THE REWARD OF MERIT
To the Editor of The Idler.
Dear Sir: I am an ashman, or, as they call me nowadays, a scavenger. It may appear to you, Sir, a queer thing that a man in my station in life should address a letter to an editor and upon such a subject, but when I have made you acquainted with the facts of my case, I think it will not seem so strange.
It is true that I am now employed as a scavenger, but I was formerly the occupant of a very different station in life; I was formerly a physician. I wish to lay before you what I consider the causes of my descent in the social scale. When a man who has once been a member of an honored profession is reduced to manual labor of a peculiarly disagreeable sort, the common opinion is like to be that he is in some way responsible for his own downfall; that he has fallen a victim to drink or drugs,to a passion for gambling, or to some other injurious habit. In my own case, I will not deny that the change in my circumstances is probably due to my own conduct, though I do assure you that it was not caused by my indulgence in the habits which I have mentioned above. To be brief, Sir, I am of the opinion that my present poverty and obscurity is nothing more nor less than the reward of merit.
It has been my observation that most of the favorite theories of the human race are erroneous. They come into being as mere suggestions, they grow into convictions, they thrive as platitudes, and they die as superstitions. There have been millions of them since the world began, and I have no doubt there will be millions of others before the last man has vanished from the face of the earth. Some of these theories live on long after they have been clearly demonstrated to be without foundation in fact, and sometimes they work great harm to the innocent persons who accept and act upon them in good faith. Such has been my sad experience, and the theory which was responsiblefor my present unpleasant situation was the theory that merit is always rewarded.
As a boy I was of a confiding and trusting nature. I believed all that was told me, and I put especial faith in the admonitions and advice of those who were set to instruct me in manners and morals. One of the first lessons I learned was that merit is always rewarded; and another, that industry is the certain road to success and advancement. These things I firmly believed to be true. Sundays, when other boys of my acquaintance stole away to go fishing or swimming, I went to Sunday-school, firm in the conviction that my virtue and self-denial would be amply rewarded, though I was a bit hazy as to the manner in which this would come about. It was often a severe temptation to hear the truants boasting of the pleasures they had enjoyed at the swimming-pool or at the fork of the creek where they went to angle. At the end of my first summer of Sunday-school, I was given a crude picture card showing two cows of peculiar construction who appeared to be enjoying themselves immenselyin the very river I had shunned so religiously. Upon this card there was printed a conspicuous legend: “The Reward of Merit.”
While this result of my season of piety was not what I had expected, I continued to hope on until I had acquired quite a collection of similar cards, some of them varied a little as to subject, but all of the same order of art, and all bearing the familiar legend. Being of a naturally optimistic and sanguine disposition, I soon convinced myself that my mistake lay in looking for material rewards in return for spiritual industry.
When I entered the profession of medicine, I still clung to my theory of the reward of merit, and no sooner did I get a patient than I set to work to cure him as quickly as possible. If a patient really had nothing the matter with him, I sent him about his business. I was not a nerve specialist and I did not care to be bothered with hypochondriacs. Though I started with an unusually good practise for a young physician, the result of this course of conduct was that I found myself in two years’ timesitting idle in my office with my waiting-room absolutely empty. I had cured all my patients who were really ill and I had offended all who only thought they were ill. It seems that one can not offend a man more than by telling him he is well when he prefers to think that he is unwell. My patients who had been cured had no further need of me, and those whom I had refused to treat had no further use for me, so that the tongue of malice completed the work which my own energy had begun. And thus, for the second time, my theory of the reward of merit had failed to work out. Having made one failure as a doctor, I could never again establish myself in the practise of medicine. Wherever I went, the story of my failure had preceded me, so that presently I found myself dropping down and down in the social scale until finally I awoke one morning to find myself a scavenger.
“Now,” said I to myself, “I have touched bottom and I must presently go up again like a man who sinks in the water.” But my hopes were not realized. I remained a collector andremover of garbage. My study of hygiene had taught me the evils of filth and I could not, therefore, neglect my work as a less intelligent scavenger might have done. I knew that my clients were depending upon me, in a great degree, to protect them from typhoid and kindred evils, and even though I realized that this dependence was more or less unconscious upon their part, I could no more have shirked my responsibility than I could have gone into their houses and killed them in cold blood. So I went to work earnestly and I flatter myself that there is no more thoroughgoing workman in the whole body of scavengers than myself.
Since I have been engaged in this work I have made another discovery. I have discovered that industry is by no means a sure road to advancement. When my work is well done I am paid, but I am not complimented. The thoroughness of my methods does not attract the attention of my clients. Nobody seeks me out with a proffer of more congenial employment. Everybody appears to take it for granted that I like to collect garbage. I do not.I have never been a collector of anything from choice. I used to think that any man who collected stamps must be lacking in intelligence, but I see now that one may be engaged in collecting worse things than stamps. Nobody says anything at all about my work unless something goes wrong. And this, I believe, is usually the case.
I recently read a copy of theMemoirs of Lieutenant-Colonel Paul von Pulitz, which I retrieved from the ash-can of one of my clients who is of a literary turn, and it was through his receptacle for discarded matter, by the way, that I first made the acquaintance of your excellent publication.
In theseMemoirs, which are unusually interesting in many respects, I came upon an anecdote which seems to have a direct bearing upon the question which we are now considering. It appears that Colonel von Pulitz was discussing with a number of other officers the chances and mischances of a military career. Several of the officers had volunteered the causes to which they attributed their success. Colonel von Pulitzthen related this anecdote, the truth of which he indorses elsewhere, and in this he is borne out by the editor of the autobiography, Professor Rudolph Ubermann, of Berlin University.
“When a young man,” writes Colonel von Pulitz, “I fell into disgrace with my family because of a certain youthful escapade—no matter what—and so forfeited my opportunity for entering the Prussian Army as an officer. I therefore determined to gain by my wits what I had lost by my folly. I was, as you who know me can testify, an unusually tall and fine-looking young man. Now it occurred to me that if I could once attract the attention of the king (he is here referring to Frederick the Great) he would undoubtedly desire me as a recruit for his ‘tall’ regiment, and if I had an opportunity to explain to him my situation, I might, after all, secure my coveted commission. I therefore secured a situation as a servant in the king’s own household, under a fictitious name, of course; and I was highly delighted when I found that I had been delegatedas one of the waiters at table, for, thought I, now is my great opportunity certainly at hand. But alas for my hopes! The king bestowed upon me no notice whatever, and for all the attention my height secured from his majesty, I might have been a dwarf.
“So it went on for weeks, and I had nearly despaired of my commission when I hit upon the audacious scheme which solved the problem. I determined to attract the king’s notice at any cost, and when next I waited upon him, I deliberately pretended to stumble, and with an air of awkwardness I emptied down the neck of his majesty a plate of exceedingly hot soup. In a moment there was an uproar. The king was in a fury of temper and the majordomo was in a fair way to die of fright and chagrin, but my purpose was accomplished. The king had looked at me. He observed my height and my aristocratic bearing. He questioned me, and I told him my whole story frankly, omitting nothing but the ruse whereby I had brought myself to his notice. I secured my commission in his regiment, andfrom that time on I advanced steadily. The king never forgot me, but kept a friendly eye upon me. He once said in my presence: ‘Gentlemen, I never see a plate of hot soup that I do not think of my good friend the Lieutenant-Colonel Paul von Pulitz.’”
Now, Mr.Idler, I have no opportunity for spilling hot soup down the necks of my clients and my conscience will not permit me to attract their notice by gross neglect of duty. My effective work has failed to bring upon me their favorable regard. Finding myself so situated, and being, even yet, hopeful of some opportunity for bettering myself, I have written you this letter. I have done so in the hope that it may meet the eye of some one of my clients, perhaps that of the literary gentleman through whose barrel I first made your acquaintance and the acquaintance of the ingenious Lieutenant-Colonel Paul von Pulitz.
I, am, Sir,Your humble servant,Charles Clinker.