“My good fellow, do you really think there aren’t enough fools on this earth already? Have we too little wailing and misery and discontent and class-hatred as it is? Why must we go about to double it?”
“But hang it all, man—what about European culture? Surely you felt yourself a sort of missionary of civilisation, where you have been.”
“The spread of European civilisation in the East simply means that half a dozen big financiers in London or Paris take a fancy to a certain strip of Africa or Asia. They press a button, and out come all the ministers and generals and missionaries and engineers with a bow: At your service, gentlemen!
“Culture! One wheel begets ten new ones. Brr-rrr! And the ten again another hundred. Brr-rr-rrr—more speed, more competition—and all for what? For culture? No, my friend, for money. Missionary! I tell you, as long as Western Europe with all its wonders of modern science and its Christianity and its political reforms hasn’t turned out a better type of humanity than the mean ruck of men we have now—we’d do best to stay at home and hold our counfounded jaw. Here’s ourselves!” and Peer emptied his glass.
This was a sad hearing for poor Langberg. For he had been used to comfort himself in his daily round with the thought that even he, in his modest sphere, was doing his share in the great work of civilising the world.
At last he leaned back, watching the smoke from his cigar, and smiling a little.
“I remember a young fellow at the College,” he said, “who used to talk a good deal about Prometheus, and the grand work of liberating humanity, by stealing new and ever new fire from Olympus.”
“That was me—yes,” said Peer with a laugh. “As a matter of fact, I was only quoting Ferdinand Holm.”
“You don’t believe in all that now?”
“It strikes me that fire and steel are rapidly turning men into beasts. Machinery is killing more and more of what we call the godlike in us.”