Mark Gildersleeve: A Novel

by John S. Sauzade

"More's the pity, my lad, more's the pity. The sceptre that rules the world in this century is a golden one. However, I was young myself once—long, long ago, I'm sorry to say—and can appreciate your sublime disdain of opulence. But what has started you off on this new path, may I ask?"

"The duty I owe my country—patriotism," exclaimed Mark rather proudly.

"Patriotism—umph! The last refuge of a scoundrel, as Dr. Johnson said. Have you no worthier motive? Forgive me, my boy, I don't intend any personal application—it's a quotation that occurred to me. But patriotism has an exceedingly bad reputation, permit me to say, and is responsible for more crimes than liberty and religion combined. Dulce et decorum est, and so forth, 'Fidelity to one's country right or wrong,' may be fine ringing mottoes; but after all, the incentive is vain and selfish. Patriotism is the parent of national prejudice, and prejudices of all kinds are the greatest foes to justice. In the year A.D. 18,000, when 'man to man the warl o'er shall brithers be for a' that,' patriotism will be looked upon as a species of fetichism. Patriotism! I dislike it almost as much as I do generosity. Still, if you must kill, kill for some other cause. Here you Yankees are breathing fire and slaughter because a portion of your countrymen choose to follow the example of their forefathers. They are rebels and traitors and what not, because they follow in the footsteps of the men of '76, as you call them. The great question which underlies it all is apparently set aside and overlooked. The rallying cry is not the extinction of slavery; not freedom to fellow-beings from an undeserved servitude; not justice; but the Union—whatever that may be—and patriotism forsooth! the slogan that has marshalled unnumbered hosts to the perpetration of so many wrongs, and which is only, if I may so define it, disguised selfishness, as loyalty is after all but refined snobbishness."

Now the doctor, although hating slavery, had a lurking sympathy for the South. To his mind, they were abstractly in the right; it was sheer inconsistency for a union of states the outgrowth of secession to prevent those among themselves who desired it from taking a similar action. Mark, it is true, while he had lately become to a certain extent a proselyte to the teachings of the abolitionists, and admitted the wrong of slavery, and the necessity of wiping out that blot from the national escutcheon, made it subordinate to his great desire to preserve the Union and save from destruction "the greatest and freest country on earth, to which he had the honor to belong."

"Is it the greatest and freest because you belong to it?" inquired the doctor with a sly smile. "I notice that our great men are the greater for being our countrymen, and that our country is also the greater because it is our country. We love the person or thing that sheds glory or honor in any way upon us, more because it does so, than because it is glorious or honorable in itself. For instance the walls of Shakespeare's home are written over with the names of visitors. Now, why is this? What leads Snooks and Noakes to scribble their names on the door-jambs of the shrine at Stratford-upon-Avon? Is it to honor Shakespeare or themselves? Perhaps they cannot quote two lines of his works, perhaps have never even read them. It arises purely from that ignoble desire to gratify in some way the measureless vanity of man. Snooks and Noakes care nothing for Shakespeare, but the world recognizes him as a celebrity, and they by connecting themselves, in however remote a degree, with celebrity, fancy they thereby acquire an atom of it."

"I don't see how any of this applies to me," said Mark, seemingly a little hurt at the doctor's remarks. "I'm sure I am not actuated by any such small and contemptible motives. Don't misunderstand me," he continued with rising enthusiasm; "I intend devoting myself to the cause of the Union, solely because I believe it to be the right one, and to carry justice with it."

"Ah! well—I like that way of putting it better," said the doctor. "You know, Mark, how I have always endeavored to imbue you with the belief, that to be just is the only rule of life, and that I should be sorry to see you swerve from that in any way."

"But I do believe that the cause of the Union is the just one, and that of the Secessionists the unjust one. I also believe that ours involves the cause of freedom throughout the universe. Our country, doctor, is the beacon of light and hope to the oppressed of all nations."

"So I've heard," said the doctor dryly, "and that millions yet unborn—and so forth. Well—well, my zealous young friend, bent on it, I see—God be with you. I hope it will all turn out right. But Mark, how—how are you going? Will not your—your—" He hesitated, fearing he had trenched on delicate ground, for he reflected that the young man's lameness might interfere with his project.

"Of course," said Mark, guessing the remainder of the question, "I prefer joining the cavalry."