the spread of incurable
diseases. Perhaps we shall even succeed in finding cures for certain
incurable affections. The remedies have not had time to prove
themselves. We shall cure others--that is certain--but we shall not cure
him." His voice deepened. Then he asked:

"Is he a Russian or a Greek?"

"I do not know. I see so much into the inside of people that their
outsides all look alike to me."

"They are especially alike in their vile pretense of being dissimilar
and enemies."

The young man seemed to shudder, as if the idea aroused a kind of
passion in him. He rose, full of anger, changed.

"Oh," he said, "what a disgraceful spectacle humanity presents. In
spite of its fearful wounds, humanity makes war upon humanity. We who
deal with the sores afflicting mankind are struck more than others by
all the evil men involuntarily inflict upon one another. I am neither
a politician nor a propagandist. It is not my business to occupy
myself with ideas. I have too much else to do. But sometimes I am
moved by a great pity, as lofty as a dream. Sometimes I feel like
punishing men, at other times, like going down on my knees to them."

The old doctor smiled sadly at this vehemence, then his smile vanished
at the thought of the undeniable outrage.

"Unfortunately you are right. With all the misery we have to suffer,
we tear ourselves with our own hands besides--the war of the classes,
the war of the nations, whether you look at us from afar or from above,
we are barbarians and madmen."

"Why, why," said the young doctor, who was getting excited, "why do we
continue to be fools when we recognise our own folly?"

The old practitioner shrugged his shoulders, as he had a few moments
before when they spoke of incurable diseases.

"The force of tradition, fanned by interested parties. We are not
free, we are attached to the past. We study what has always been done,
and do it over again--war and injustice. Some day perhaps humanity will
succeed in ridding itself of the ghost of the past. Let us hope that
some day we shall emerge from this endless epoch of massacre and
misery. What else is there to do than to hope?"

The old man stopped at this. The young man said:

"To will."

The other man made a gesture with his hand.

"There is one great general cause for the world's ulcer," the younger
one kept on. "You have said it--servility to the past, prejudice which
prevents us from doing things differ