On the other hand, who is the man we respect and
envy? The man who works for the community, the public-spirited man,
as we call him; the unselfish man, the man who labours for the
labour's sake and not for the profit, devoting his days and nights
to learning Nature's secrets, to acquiring knowledge useful to the
race. Is he not the happiest, the man who has conquered his own
sordid desires, who gives himself to the public good? The hive was
founded in dark days before man knew; it has been built according to
false laws. This man will have a cell bigger than any other cell;
all the other little men shall envy him; a thousand fellow-crawling
mites shall slave for him, wear out their lives in wretchedness for
him and him alone; all their honey they shall bring to him; he shall
gorge while they shall starve. Of what use? He has slept no
sounder in his foolishly fanciful cell. Sleep is to tired eyes, not
to silken coverlets. We dream in Seven Dials as in Park Lane. His
stomach, distend it as he will--it is very small--resents being
distended. The store of honey rots. The hive was conceived in the
dark days of ignorance, stupidity, brutality.
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