world holds
suffering and
misfortune in abhorrence; it dreads them
like the
plague; it never hesitates between vice and trouble, for vice
is a
luxury. Ill-fortune may possess a
majesty of its own, but society
can belittle it and make it
ridiculous by an epigram. Society draws
caricatures, and in this way flings in the teeth of fallen kings the
affronts which it fancies it has received from them; society, like the
Roman youth at the
circus, never shows mercy to the fallen gladiator;
mockery and money are its vital necessities. "Death to the weak!" That
is the oath taken by this kind of Equestrian order, instituted in
their midst by all the nations of the world; everywhere it makes for
the
elevation of the rich, and its motto is deeply graven in hearts
that
wealth has turned to stone, or that have been reared in
aristocratic prejudices.
Assemble a
collection of school-boys together. That will give you a
society in
miniature, a
miniature which represents life more truly,
because it is so frank and artless; and in it you will always find
poor isolated beings, relegated to some place in the general
estimations between pity and
contempt, on
account of their weakness
and
suffering. To these the Evangel promises heaven
hereafter. Go
lower yet in the scale of organized
creation. If some bird among its
fellows in the
courtyard sickens, the others fall upon it with their
beaks, pluck out its feathers, and kill it. The whole world, in
accordance with its
character of egotism, brings all its
severity to
bear upon wretchedness that has the hardihood to spoil its
festivities, and to trouble its joys.
Any
sufferer in mind or body, any
helpless or poor man, is a pariah.
He had better remain in his
solitude; if he crosses the boundary-line,
he will find winter everywhere; he will find freezing cold in other
men's looks, manners, words, and hearts; and lucky indeed is he if he
does not receive an
insult where he expected that
sympathy would be
expended upon him. Let the dying keep to their bed of
neglect, and age
sit
lonely by its
fireside. Portionless maids,
freeze and burn in your
solitary attics. If the world tolerates
misery of any kind, it is to
turn it to
account for its own purposes, to make some use of it,
saddle and
bridle it, put a bit in its mouth, ride it about, and get
some fun out of it.
Crotchety spinsters, ladies' companions, put a
cheerful face upon it,
endure the humors of your
so-called benefactress, carry her lapdogs
for her; you have an English poodle for your rival, and you must seek
to understand the moods of your patroness, and amuse her, and--keep
silence about yourselves. As for you, unblushing
parasite, uncrowned
king of unliveried servants, leave your real
character at home, let
your
digestion keep pace with your host's laugh when he laughs, mingle
your tears with his, and find his epigrams
amusing; if you want to
relieve your mind about him, wait till he is ruined. That is the way
the world shows its respect for the
unfortunate; it persecutes them,
or slays them in the dust.
Such thoughts as these welled up in Raphael's heart with the
suddenness of
poeticinspiration. He looked around him, and felt the
influence of the
forbidding gloom that society breathes out in order
to rid itself of the
unfortunate; it nipped his soul more effectually
than the east wind grips the body in December. He locked his arms over
his chest, set his back against the wall, and fell into a deep
melancholy. He mused upon the meagre happiness that this depressing
way of living can give. What did it
amount to? Amusement with no
pleasure in it,
gaiety without
gladness, joyless
festivity, fevered
dreams empty of all delight,
firewood or ashes on the
hearth without a
spark of flame in them. When he raised his head, he found himself