Edward Burton

Professor Frustadt passed two or three weeks very agreeably in Boston, and then visited New-York City, Philadelphia, and Washington, going from the latter place to Chicago. It is a common saying that no European tourist ever thinks of returning home without having seen Niagara Falls and Chicago—the one, a marvellous natural wonder; the other, the greatest monument of rapid municipal growth, grandeur, and enterprise, not only in America, but in the world. As well go to Europe without seeing Paris, or play Hamlet with “Hamlet left out,” as to come to America without going to the great Western metropolis. To begin with an unpromising morass, upon which were located a few log shanties, and in half a century transform it into one of the grandest cities of modern times, with a site ten feet above the natural level,—embracing the most stately architecture and finest system of parks and boulevards upon the continent,—is an accomplishment which never fails to interest a European tourist.

It is sometimes asserted by ungracious and disappointed rivals, that Chicagoans are unduly forward in proclaiming the merits and advantages of their city, but veritable, impartial facts are a sufficient justification for high claims. Unfair critics, inspired by jealousy or ignorance, often picture it as excelling other cities in depravity; but, while the situation is complicated by the presence of a great unassimilated alien element, in perhaps no other city are the moral forces more active, enterprising, and aggressive.

Professor Frustadt arrived there one pleasant morning, and was immediately driven to one of the great palatial hotels for which the city is distinguished. Before sufficient time had elapsed for rest and refreshment, a visitor’s card was sent up to his apartments, which proved to be that of an old Heidelberg friend by the name of Blumenbach. The latter had been apprised of the professor’s expected arrival, and of the place where he would be found. After an hour’s chat about old times in the ancient University city, Blumenbach proposed an extended drive. The professor was anxious to visit some of the educational and eleemosynary institutions, but his friend persuaded him to defer that until another day. They went through one of the tunnels which pass under the river, to the “North Side,” and made their first stop at the water-works. The professor was much interested in the absolute perfection of the ponderous machinery which pumps up the water from the tunnel through which it is conveyed under the lake from a “crib,” which is located some miles from the shore. Out there, the water is deep and clear, and, being drawn into the “crib,” it is brought into the city without coming in contact with the less pure water nearer the shore.

“This water system,” said Blumenbach, “is superior to any other in the world.”

They drove on to Lincoln Park, and, after greatly admiring its beauties, continued for some distance further on the “Lake-Shore Drive.” At length Blumenbach stopped the carriage, and, pointing out a vacant piece of land, observed,—

“Here is some property which belongs to the Terra Firma Investment Company, of which I am vice-president. We are now offering building lots at prices which will yield immense profits in the near future. Improvements which are proposed in the vicinity will doubtless enhance values to two or three times the present standard within the next five years. We are continually making profitable investments for Eastern and European customers.”

“My visit is for pleasure and investigation, rather than with any anticipation of business or investments,” replied the professor.

“Assuredly,” said Blumenbach, “but, being an old friend, I feel it a duty to just call your attention, in passing, to such golden opportunities.”

The next day they visited the Board of Trade.

“This seems like a veritable pandemonium,” observed the professor.

“Yes, it is a little noisy,” replied Blumenbach. “Do you see that old fellow with a broad-brimmed slouch hat? He frequently buys and sells millions of bushels of grain in a single morning. With such operators a hundred-thousand-bushel transaction is a trivial affair. I can get you some points, if you would like to take ‘a flyer’ for a few days.”

“I confess I do not quite comprehend what you refer to by ‘a flyer,’” replied the professor. “I fancy that it must be something quite out of my line.”

“Oh, it is only a sale or a purchase, which can be closed at a profit within a few days.”

“I fear that it is too rapid for me,” replied the professor.

One day they made an excursion to the model town of Pullman, a few miles south of the city limits. There were golden opportunities for investment in land in that vicinity, and all along the way. Another day they visited some of the great packing houses, where droves of cattle, sheep, and hogs enter at one end of the establishment, and emerge in the form of beef, mutton, and pork, in barrels, at the other end. In that neighborhood, also, the most “tempting opportunities” for profitable investment were observable on every side.

The professor was much interested in many institutions, and especially in the rapid manner of transacting business, which was so unlike that of his own country. Blumenbach’s peculiarity of combining business with pleasure, and his enthusiasm in regard to the prospects of his adopted city, quite surprised him. The evolution of his slow and easy-going friend and countryman, into the keen, enterprising, enthusiastic American citizen, was an interesting commentary upon the transforming influence of environment.

On one occasion, after enumerating various points of superiority in Chicago over any city elsewhere, Blumenbach jocosely observed: “We excel even in anarchists. We have the most advanced and thorough-going specimens to be found in America.”

Just at that time there was much activity among the various groups of radical socialists and anarchists, who had made Chicago their abiding-place. Meetings were held nightly in those quarters where the population was composed of Poles, Bohemians, and the lower class of Germans, at which violent and inflammatory addresses were made by agitators and leaders.

“As a matter of curiosity, I would like to obtain some insight into the plans and purposes of these people,” said the professor, “especially as quite a proportion of them are natives of Germany. You are aware that I am much interested in sociology. If it were possible I would like to attend one of their meetings.”

“I think we can easily accomplish that,” replied Blumenbach. “I will ascertain if it can conveniently be brought about, and inform you of the result of my inquiries.”

Early in the evening of the second day following, Blumenbach made his appearance at the hotel, dressed in a laboring-man’s garb, with a slouch hat and very large pipe, and brought an extra suit of the same kind for the professor.

“With these habiliments, our native tongue, and pretended sympathy for the cause, I think we will have no difficulty in gaining admittance to the meeting of a ‘group’ which takes place this evening on the West Side,” said Blumenbach.

Dismissing their carriage before they reached the neighborhood of the hall, they made their way to the entrance, and, after undergoing some examination and cross-questioning, they succeeded in gaining admission, though all native Americans were rigorously excluded.

The hall was located in the rear portion of the fourth story of a cheap, plain building, and was seated with rough wooden benches. Every window was closely curtained, and as the professor and his friend entered, the dense smoke from bad tobacco, the stifling atmosphere, and the general appearance of the motley crowd seemed rather forbidding. They had been obliged to pass two sets of sentinels, but were excused from giving signs and pass-words, under the plea of being recent emigrants from Germany, and thorough friends of the “Revolution.” There were present, perhaps, two hundred laborers of the lowest class, whose brutal and debased faces revealed their quality at a glance. Small red flags were festooned back of the platform, and on the sides of the room. Piles of tracts and pamphlets of the most violent anarchic and atheistic type, in the Polish, Bohemian, and German languages, were ranged on shelves upon each side of the entrance, and also upon the platform. Some of them were printed in red to give them a heightened effect. The sentiments which they inculcated included the destruction of all government, the laudation of Anarchy and Atheism, the hatred of all who possessed property, and the advocacy of a general destructive revolution which should bring all survivors to a level.

“This is a little more than we bargained for,” said the professor in a whisper to his friend, as they quietly took the most obscure seats that were unoccupied.

“That’s a fact, professor; if they should suspect that we are spies, our position would be uncomfortable. They are bound by the most terrible oaths to shield each other in any emergency in which they may be placed.”

Three or four speakers occupied seats upon the platform. It was evident from their appearance that they did not belong to the laboring class. Their function was to agitate the stolid, passive material before them, and mould it by inflaming passions of envy and hatred into such forms and activities as they might choose. Incidentally they handled the funds collected from the group, and also paved their way to political preferment in those wards where they had “influence.”

The speaking began. One of the more enthusiastic orators emphasized his harangue by waving a red flag, singing the Marseillaise, and also by tearing into strips a small American flag, and trampling them under his feet.

After three of the younger speakers, one each in the Polish, Bohemian, and German tongues, had addressed the audience, the chairman announced that the closing speech would be made by a German who had been one of the leading anarchic spirits of Europe, and who had come to America to help inaugurate the “Revolution” here.

“I present to the meeting ‘Comrade’ Stellmacher.”

As the speaker arose to begin his address, his face was rather pale, his eyes fiery, and his long, bristling hair stood out so that it gave him a wild and belligerent aspect. He surveyed his audience in silence for a few moments, and then began an impassioned oration, of which but a brief synopsis can be given. “My fellow-anarchists,” said he, “we are met to consider the best means for the destruction of our combined enemies, which are, the State, Religion, the Family, and Property. We must let nothing in the world interfere with our single aim and thought, the Revolution. We must break with the whole Civil Order and all its laws, customs, and morals. For us there is, and must be, but one pleasure, one duty, that of inexorable destruction. We must be the enemy of all government and all its leadings and manifestations. To destroy or take possession of the great stores and warehouses by which we are surrounded, is our positive duty. Our hands built them, and they belong to us. We will take their accumulated products and apply them to our own use and comfort. Firearms are too cumbersome and expensive for our use, but explosives, scientific explosives, can be brought within the reach of every one. Hurrah for science! Hurrah for dynamite!”

These words were accompanied by violent gestures. His eyes shot forth lurid gleams, and his pale face had become livid. Even through the dense and murky atmosphere which filled the room, the professor saw two bright scars flaming out upon the speaker’s cheek.

“Everything is sacred which will hasten the impending overturn,” continued the speaker. “In such a service, robbery and murder become only incidents in the war for progress.

“The ballot is a mockery! the courts are a lie! and this government, as well as the monarchies of Europe, is a delusion and a sham! Your servitude as wage-workers is worse than the slavery of the negro as it existed years ago. We must strike a blow in order to be free. You must learn to hate, and hate strongly, and let it be directed towards your condition, and against all who, through the present system, keep you in bondage.”

The audience soon dispersed, except a secret inside group of eight, of whom the speakers formed a part, who remained behind for executive business.

On the following day, as the professor took up an evening paper, his eye fell on the displayed headlines of an article, of which the following is a copy:—

On the day succeeding the accident, the following telegram was received by Van Roden, from the coroner of Chicago.

The following was the response:—

No medical college ever gained a more legitimate title to “a subject” than Van Roden acquired by this transaction. The occupant and owner of a fleshly tenement, finding that he no longer had use for it, turned it over to his nearest friend. Having served its natural purpose, it might as well be utilized artificially.

To Van Roden that lump of clay was all that remained of his friend. The vital part had only been an attenuated material force or energy in a high form of evolution, but was now disorganized and resolved into its original elements.

Has a refined and intelligent animal in human form an inherent immortality? This is a question which has puzzled theologians and philosophers during all ages. St. Paul says, “The mind of the flesh is death.” The sensuous mind comes to an end. The question recurs, “Is there a spiritual residuum, which in any true sense can be called personal, which continues?” Without attempting any distinct solution of this problem, it is evident that the immaterial residuum of the human animal is so lean, misshapen, and abnormal, that if it have continued existence, it can only be through long processes of discipline, corrective punishment, and education that, in any degree, approximate spiritual harmony and perfection is possible.

There is a spark of Divinity in every human being; a “light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world;” but it may fairly be questioned whether or not, in the case of the individual who leads merely a sensuous existence, the divine spark is in any degree incorporated into his personality. If it be, that is life; otherwise all is death. Death cannot signify continued life. All that is evil must die. If there be any future place, where life and evil conjointly and eternally exist, then God can never become “All in All.” Evil, not being a God-created power or entity, must be a mental condition of man’s own creation. Its seat and throne are in “the mind of the flesh.”

In due time Stellmacher’s body was received by Van Roden. Its inanimate features, as they were exposed, plainly expressed hatred and malignity. The scars were still upon the cheek, but they had flamed out for the last time.

We shall spare the reader any ghastly details of the dissection, which was thoroughly and scientifically performed by Van Roden and some of his fellow medical students.

Three days after it had taken place, Van Roden began to be conscious of a soreness and inflammation upon one of his fingers. While engaged in the operation, he accidentally had given it a slight incision with the keen point of one of the instruments. It was so trivial at the time that he hardly noticed it. Day by day the swelling increased, and the inflammation extended through the arm, and finally it permeated his entire system. The utmost efforts of the medical fraternity were futile to arrest the progress of blood-poisoning which had set in.

In exactly two weeks subsequent to the evening when the dissection had occurred, Van Roden followed Stellmacher.