Chapter 6
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.
(THE BRIDE _and_ BRIDEGROOM _now kiss, for the first and last time, after which they gargle with two per cent carbolic and march out of the room, followed by_ THE BRIDE'S FATHER _and the spectators._ THE BEST MAN, _before departing after them, hands_ THE CLERGYMAN _a ten-dollar gold-piece in a small phial of twenty per cent bichloride._ THE CLERGYMAN, _after pocketing it, washes his hands with green soap._ THE BRIDESMAIDS _proceed to clean up the room with the remaining bichloride. This done, they and_ THE CLERGYMAN _go out. As soon as they are gone, the operating table is pushed back into place by an orderly, a patient is brought in, and a surgeon proceeds to cut off his leg._)
_X.--TALES OF THE MORAL AND PATHOLOGICAL_
_X.--Tales of the Moral and Pathological_
_I.--The Rewards of Science_
Once upon a time there was a surgeon who spent seven years perfecting an extraordinarily delicate and laborious operation for the cure of a rare and deadly disease. In the process he wore out $400 worth of knives and saws and used up $6,000 worth of ether, splints, guinea pigs, homeless dogs and bichloride of mercury. His board and lodging during the seven years came to $2,875. Finally he got a patient and performed the operation. It took eight hours and cost him $17 more than his fee of $20....
One day, two months after the patient was discharged as cured, the surgeon stopped in his rambles to observe a street parade. It was the annual turnout of Good Hope Lodge, No. 72, of the Patriotic Order of American Rosicrucians. The cured patient, marching as Supreme Worthy Archon, wore a lavender baldric, a pea-green sash, an aluminum helmet and scarlet gauntlets, and carried an ormolu sword and the blue polka-dot flag of a rear-admiral....
With a low cry the surgeon jumped down a sewer and was seen no more.
_II.--The Incomparable Physician_
The eminent physician, Yen Li-Shen, being called in the middle of the night to the bedside of the rich tax-gatherer, Chu Yi-Foy, found his distinguished patient suffering from a spasm of the liver. An examination of the pulse, tongue, toe-nails, and hair-roots revealing the fact that the malady was caused by the presence of a multitude of small worms in the blood, the learned doctor forthwith dispatched his servant to his surgery for a vial of gnats' eyes dissolved in the saliva of men executed by strangling, that being the remedy advised by Li Tan-Kien and other high authorities for the relief of this painful and dangerous condition.
When the servant returned the patient was so far gone that Cheyne-Stokes breathing had already set in, and so the doctor decided to administer the whole contents of the vial--an heroic dose, truly, for it has been immemorially held that even so little as the amount that will cling to the end of a horse hair is sufficient to cure. Alas, in his professional zeal and excitement, the celebrated pathologist permitted his hand to shake like a myrtle leaf in a Spring gale, and so he dropped not only the contents of the vial, but also the vial itself down the oesophagus of his moribund patient.
The accident, however, did not impede the powerful effects of this famous remedy. In ten minutes Chu Yi-Foy was so far recovered that he asked for a plate of rice stewed with plums, and by morning he was able to leave his bed and receive the reports of his spies, informers and extortioners. That day he sent for Dr. Yen and in token of his gratitude, for he was a just and righteous man, settled upon him in due form of law, and upon his heirs and assigns in perpetuity, the whole rents, rates, imposts and taxes, amounting to no less than ten thousand Hangkow taels a year, of two of the streets occupied by money-changers, bird-cage makers and public women in the town of Szu-Loon, and of the related alleys, courts and lanes. And Dr. Yen, with his old age and the old age of his seven sons and thirty-one grandsons now safely provided for, retired from the practise of his art, and devoted himself to a tedious scientific inquiry (long the object of his passionate aspiration) into the precise physiological relation between gravel in the lower lobe of the heart and the bursting of arteries in the arms and legs.
So passed many years, while Dr. Yen pursued his researches and sent his annual reports of progress to the Academy of Medicine at Chan-Si, and Chu Yi-Foy increased his riches and his influence, so that his arm reached out from the mountains to the sea. One day, in his eightieth year, Chu Yi-Foy fell ill again, and, having no confidence in any other physician, sent once more for the learned and now venerable Dr. Yen.
"I have a pain," he said, "in my left hip, where the stomach dips down over the spleen. A large knob has formed there. A lizard, perhaps, has got into me. Or perhaps a small hedge-hog."
Dr. Yen thereupon made use of the test for lizards and hedge-hogs--to wit, the application of madder dye to the Adam's apple, turning it lemon yellow if any sort of reptile is within, and violet if there is a mammal--but it failed to operate as the books describe. Being thus led to suspect a misplaced and wild-growing bone, perhaps from the vertebral column, the doctor decided to have recourse to surgery, and so, after the proper propitiation of the gods, he administered to his eminent patient a draught of opium water, and having excluded the wailing women of the household from the sick chamber, he cut into the protuberance with a small, sharp knife, and soon had the mysterious object in his hand.... It was the vial of dissolved gnats' eyes--_still full and tightly corked_! Worse, it was _not_ the vial of dissolved gnats' eyes, but a vial of common burdock juice--the remedy _for infants griped by their mothers' milk_....