So much for the reading of the minutes. (_To_ THE BRIDE): Now for yours, my dear.
(THE BRIDE _hands up a similar envelope, from which_ THE CLERGYMAN _extracts a similar document. But instead of reading it aloud, he delicately runs his eye through it in silence._)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_The reading finished_) Very good. Very creditable. You must see some good oculist about your astigmatism, my dear. Surely you want to avoid glasses. Come to my study on your return and I'll give you the name of a trustworthy man. And now let us proceed with the ceremony of marriage. (_To_ THE BRIDEGROOM): John, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy state of eugenic matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, protect her from all protozoa and bacteria, and keep her in good health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee unto her only, so long as ye both shall live? If so, hold out your tongue.
(THE BRIDEGROOM _holds out his tongue and_ THE CLERGYMAN _inspects it critically._)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Somewhat dubiously_) Fair. I have seen worse.... Do you smoke?
THE BRIDEGROOM
(_Obviously lying_) Not much.
THE CLERGYMAN
Well, _how_ much?
THE BRIDEGROOM
Say ten cigarettes a day.
THE CLERGYMAN
And the stain noted on your right posterior phalanx by the learned medical examiners?
THE BRIDEGROOM
Well, say fifteen.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Waggishly_) Or twenty to be safe. Better taper off to ten. At all events, make twenty the limit. How about the booze?
THE BRIDEGROOM
(_Virtuously_) Never!
THE CLERGYMAN
What! Never?
THE BRIDEGROOM
Well, never again!
THE CLERGYMAN
So they _all_ say. The answer is almost part of the liturgy. But have a care, my dear fellow! The true eugenist eschews the wine cup. In every hundred children of a man who ingests one fluid ounce of alcohol a day, six will be left-handed, twelve will be epileptics and nineteen will suffer from adolescent albuminuria, with delusions of persecution.... Have you ever had anthrax?
THE BRIDEGROOM
Not yet.
THE CLERGYMAN
Eczema?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Pott's disease?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Cholelithiasis?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Do you have a feeling of distention after meals?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Have you a dry, hacking cough?
THE BRIDEGROOM
Not at present.
THE CLERGYMAN
Are you troubled with insomnia?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Dyspepsia?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Agoraphobia?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Do you bolt your food?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Have you lightning pains in the legs?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Are you a bleeder? Have you hæmophilia?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Erthrocythæmia? Nephroptosis? Fibrinous bronchitis? Salpingitis? Pylephlebitis? Answer yes or no.
THE BRIDEGROOM
No. No. No. No. No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Have you ever been refused life insurance? If so, when, by what company or companies, and why?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
What is a staphylococcus?
THE BRIDEGROOM
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Sternly_) What?
THE BRIDEGROOM
(_Nervously_) Yes.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Coming to the rescue_) Wilt them have this woman et cetera? Answer yes or no.
THE BRIDEGROOM
I will.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Turning to_ THE BRIDE) Mary, wilt thou have this gentleman to be thy wedded husband, to live together in the holy state of aseptic matrimony? Wilt thou love him, serve him, protect him from all adulterated victuals, and keep him hygienically clothed; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live? If so----
THE BRIDE
(_Instantly and loudly_) I will.
THE CLERGYMAN
Not so fast! First, there is the little ceremony of the clinical thermometers. (_He takes up one of the thermometers._) Open your mouth, my dear. (_He Inserts the thermometer._) Now hold it there while you count one hundred and fifty. And you, too. (_To_ THE BRIDEGROOM.) I had almost forgotten you. (THE BRIDEGROOM _opens his mouth and the other thermometer is duly planted. While the two are counting_, THE CLERGYMAN _attempts to turn back one of_ THE BRIDE'S _eyelids, apparently searching for trachoma, but his rubber gloves impede the operation and so he gives it up. It is now time to read the thermometers._ THE BRIDEGROOM'S _is first removed._)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Reading the scale_) Ninety-nine point nine. Considering everything, not so bad. (_Then he removes and reads_ THE BRIDE'S.) Ninety-eight point six. Exactly normal. Cool, collected, at ease. The classical self-possession of the party of the second part. And now, my dear, may I ask you to hold out your tongue? (THE BRIDE _does so._)
THE CLERGYMAN
Perfect.... There; that will do. Put it back.... And now for a few questions--just a few. First, do you use opiates in any form?
THE BRIDE
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Have you ever had goitre?
THE BRIDE
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Yellow fever?
THE BRIDE
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Hæmatomata?
THE BRIDE
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Siriasis or tachycardia?
THE BRIDE
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
What did your maternal grandfather die of?
THE BRIDE
Of chronic interstitial nephritis.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Interested_) Ah, our old friend Bright's! A typical case, I take, with the usual polyuria, oedema of the glottis, flame-shaped retinal hemorrhages and cardiac dilatation?
THE BRIDE
Exactly.
THE CLERGYMAN
And terminating, I suppose, with the classical uræmic symptoms--dyspnoea, convulsions, uræmic amaurosis, coma and collapse?
THE BRIDE
Including Cheyne-Stokes breathing.
THE CLERGYMAN
Ah, most interesting! A protean and beautiful malady! But at the moment, of course, we can't discuss it profitably. Perhaps later on.... Your father, I assume, is alive?
THE BRIDE
(_Indicating him_) Yes.
THE CLERGYMAN
Well, then, let us proceed. Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
(_With a touch of stage fright._) I do.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Reassuringly_) You are in good health?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
Yes.
THE CLERGYMAN
No dizziness in the morning?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
No black spots before the eyes?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
No vague pains in the small of the back?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Gout?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Chilblains?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Sciatica?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Buzzing in the ears?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Myopia? Angina pectoris?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
Malaria? Marasmus? Chlorosis? Tetanus? Quinsy? Housemaid's knee?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
You had measles, I assume, in your infancy?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
Yes.
THE CLERGYMAN
Chicken pox? Mumps? Scarlatina? Cholera morbus? Diphtheria?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
Yes. Yes. No. Yes. No.
THE CLERGYMAN
You are, I assume, a multipara?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
A what?
THE CLERGYMAN
That is to say, you have had more than one child?
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
No.
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Professionally_) How sad! You will miss her!
THE BRIDE'S FATHER
One job like this is en----
THE CLERGYMAN
(_Interrupting suavely_) But let us proceed. The ceremony must not be lengthened unduly, however interesting. We now approach the benediction.
(_Dipping his gloved hands into the basin of bichloride, he joins the right hands of_ THE BRIDE _and_ THE BRIDEGROOM.)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_To_ THE BRIDEGROOM) Repeat after me: "I, John, take thee, Mary, to be my wedded and aseptic wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, convalescence, relapse and health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part; and thereto I plight thee my troth."
(THE BRIDEGROOM _duly repeats the formula_, THE CLERGYMAN _now looses their hands, and after another dip into the bichloride, joins them together again_.)
THE CLERGYMAN
(_To_ THE BRIDE) Repeat after me: "I, Mary, take thee, John, to be my aseptic and eugenic husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, to love, to cherish and to nurse, till death do us part; and thereto I give thee my troth."
(THE BRIDE _duly promises._ THE BEST MAN _then hands over the ring, which_ THE CLERGYMAN _drops into the bichloride. It turns green. He fishes it up again, wipes it dry with a piece of aseptic cotton and presents it to_ THE BRIDEGROOM, _who places it upon the third finger of_ THE BRIDE'S _left hand. Then_ THE CLERGYMAN _goes on with the ceremony,_ THE BRIDEGROOM _repeating after him._)
THE CLERGYMAN
Repeat after me: "With this sterile ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
(THE CLERGYMAN _then joins the hands of_ THE BRIDE _and_ BRIDEGROOM _once more, and dipping his own right hand into the bichloride, solemnly sprinkles the pair._)
THE CLERGYMAN
Those whom God hath joined together, let no pathogenic organism put asunder. (_To the assembled company._) Forasmuch as John and Mary have consented together in aseptic wedlock, and have witnessed the same by the exchange of certificates, and have given and pledged their troth, and have declared the same by giving and receiving an aseptic ring, I pronounce that they are man and wife. In the name of Mendel, of Galton, of Havelock Ellis and of David Starr Jordan. Amen.