Edward Burton

“How are you, doctor?” exclaimed a young man to an elderly one as they met on the crowded walk in Washington Street late one pleasant afternoon. The elderly gentleman wore green glasses, and his long hair stood out from under a slouch hat, with a broad brim well drawn down over his eyes. He turned his florid face towards the speaker, and, recognizing him, replied, “Well, Van Roden, is this you? I supposed that you were still in Bar Harbor.”

They stepped into a doorway to avoid the passing throng. The elderly gentleman was Doctor Frustadt.

It will be remembered that Van Roden hastily left Bar Harbor on the day following the Green-Mountain excursion. It was yet too early for the beginning of the fall term in the “Medical Department,” but when the coast of Maine lost its attractiveness he returned to the city.

“When did you leave Bar Harbor?” queried the doctor.

“I returned yesterday. It must be at least two or three weeks since you left, doctor.”

“Three weeks to-day,” replied Frustadt. “By the way,” he continued, “has Colonel Tapley entertained any other European guest since I left, aside from Percival?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied Van Roden. “I would have known it if such had been the case, for I saw the family nearly every day.”

The doctor had been somewhat apprehensive lest the genuine Frustadt might have turned up, but now he felt reassured.

After a short conversation, Van Roden invited the doctor to call upon him the next day, after which they would dine at a leading restaurant.

Frustadt was prompt in keeping his engagement, and on the following day they repaired to a luxurious place of refreshment, where in due time the successive courses were lubricated by liberal supplies of ale, which towards the close gave place to “lubrication” in more concentrated form. When the repast was finished, they repaired to an adjoining apartment, lighted their cigars, and sat down by a window which afforded an excellent view of the crowded street below.

The doctor had become quite familiar and communicative.

“Well, Van Roden, how is all the capitalistic society of the fashionable Maine resort? And, by the way, how is the Philadelphia girl that I saw you with so much during my visit? Perhaps by this time you are a subject for congratulation.”

“Yes, doctor, I think I may be congratulated upon the fact that I am free from engagement to her, or any other woman. I will admit, sub rosa, that I did have a little passing fancy in that direction, but, thank Heaven, it did not last long. For a woman, she is clever, but her cleverness is in her masculine qualities. I always have been opposed to matrimony, which is a form of slavery; but now I am confirmed in my opinion of it more than ever before. Miss Jenness could talk well upon some topics which interest me, although she mixes so much sentiment with her science that we could not agree. Bah! I am thankful that I came to my senses before I found the handcuffs fastened on my wrists.”

“The institution of marriage,” observed the doctor, assuming a philosophic air, “is founded upon a so-called moral system which gains power only from the superstitious or religious sentimentality of society. Take the institutions of property, commerce, and government; they are all outgrowths, in various directions, of the same religious sentiment. When Anarchy has dissolved these institutions, and the New Order prevails, marriage will go with all the rest.

“Look upon that stream of humanity,” he continued with earnestness, glancing upon the crowded thoroughfare. “Carlyle said that the inhabitants of England were mostly fools, and I say that yonder throng are all fools.”

“That is somewhat radical, doctor.”

“Perfectly plain,” rejoined Frustadt, “for they are all slaves to the present system. Take marriage, which you have fortunately escaped. In capitalistic society it has become purely a financial operation. The so-called sacredness of the family is a farce. Marriage should never be binding, but rest only upon the free inclination of man and woman. Government, as at present organized, is also a sham and delusion. The so-called sacred rights of property is another old superstition, which must be exploded.”

“I am not quite prepared to go as far as you do,” replied Van Roden, “although in the main I accept your premises. Marriage and property rights, and other features of the present system, are founded upon the theoretical economy of a moral code, or a standard of right and wrong. As a materialist, I do not accept any moral or religious system. To me, whatever is expedient is right, and if you can convince me that the new movements which you propose are practical I am with you. As one who believes the present plane of existence to be the only one, I can easily see that there ought to be an equal distribution of material advantages. As a matter of course, we both believe that all other blessings except those which are material exist only in the imagination.”

Frustadt was much pleased to find Van Roden so favorably inclined towards Anarchism, and the next day sent him a choice selection of the most rank anarchic literature.

During the next few days the doctor and Van Roden were often together, and as their intimacy increased they found much in common. Frustadt was feverish to begin war upon existing institutions, and was planning soon to go to Chicago, where he would find numerous kindred spirits, and where a peculiar mixture of nationalities had enabled the anarchists to become well organized into groups and societies. Van Roden, though not believing in the dynamite policy, was much embittered against society, and especially against marriage and religion. He became more cynical than ever before, and Frustadt’s views rapidly grew upon him. He observed one day that, though all materialists were not anarchists, he had noticed that all anarchists were materialists.

The two at length became so intimate that Frustadt divulged the fact that his real name was not Frustadt, but Stellmacher, and that his mission to Chicago was to teach the scientific use of explosives. He also confided the story of “some capers” in the Old World, which made a trip to America necessary as well as pleasurable.

Two weeks from the time that Van Roden returned, Frustadt, alias Stellmacher, started for the Western metropolis. They arranged for an intimate correspondence, to be kept up indefinitely.

As the doctor bade his friend good-by, he remarked, “If in future you hear of lively doings in Chicago, you may conclude that I am concerned in them.”

He significantly waved a scarlet handkerchief from the rear platform of the last car, as the train moved out of the station.

During the time in which the doctor and Van Roden had become such fast friends, other events were taking place close at hand.

The Sea-Foam had returned from Bar Harbor early in September.

A day or two later Colonel Tapley was sitting in his office, surrounded by files of papers, busy in gathering up various details of business which had accumulated during his absence. A distinguished-appearing gentleman, tall and dignified, and with a foreign air, entered, and, bowing low, inquired, in very good English, if he “had the honor of addressing Colonel Tapley?” Upon receiving an affirmative reply, he rejoined,—

“My name is Frustadt,” and then extended his hand, which the colonel warmly grasped and motioned him to a seat.

“I bring a letter from a friend of yours who is now in Europe,” said Frustadt, and, drawing the missive from an inside pocket, he passed it to the colonel, who opened it and hastily scanned the contents, which ran as follows:—

“The young men were correct,” said the colonel to himself. “At last we have the genuine Frustadt.”

After a pleasant interview, Colonel Tapley invited the doctor to dine with him on the following day, when they would form some plans for the future, which might render his stay in Boston agreeable.

It proved that the genuine Frustadt was a professor in the medical department of the Heidelberg University. His specialty was pathology, in which department he was celebrated as a lecturer and author. He was also much interested in social problems, including the administration of public charities, hospitals, and asylums, and one of his objects in coming to America was the investigation of such institutions in this country. For obvious reasons, Colonel Tapley preferred to address him as “Professor,” which was suited to his position, and by which title he was afterwards designated.

The next afternoon the colonel accompanied the professor to a few of the public institutions by way of an introduction, so that in future he could visit them as he felt inclined. They called both at the General and City Hospitals, and at the office of the Associated Charities, where some time was spent in an examination of the system, and its relation to other charitable and benevolent organizations. After a few other calls, they were driven to the colonel’s residence, which was located a little outside of the city proper, where the professor was welcomed by Mrs. Tapley and her daughter. They had been apprised of his arrival, and it was understood that during the dinner hour no allusion should be made to the bogus Frustadt.

The professor proved to be a genial and companionable guest, and at the dinner-table expressed himself as pleased with his first impressions of America.

“Your hospitals,” he observed, “seem to be as well administered in all respects as ours, and I am especially pleased with the working plan of your associated charities.”

“With you,” said Colonel Tapley, “many institutions are administered by the government, which with us are conducted entirely by private association and enterprise. I have noticed that the German Empire is continually introducing new features of ‘paternalism.’ What do you think is the cause of the present drift toward governmental supervision and regulation?”

“One reason,” replied the professor, “may be the existence of an aggressive socialistic party, to which the Imperial Government think it policy to make concessions to retain popular favor; and another, that possibly it may retard the stream of emigration which is depleting the country of much of its best material.”

“At present there seems to be a popular craving,” said the colonel, “both in the old world and the new, for a widening of the functions of government. The masses have gained an impression that almost anything can be done by legislation.”

“It must, however, be admitted,” observed the professor, “that progress in modern invention and rapid communication have rendered civilization much more complex and interdependent, which makes official supervision more necessary than when conditions were simple.”

“That is true to some extent,” said the colonel, “and I think there is an additional reason. Even political economy is not exempt from the influence of fashion. It has come to be regarded as the correct thing in the universities of both hemispheres, to teach a political economy which is strongly tinged with socialism. There has been a commendable growth of general, benevolent impulse, which blindly seeks to bring about more ideal conditions, through the artificial machinery of government, instead of by the instrumentality of natural means, which are the elevation of individual and public character. Under your centralized and business-like government, however, official interference in industrial economy is much more promising than with us. Your civil service has an administrative stability, and freedom from political bias and changeableness, which with us are the rule. With you, responsible official positions are permanent, so long as their functions are well performed. Here, official position, as a rule, is a reward for partisan activity, and conspicuous merit is no guarantee of permanency. Every four years we have a political tornado, which demoralizes the nation, and public offices are regarded as party rewards and prizes.”

“But I have noticed,” said the professor, “that you have a Civil Service Commission, and I inferred that positions of public trust were rapidly being divorced from partisan considerations.”

“We have a commission,” replied Colonel Tapley, “and a slowly increasing public moral sentiment, favorable to reform, but it has not yet become sufficiently strong to overcome the opposition and selfishness of scheming politicians, both in Congress and outside of it. Partisan dishonesty and duplicity are the dark cloud upon our national horizon.”

“On that account,” observed the professor, “I perceive why it is more inexpedient and dangerous for your government, with its changeable and partisan machinery, to regulate and interfere with industrial economy, than it is with the Empire. A stream cannot rise higher than its source. A republican form of government presupposes, not only general intelligence, but morality. Frequent elections and rotations stimulate the greed for office until it becomes demoralizing.”

“At the present time we have one unique element in our midst,” said the colonel. “It is an earnest and well-meaning contingent of both men and women, benevolent but impractical, who really are persuaded that by an immense legislative ‘Tower of Babel,’ they can make all mankind brothers indeed. They fancy that by means of legislation moral character can be conferred upon men as easily as fluid can be poured into a bottle. Under an improved system, each man is to give his best work for the common good of all. The government will feed everybody, and there will be no more poverty and no more riches; no more intemperance, or idleness, or vice, or crime, but love will everywhere prevail. These enthusiastic people forget that character cannot be conferred by law. Such a system of theoretic and external perfection would be like a ‘whited sepulchre,’ fair externally, but within filled with all uncleanness. It is an important lesson to learn, that Nature will not be cheated, and that natural law cannot be repealed.”

“Yes, colonel, the unvaried dominion of natural law is the most colossal fact in the universe; yet a large part of the world think it can be circumvented. All legislation which has not natural law⁠[2] for a basis is worse than useless. The ‘survival of the fittest,’ reward for thrift, premium upon character, recompense for honest exertion, and an inherent penalty for idleness and vice, are logical and inseparable sequences which cannot be repealed nor set aside by the combined legislation of the world. The ‘Reign of Law,’ by the Duke of Argyll, is an interesting elaboration of this subject, which well repays perusal.”

“Yes, that is an instructive treatise, and should be widely read,” observed Colonel Tapley. “Regarding political economy, while it is desirable that increased popular attention should be given to its underlying principles, with us, during the last few years, there has sprung up a great army of pseudo-economists, who, while positive in their convictions, do not penetrate beneath the surface of the science. Each of them, by some scheme of improved legislation, or by recasting the system of government, finds a patent remedy for all the ills of society. To them the government is a great ideal, omnipresent personality, instead of an organized body of politicians. They believe that its capabilities are endless. They forget that rings, combinations, and favoritism are almost inseparable from governmental transactions. The fact is overlooked that official methods are extravagant, and so hampered by ‘red tape’ that they lack directness and efficiency. But a casual glance will show that almost any public work, any city hall, court house, state house, or custom house, has cost much more, usually with less practical utility, than would have been the case had they been erected by private enterprise. With us, when politics is divorced from any business or industrial enterprise, a long step is taken in the direction of ‘business upon business principles.’”

“Very true,” replied the professor. “Were I an American I should oppose every enlargement of governmental functions, except where the public nature of the service rendered it quite necessary.”

“You observe,” said the colonel, “that our danger is tenfold greater in the direction of official usurpation and corruption than in that of too little regulation. A machine can be no stronger than its weakest part. Take the so-called labor legislation; nine-tenths of it will prove harmful to the very interest it is designed to favor. It has been mainly inspired by demagogism, which has also caused much of the special railroad legislation. The popular mind is slow to appreciate the fact that business prospers best when suffered to run in unobstructed channels. Economic abuses generally have in them inherent corrective penalties. Natural law, in itself, is beneficent, and, therefore, compliance with it is wholesome, while its violation invariably involves penalty in one form or another. Supply and demand and competition are as constant and unrepealable as the law of gravitation. It is an amusing fact that some of our enthusiasts are studying to invent a system in which all competition shall be eliminated. It would be as easy to divorce the moon from the earth, and, were such a thing possible, it would put an end to all enterprise and industry at a single blow. The key to all social and moral reform is character improvement, and just in proportion as that is effected, external institutions will give it expression as surely as effect succeeds cause.”

“I have heard something of Henry George’s land theories,” said the professor. “Have they gained adherence to any extent in America?”

“We have scarcely more than a coterie of impracticables, whose special panacea for all social ills is the ownership in common of land. It is a significant fact that our Congress, after trying many experiments for civilizing the Indians, has at last reached the true conclusion that the one indispensable necessity for such a result is the individual ownership of land. The George scheme is a singular kind of ‘reform’ which turns so sharply in the direction of barbarism.”

Dinner was ended, and the colonel escorted his guest into the library. When they had seated themselves and lighted their cigars, the host observed in an embarrassed but confidential manner, “It is a necessity as well as a duty that I should inform you of some recent occurrences. I have been imposed upon, and it is preferable that I should frankly state the fact, than that you should receive information of it from others, as would be extremely probable. As I am not aware that any serious results will follow, we may regard it only as a farce; a joke, which, when understood by my friends, however, I shall not soon hear the last of.”

Colonel Tapley then gave a full account of the reception, entertainment, and introduction into society, of the bogus Frustadt, upon the strength of the missing letter, which had been found and utilized.

The professor was much chagrined, and reproached himself for the carelessness which had led to such important complications.

“Have you any idea of the whereabouts of the man at present?” inquired he.

“I have not,” replied the colonel. “When he left us, he ostensibly was going to New York to see a friend, who, he informed us, was ill.”

“The dastardly impostor!” exclaimed the professor. “I will have him hunted down regardless of expense or trouble. Can you give a definite description of him so that he may be identified?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the colonel. “Besides a general accurate description which can be given, he has two peculiar scars upon his cheek, which ordinarily are not very observable, but which under the least excitement flame out so that they become quite marked. He informed us that they were the result of a duel at Heidelberg while he was a student there.”

“I shall visit the German consul to-morrow,” remarked the professor, “and make arrangements to place detectives upon the watch for him. May I inquire how many of your friends already know him to be an impostor?”

“No one but my wife and my daughter, although my son, who is now absent, and a young friend, strongly suspected him; but they said nothing of their suspicion, as they had no proof.”

“I should deem it to be wise that you say nothing of the imposition for the present,” said the professor. “If it were made known through the press, it would put him upon his guard. Let it be supposed that there are two Frustadts—not at all related, however.”

“All right,” replied Colonel Tapley. “A doctor and professor—both Frustadts, but of different quality.”