The particular branch to which Sebastian's mind
happens to have been directed was medicine--and he cures as many as Mr.
Maxim kills. It is a turn of the hand that makes all the difference."
"I see," I said. "The aim of medicine happens to be a benevolent one."
"Quite so; that's just what I mean. The aim is benevolent; and Sebastian
pursues that aim with the single-minded energy of a lofty, gifted, and
devoted nature--but not a good one!'
"Not good?"
"Oh, no. To be quite frank, he seems to me to pursue it ruthlessly,
cruelly, unscrupulously. He is a man of high ideals, but without
principle. In that respect he reminds one of the great spirits of the
Italian Renaissance--Benvenuto Cellini and so forth--men who could pore
for hours with conscientious artistic care over the detail of a hem in a
sculptured robe, yet could steal out in the midst of their disinterested
toil to plunge a knife in the back of a rival."
"Sebastian would not do that," I cried. "He is wholly free from the mean
spirit of jealousy."
"No, Sebastian would not do that. You are quite right there; there is
no tinge of meanness in the man's nature. He likes to be first in
the field; but he would acclaim with delight another man's scientific
triumph--if another anticipated him; for would it not mean a triumph for
universal science?--and is not the advancement of science Sebastian's
religion? But.
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