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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/78847-0.txt b/78847-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad87861 --- /dev/null +++ b/78847-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8020 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78847 *** + + + + +AS A WOMAN THINKS + +[Illustration: THERE IS A SPEECH IN THE WIND THAT WE DO NOT KNOW, A +HEROISM IN NATURE THAT WE DO NOT COMPREHEND] + + + + + AS A + WOMAN THINKS + + BY + CORRA HARRIS + _Author of “My Book and Heart”_ + + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + The Riverside Press Cambridge + 1925 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY + COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY CORRA HARRIS + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS + PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. INTRODUCTORY 3 + + II. WHEN I WAS A CHILD 10 + + III. CHILDREN FROM THE CABIN 17 + + IV. FEARSOME THOUGHTS 20 + + V. GREEN-GROWING SCRIPTURES 25 + + VI. FATHER AND MOTHER 31 + + VII. MY MOTHER’S GOD 38 + + VIII. BOOK LEARNING 41 + + IX. SCHOOL DAYS 47 + + X. WHAT I READ 52 + + XI. THE TEACHER I HAD 56 + + XII. THE ‘REBEL’S’ CHILD 60 + + XIII. NEW ENGLAND AND THE SOUTH 64 + + XIV. CERTAIN LIES 68 + + XV. REPUTATION 72 + + XVI. ‘BEAUTIFUL AND PRECIOUS’ 75 + + XVII. THE WORKING OF LOVE 78 + + XVIII. VENTURES IN SCRIPTURES 82 + + XIX. THE WISDOM OF THE WORD 90 + + XX. CONFESSION AND THE CHURCH 96 + + XXI. LUNDY AND I WALK AND TALK 99 + + XXII. WE CONSIDER GREEK CULTURE 105 + + XXIII. THE YEAR IN OXFORD 110 + + XXIV. HOMELY PLEASURE 118 + + XXV. LOVE AND AUTHORSHIP 122 + + XXVI. THE MIND OF THE WRITER 126 + + XXVII. DO YOU WANT TO WRITE? 132 + + XXVIII. EXPRESSING ONE’S SELF 138 + + XXIX. SITTING IN THE PUBLIC EYE 142 + + XXX. ON LAYING DOWN YOUR LIFE 149 + + XXXI. YOU MAKE YOURSELF 156 + + XXXII. THE LADY POLITICIAN 166 + + XXXIII. LIVING IN A BOOK 172 + + XXXIV. HAPPINESS 178 + + XXXV. THE LATTER DAYS 186 + + XXXVI. WHY WORSHIP EUROPE? 198 + + XXXVII. THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN 202 + + XXXVIII. GARDEN HAPPINESS 207 + + XXXIX. WAR 220 + + XL. WIDOWHOOD 228 + + XLI. ALL SORTS OF MEN 237 + + XLII. VARIOUS TYPES OF WOMEN 247 + + XLIII. MERE MIND 256 + + XLIV. ISN’T LIFE EXCITING ENOUGH? 263 + + XLV. AS WE SEEM TO OTHERS 270 + + XLVI. FITTING INTO LIFE 284 + + XLVII. FACTS AND TRUTHS 290 + + XLVIII. BOOKS: MY OWN AND OTHERS 294 + + XLIX. CHANGE AND CONFUSION 304 + + L. CAN WE BE HAPPY? 309 + + + + +AS A WOMAN THINKS + + + + +I + +INTRODUCTORY + + +This is not a mystical tale, nor a literary interpretation of +addled-egg metaphysics. The mind I have has always been laid off +sensibly according to the latitudes and longitudes of actual +experiences in this present world. I never had an aura, nor the least +confidence in the existence of an oversoul. This phrase is the name of +a subliminal hysteria, pardonable in poets, but not in prose people +with ordinary midget souls. The one I have is no part of the common +spiritual vestment. On the contrary, it is an astounding fact too +intimately connected with my private consciousness to be exploited in +a book, or a street car, or any other public conveyance. I may draw +rings around it at a respectful distance before this record ends; I +may speculate prudently on souls in general, as one does in futures +sometimes; but I shall not risk the presumption of phonographing our +immortal part. It is offensive. + +The mind is different. This is something no man will deny having, +although he may deny his soul. Even if he is pathetically limited +mentally, he is the enthusiastic autobiographer of what he thinks. If +he has no character, and no energy to achieve, he is the more likely +to be the historian, the dramatist, poet and prophet of his mind. He +cannot retain it. I have sometimes thought this explains how we came by +that safety valve called language. If we should suffer a total aphasia +of words, I suppose the human species would explode. The mind develops +so much more power in thinking than we can possibly achieve in action. + +And to the last, the minds of other men, their secret thoughts, the +motives from which their actions spring remain the most interesting +things we can find out. + +What follows is such a biography; not an analysis, nor a confession, +but the drama I have lived in thinking and believing; how the mind I +have, determined my conduct, courage, cowardice, and literally created +the life I have lived in spite of everything. + +This is no vast undertaking like following the trail of a great +intellect. I am incapable of measuring the convolutions of such a +brain, say, as Herbert Spencer’s. In any case the record would be +scientific, not interesting. These people are born bright, but drab, +humanly speaking. I am not opposed to them, you understand; they have +their place somewhere over our heads, but not in the common life we +lead. My justification in choosing a simpler mind to exploit is that +most of us have this kind. We have actual experience in living our +thoughts; and the way we do it tears mere philosophy to shreds, no +matter how well and logically it has been thought out. + +If you are writing the life of a prime minister, you begin by laying +the scenes in the times in which he lived. You must set down the kind +of king he served, discuss the people and problems that engaged +his attention and made him a great man. I am recording the history +of a mind as far removed as possible from the grandeur of kings and +the policies of prime ministers. But like these more pretentious +biographers, I am drawing my scenes in the right place, giving you a +glimpse of the summer-minded, slipshod gentlemen who traveled this +road, mismanaged their bankrupt fortunes with such humor and courage, +because these are my people. There is a fine rich pigment in the +quality of these people which imparts that first clear color to the +mind, and may account for the bright loom of thought upon which I spun +the days of my life with some wit, a certain dexterous sweetness and an +awful strength of hope never justified by the facts. + +I do not know how it may be with others who have outgrown themselves +and become merely the residents of culture and learning, but I +experience a sensation of uneasiness when conversing with a man who +evades his own personal pronoun. I always change my seat as soon as +possible, because he is concealing some one who should be present and +apparent if he is talking. + +He will never say ‘I think,’ ‘I believe,’ or ‘I know,’ but he will +begin with ‘It is said.’ This may be a scholarly affectation of +self-effacement, for all I know, but it is neither natural nor sincere. + +We are every one born in the first person singular. We live and die +feeling that way. Therefore the pronoun ‘I’ is the most honest and +revealing word in the English language. It is our obligatory oral +signature. It is not an egotistical part of speech, unless you are an +egotist, but the born-and-bred name by which every man calls himself. +Without this provision, you may say, of nature in him, we should never +be able to identify him or know whether he is talking his own truth or +his own lies or quoting them from some one else. + +This is the reason why certain of my books are written in the first +person. They must be. It is my way of writing as other people feel, +interpretative. I am being confidential, not boastful, except possibly +where we may boast together. I am telling experience common to us as +human beings and giving the reader the advantage of keeping his own +silence. + +The method works. It encourages many to give tongue to their lives and +feelings, which is a relief if they have held them in for a long time +and never expected to see them said anywhere. Just write the truth of +your own heart and you will find out how many men and women have lived +that same truth more valiantly than you have without emitting it into +copy! I have had to make that humbling revision of my attributes since +the publication of ‘My Book and Heart.’ These silent ones who write +letters not for publication have found in this volume the witness of +their own hearts, a record more intimate and personal to them than if +it had been written in the third person, or of one already dead and +subject in the very nature of the case to biographical speculations. + +The record I am now writing will have no such effect, though it may +be equally veracious, because we are further apart in our thoughts +than we ever are in our feelings. We may talk much or little, but +most of our thinking is done and kept in silence. The human mind is a +queer thing. It has more ways of the wild creatures than we have. It +never ceases to circle either upon the wing or to prowl in that secret +darkness which conceals every man’s mind. It goes off and comes back +laden with strange thoughts while you sit gazing with candid eyes +into the candid eyes of your companion, whose mind has also been out +scouting around and has returned without ever meeting your mind on the +way. + +I suppose many a man, seated in the possessive case beside some woman, +who has a Spencerian countenance and speaks to him in pale blue +language of sweetness, would leap for his life if he could see so much +as the flash of the thought she is whetting in her neat little head +against his peace and happiness. And sometimes if a woman had a look +into the mind of her hero she might become an idol breaker in the +twinkling of an eye. + +But we are not to be judged by what goes on in our minds. One never +gets cut in a word or a deed. If all the tools of vengeance forged +there were used, this world would be a terrible place. If all the dark +thoughts we have were spoken, no man or woman would trust us. But these +are the mental vaporings of our lower and meaner natures, conquered in +most of us by the moral sense we have acquired which has established +better standards. + +A wise man can record all he knows of life in one book; but the +scriptures of the common man require two books, and maybe a few +gospels, as a sort of quotient in the long division of living. For us +there would be the book of the heart, where we keep memories, the hopes +that failed, our loves and hates, and whatever Beatitude we needed to +comfort or praise us, whether it is a friend, a woman, or a bit of the +Word. Your wise man takes no account of this copy. In his analysis of +the phenomenon of man, the heart is a figure of speech which refers +to the reflex action of the emotions. Then there is for us the other +record of the mind, quite distinct. It is the place where we keep the +law, or break it; the motives which stimulate and control us, and +determine our relations to other men--and to God, who we think made us. + +This last notion, in my opinion, is a gross exaggeration of the +functions of the Almighty. He made what we call mind and we use +it to create ourselves. It works one way in this generation and +another way in the next generation. Sometimes it is war; then it +is religion, art, one kind of science or another; or it may be a +magnificent covetousness, practiced under such terms as industrialism, +commercialism, or even the League of Nations--always filled with +eleemosynary impulses, for conscience’ sake, according to that very +shrewd mind he is developing. It is really the sand-pile where the +ostrich of him hides its head. It is at last that thing in us which is +as easily degraded by a false belief as by the meanest vice. It can +exalt a heathen and trap a Christian saint. It is the way of life we +choose, right or wrong. + +If some one laid his mind on the table, so to speak, not as a +confession, nor even as a defense, but as a certified human document, +it might cast a flicker of light upon dark corners to be turned in the +lives of other people. So if I show what a dim thing it was in the +beginning, how a child divines peace and happiness without thinking, +what a terror thinking became afterwards, how bravely and adventurously +my mind guided me, how cunningly it misguided me, what burdensome +rewards it earned for me, and what dividends in peace I have lost by +following the best Scriptures according to my mind--some of you who +read this record may get a hint to watch the thing and control it more +wisely than I have controlled mine. + +What I shall write will be sown with errors from the point of view +of a psychologist, which will be proof to you that it is a veracious +record. There may be laws governing mind; but if so, they are like +so many other laws we cannot keep and survive. A logical sentence in +thinking according to the exigencies of living is bound to be a very +short sentence. The longer ones that last through the days of our +years contradict much wisdom and a good many Scriptures. But we do +get through, and looking back we do see the Word still standing, not +changed. + + + + +II + +WHEN I WAS A CHILD + + +In the year 1874 there was a road which crossed the State of Georgia. +It has disappeared long since, changed by the will of some memory in +the hearts of the people. But you may trace it still when the daisies +bloom in May. These flowers are not indigenous to this section. Their +first seed fell here from the provender fed to Sherman’s cavalry. So, +in May, that month of Decoration Days, they bloom again like a long, +narrow memorial wreath laid upon the grave of a dead and glorious past. +They wind and turn and tumble down many a steep hillside in North +Georgia, as this road made its tortuous way among these hills. But +when it slipped into the lower, smoother land, it straightened out and +lay like a broad red-and-golden ribbon between the great plantations. +Farther and farther it stretched until it slid into the city of Augusta +and became Green Street--so named, I suppose, because the road that +made it came down into the white old town through such a fair and +verdant country. + +Other roads entered this highway, as smaller streams flow into a +broader, swifter river. There were signposts to guide the traveler. I +remember one in particular at the entrance of the old Petersburg road, +because as a child it seemed to me like a very old man who had been +pointing the way a long time and now leaned wearily in the direction +indicated. Above a huge fist, rudely drawn, with the forefinger +raised, appeared the legend: + + ‘This is the way to Mill or Ferry, + Go, it, Traveler, Sad or Merry.’ + +We had sentiment in those days with a lilt to it, and a signpost was as +good a place as any to publish it. We were not seeking fame. We were +famous enough already. We were surfeited with the terrible distinction +of having just concluded a cruel war in glorious defeat. We were some +kind of magnificently irresponsible truth but lately crushed to earth, +and we were rising again after the grandiloquent manner of our kind, +with a beam in our eye and a song on our lips--but not prosperous! +It requires more than a century for the phœnix of man to rise above +the ashes of war in material things. We arose by a sort of rhythm of +the spirit, unencumbered by wealth. The ascent is quicker and less +expensive. + +Gentlemen in rags traveled this road upon their old raw-boned +horses--Don Quixotes, every one, still tilting against the windmills of +a graver, saner civilization that had been thrust upon them. They were +rumpled, ruddy men who bore themselves with an air and never complained +of their poverty after the manner of ignoble men when misfortune +overtakes them. They held onto their leisure for a long time as the +last asset of a lost fortune, and visited a great deal from one old +ramshackle mansion to another. Their laughter was a joyous eruption. +They were pedantic with a flourish. They could drop you a long +quotation from Faust or Shakespeare without seeming absurd or causing +their victims the least embarrassment, such as we feel when a meaner +man quotes a Promethean passage. They required these luminous vestments +woven by great poets to adorn the qualities they had. Any one of them +would have been admired as a character in a book or as the subject of a +funeral oration. + +The women of this period were strangely lyrical. Never again shall we +see so many fine ladies rise with such grace above the inconvenience of +poverty. Dressed in a chignon, a curl, and a cotton frock, they ignored +all styles and remained the last word in the poetry of fashion. They +had swishing silken virtues and conducted themselves after the manner +of the heroine in the last chapter of Proverbs. + +Eighty miles above Augusta there stood two huge gate-posts, topped with +roughly hewed balls. Between them hung the old gray gate of a famous +plantation. When the sun was low in the west it shone through these +palings like bars of gold as if there might be nothing beyond but space +and silence and brightness. Inside, there was a long avenue stretching +away through the trees. Far down, there was a high green terrace; above +the terrace, an ancient flower garden, bordered with boxwood and spired +with the tops of juniper trees. Blossoming boughs waved like flags +in the summer wind. All the spaces inside were filled with humbler +flowers; phlox and lilies, violets and hyacinths made misty blue veils +in the shadows. Long-soled cactus spread like green footprints upon the +dark earth--the whole lonely place a wilderness of bloom left to govern +itself. + +Somewhere behind this garden in those days stood a little house, left +over like a poor relation in adversity. + +I was born there. + +My recollection now is that it was a good little house, with a busy +mind and a kind heart inside, where a female child would be taught the +Lord’s Prayer at an early age, and how to sew and knit; but it was not, +you would have concluded at a glance, the cradle of genius. Very few +people make provision beforehand for geniuses in their families. They +are like the seed that birds scatter--liable to spring up anywhere, but +never to be anticipated. For my part, I doubt if they are born at all, +but produce themselves by some chance of circumstances; almost any man +or woman is remotely liable to become one. + +But my first memories are not of this house, nor even of my father and +mother. I had that faint impression of them which grown people have of +Providence, to be depended upon, but too far off in consciousness to +be cultivated. My measure of relationship at this time was that father +was very tall, and mother was much shorter and very slender. I was some +kind of a little pinwheel of life revolving away from them. + +In these earliest years I must have belonged more particularly to the +vegetable kingdom. My first vivid impressions are of being in the open, +not doing anything, certainly not thinking. I seem to have grown like +the grass on the rim of the green terrace beyond the flower garden for +a long time. Father and mother are very sketchy. They appear now in my +memory of this period at rare intervals. + +I was not sufficiently acquainted with them then to be aware of their +anxieties. They belonged to another world. I can barely remember +father’s blue gaze following me about, usually with the light of +laughter in it. Mother was always busy. She had large gray eyes that +caught me up with a glance, washed me like a saucer, set me down again +and went on to her next deed with the swiftness of one who wore wings +on her feet. This excessive energy may account for the fact that I +formed no apron-string attachment to her. + +The reputation I had, however, was that of being an extremely +affectionate child. This only proves that any record written from +memory must be incomplete. I suppose Homer omitted many important +historical facts which did not rhyme with those he sang so lustily in +his Iliad. Love anchored me so completely later in life, I am rather +glad to think that in these first years my affections must have been +like those of a busy man for his family, usually latent, but practiced +with convincing charm at odd moments. I do not remember ever crying for +my mother as other young children do, because I so completely believed +in her. She could not forget me or forsake me. So far as I knew then, +she would last forever. There was nothing, literally nothing, in my +world to worry about. I was already living by faith. + +This is the earliest faculty we develop. It is an enduring illusion +at which the world and all the vicissitudes of life tear in vain. +We replace every hope that fails with another one. We change our +standards and our creeds, but we live and die believing in something. +It is a medicine we use to ease the mind. I have had so many letters +lately from men and women who no longer believe in God. They have +fallen over the precipice of rationalism into an awful pit of darkness. +But it is perfectly apparent that any one of them would be quick to +believe in a man or woman. They are the same old barnacles of faith we +all are, who have lost their hold upon the good bottom, raked off by +the lives they have lived or the thinking they have practiced. They are +the most credulous people in the world. I never knew one who would not +trust a convincing rascal. Or he will take to occultism, some spiritual +nostrum, as a certain class of people prefer patent medicine for their +physical ailments. What I mean is that the power to believe is born in +us, and we must exercise it one way or the other, as we breathe to live. + +I have a vivid recollection of the child I was then, as one might +remember the person he used to be in another life, sitting on the green +crown of my world, very pudgy, back hunched, fingers curled in the +grass, the hair on my head sticking up like a fine bright fringe, eyes +wide and quiet, fixed upon nothing in particular, the groggy little +somnambulist of a bright dream. + +I remember one of the illusions I had. The big gate at the end of +the avenue was the end of my world. I accompanied father and mother +through it at rare intervals, but my understanding was that we passed +immediately into another world. I shall experience no more tremendous +anticipations rising from my dust in the last day than I did then, +seated in the bottom of the rickety old buggy, being drawn through the +black weather-beaten portals of that gate. + +Once in so often I made the journey up there alone to peep through +the palings at this neighboring world. My fear was that it might have +fallen off or been blown away in a high wind. Being very young and +unacquainted with the other stars, I dreaded the possibility of being +stuck up against one just outside our big gate; or worse still, finding +nothing at all beyond it but emptiness. + +There is a grandeur about total ignorance, winged with imagination. +Children alone have it. They endure terrors and visions that would +drive a sane person mad. They are little Saturns revolving in the +incandescent rings of fancy, no substance to their thoughts, no +realities in the secret world where they move and believe everything. + + + + +III + +CHILDREN FROM THE CABIN + + +The activities of a great plantation went on about me, but I recall +none of the clamor of this business; only the ringing of the +blacksmith’s hammer on the anvil in the shop under the mulberry trees. +The long procession of negroes sitting sidewise on their mules coming +up from the fields through the deepening dusk of the evening were a +part of the day I lived, like the lengthening shadows of the trees on +the grass. The thin curls of smoke that began to hurry out of the tops +of the chimneys from the cabins below the avenue used to hang like long +lavender scarfs in the air. I remember that from the top of the terrace +I could see the negro children milling and playing before these cabin +doors. But I never joined them. + +There was an invisible mark between me and these little black ones that +must not be crossed. The intimate association between white children +and negro children has been greatly exaggerated by the sentimental +literature of the South written since the Civil War, to appeal, I have +always thought, to the imagination of the North, where most of the +reading in this country was done after that period. Southern white +children of the stock from which I sprang sustained a passionately +devoted relation to the old negroes, men and women, who remained +attached to our families. This attachment remains unbroken to this day. + +But no such ties ever existed between us and the young ones. The basis +of mutual affection and confidence had been destroyed before I was +born and the doom of the negro sealed, not by the Civil War, but by +propaganda that followed it for fifty years. Where enmity is created, +justice will never be done. But hate and distrust beget the sense of +injustice, which produces every abomination possible between a strong +race and a weaker one. + +I have not one recollection of having played with a negro child. My +only memory lasts because it was striped in with a switch. Susan, a +little negro girl, came to the house one day for a pitcher of milk. +I took her aside and examined her black kinky wool wrapped in white +cotton thread. I did not think much of it and said so. + +Mother punished me severely for this. I do not recall the words she +used. They were undoubtedly stern and simple, for she had that kind of +a vocabulary; but the gist of it was that the quality of a superior +was that he never took advantage of an inferior, and that it was +ignoble to humiliate one by referring to his natural defects, whether +of hair or color. This doctrine steadfastly kept also by my father, +in the end cost him a two-thousand-acre cotton plantation. For there +were a hundred negroes on the place, and they took every advantage +that inferiors can take of a generous superior. The only reason why it +has not been equally expensive to me is that I never had so much as a +plantation to lose and have dealt with fewer people of this class. + +But the impression I received that day concerning my obligations to +those less fortunate by nature, as I stood tearfully diminished before +mother and still stinging from the duty of her switch, has never left +me. And it is now a fact, which I have proved by experience, that it +is more enhancing to keep one’s self-respect than to get the advantage +of an inferior person in any kind of transaction. After so many years +of this kind of noble prancing morally, it produces a certain insolent +sense of quality, not justified, of course, by the person you really +are, all told. Still, it is a grand feeling and a part of the mind I +have finally rounded up out of life. + + + + +IV + +FEARSOME THOUGHTS + + +Poetry and superstition were atmospheric conditions of the mind. As +a child, I believed in ghosts, spirits, and signs. Knowledge has +delivered me, but my instincts never will. I can think of no other +reason why I still pass the seventh day of March warily and more +innocently than I do my other days. This has been regarded as an +ominous day in my family for generations, although I do not recall a +single disaster that overtook any of us on this day. I am also at some +pains not to see a new moon for the first time through the branches of +trees, because mammy often warned me when I was a child that such an +indiscretion would be followed by bad luck. + +I received constant instructions from the negro servants in the +primitive occult sciences, duly proved and illustrated. + +There was a tiny sunken grave outlined with white flint stones on the +edge of the forest behind the house. Aunt Parthenia, the old black +woman who milked the cows, told me that a child had been murdered and +buried there. She said the face was very pale, the hair white like +wool. It was a small child about my age, and wore a long white gown. +Just at dark she said it often climbed a tree and wailed piteously on +account of having been murdered. Hidden in the plum bushes near the +house, I used to see this thing clinging and swinging in the top of a +poplar tree that grew beside the grave. I cannot recall the features of +any living person I knew then so vividly as I do the pale, pinched face +of that forlorn little ghost. The hair on its head did stand out and +glisten in the darkness. And my own hair stood up in delicious fright, +listening to its shuddering cries. Years passed before I could believe +this was a screech owl screaming. + +Somewhere in this same period I met a ghost in the flower garden when +I was expecting no such encounter--a crooked woman wrapped in a black +shawl. I remember how stiff and ghostly white her hands were. She +looked at me and I could not move. After a while mother came and led me +back to the house. My legs were trembling with excitement, but I did +not tell her what I had seen. I never confided any of my experiences +with ghosts to her, feeling somehow that she might disapprove of them. +She was particular about the company I kept. + +Mother belonged to the old order of saints. She was the kind of +Christian who would have died at the stake for a doctrine. She believed +in infant baptism because this was one of the doctrines of her church, +and made haste to have me baptized before I could hold up my head. She +not only believed you must be born again, spiritually speaking, but she +had her doubts about your conversion if you did not suffer the birth +pangs of repentance at least with groanings and tears. I was too young +to think a doubt when she instructed me in the doctrine of damnation. +Hell was a very literal pit of fire and brimstone, where the wicked +burned forever and the worm never dieth. If she had not included the +worm in this picture, I might not have received the reptilian idea of +the place, which was particularly abhorrent. One day I met a turtle in +the flower garden. The eyes were red. There were red gills under its +neck. I fled shrieking, believing it to be some kind of infernal insect +that had crawled out of the pit, still hot and malevolent. + +At this age I must have been like those birds in the far places that do +not fear or fly at the sight of man. I was never afraid of the dark, +nor of the considerable number of ghosts I collected under the guidance +of Aunt Parthenia. + +I also believed in certain animals. The marvelous things I heard about +the doings of rabbits, cats, and foxes surpass anything recorded in +Æsop’s Fables. There was a donkey on the plantation. I was shy of this +beast, not because I was afraid of him, but because he might speak +to me. Some native delicacy I had, forbade conversation with an ass. +But if our old dog wagged his tail, I understood him. I have always +been able to interpret dogs. They have no souls, no minds of their +own; but if they associate intimately with human beings, and not with +other dogs, they develop a telepathic relation to us that amounts to +divination. They understand us and act according to our will and mood, +however secret, because they worship us. + +I have had fearful thoughts along this line. What if we sustain +a similar relation to the Almighty? What if we are simply the +tail-wagging medium of infinite mind? Such speculations are no doubt +of the devil, but if you have a mind you cannot resist now and then +taking an intellectual whiff at your powers and principalities of +darkness. + +Negroes do not include fairies among their superstitions; so I was +deprived of the lighter, happier comradeship of these gossamer-winged +beings. My impression is that they do not last so long, nor are they +so sternly stimulating to the imagination as the illusions we have of +spirits and ghosts. Even a child discards his fairies at an early age, +but mankind never quite escapes the prescience of the supernatural. +Wise men as well as fools have been haunted by these uneasy figments. +All literature from beginning to end is populated with ghosts and +apparitions of the dead. This is testimony accumulated, not about +the supernatural, but about what we are. The Lord knew us. This is +the reason why heavenly messengers were seen by the naked eye in the +Scriptures. Something imprisoned in us responds to that ‘cloud of +witnesses,’ and to the Holy Ghost of Jesus Christ. We require such +symbolism because we are forever and inalienably kin to spirits. But we +never see them. + +During the whole of my life I have been subject to these visions. I +have had a curious consciousness of not being alone when I was really +alone. I have seen a whiteness take shape in impenetrable darkness, +heard sounds, had a sense of wings and motion about me in silence +and stillness. Maybe this is merely the blind stirring of immortal +instinct; but my suspicion is that these ‘presences’ we feel, or think +we see, are freaks of memory, subconsciously aroused by the loves or +hates we used to have, and that any one with a lively imagination can +get himself haunted or blessed by these illusions. I think it is an +exercise in supernatural lying which never fully convinces a rational +person; therefore, a dangerous diversion to indulge, and bad for the +soul. The practice of spiritualism seems to me gross and strangely +repulsive, like some kind of abnormal vulgarity. Compare the noble +significance of that ‘cloud of witnesses’ mentioned in the Scriptures +with the ‘spirit’ conjured up at a psychic séance. The first is +designed to inspire faith and courage; the latter merely gratifies your +human anxiety or curiosity by informing you that your maiden aunt who +died last spring is well and happy! + +We must learn; it is inevitable. The time comes when we can no longer +avoid the facts accumulated by human experience. I would not go so far +as to call this wisdom; much of it is based upon errors of judgment, +weakness, and prejudice, but we must master as much of it as possible +in order to live sensibly in an erroneous world. + +I come now to this momentous period in my own life when the amorphous +but still entrancingly immortal faculties I had must be adjusted, +according to the mortal mind, to God and man. This is a flighty +business when you consider the strange contradictions involved. + + + + +V + +GREEN-GROWING SCRIPTURES + + +Father was sensitive to the sublime. The calm mind of the heavens +on a clear starlit night could move him to the noblest flights of +imagination. He must stretch himself mentally and let out a spark of +eloquence or prophecy; it made no difference so long as he relieved the +pressure of infinities upon his strident soul. + +He had a habit, when I was this very small child, of pacing back and +forth in the warm moonlit darkness of summer evenings. I recall myself +like a caterpillar sticking to him there. With one bare foot placed +upon the toe of each of his dusty boots and my arms clasped about his +long legs, I rode backwards; still, the stride was exciting. + +One night when we were traveling in this fashion beneath a particularly +clear starlit sky, he halted, swung a grand gesture, peered down at me +as from a great height. + +‘You will live to see airships up there flying like a flock of birds!’ +he said. + +‘Corra,’ mother interrupted hastily from the porch, ‘come in, wash your +feet and go to bed!’ + +I obeyed, too young to suspect that she was guarding me from what was +supposed to be a streak of insanity in father’s family. + +It seems that one of his remote ancestors had conceived this same idea +of flying through the heavens on his own wing power. He was humored in +this hobby until the day he ascended to the roof of his mansion geared +up in two huge wings of his own devising and hopped off. He survived +only because they did break the force of his fall, but he spent the +remaining years of his life in close confinement. + +From this time forth some one in each succeeding generation of father’s +people had been born with this predilection for flying. Mother was +determined it should not be her child in this generation. She was a +sensible woman, who had a legitimate imagination and conceived only of +incandescent angels being properly endowed with wings. + +On the other hand, father had his anxieties. Mother’s Uncle John +was an intensely religious man in an age when only preachers were +distinguished for their piety in this section, and he was not a +preacher. His mind was fixed on the Bible and he read no other book. +Father believed he was quite mad on this subject. + +I had a rather unusual memory long before I had any of the other +intellectual ingredients that go to the making of a mind. When mother +began to read Genesis aloud to me, my ear caught the tune of that +genealogical chapter which records the generations of Adam with so many +repetitions of the word begat. + +One day I climbed upon father’s knee and recited too many verses from +this chapter to him. I should have let him have them all but for the +fact that he interrupted. He exchanged a look with mother. + +‘Stop reading that book aloud to her. Remember your Uncle John!’ he +said. + +Parents are strangely suspicious of what Nature may have done to their +children. The first thing they do when one is born is to look him over +to be sure he is made up properly, not too long or too short anywhere, +and not one-sided. The mother’s travail is never over until she +calls out faintly, ‘Doctor, is my child all right?’ and receives the +assurance that he is. Then she lets go and fades away into the bliss +of motherhood. My parents received the best assurances about me then. +Still, as I grew, strangeness of one sort and another showed up in me; +then they would hark back, each behind the other, to account for it. It +was not the child I was; it was what they knew about themselves which +might crop out in me that disturbed them. I suppose all parents suffer +from this same sense of ancestral guilt toward their offsprings. + +Somewhere in another book I have set down at length the impression made +upon me by the story of creation as related in Genesis. Here, following +the trail of my mind rather than the emotional effects created upon the +life of a child, I pass on with the bare statement that it fitted the +mind I had then. And I venture to add that it still spreads amazing and +veracious before the mind I have now. It is that book in the Bible most +like God. In the others the record is diminished to His dealings with +us. There is more room in this first one for seeing just God, is what I +mean. The more you live in the open, in remote and quiet places where +the evidences still show like green-growing scriptures, the easier it +is to believe. For me it will remain to the last my favorite gospel of +the goodness and wonders of the Almighty. I do not know why, unless, as +life, duty, and conscience pressed hard upon me, these first chapters +turned out to be less obligatory than, say, the Ten Commandments. Many +a time they have been like great visions in a dark place. It was like +seeing original things take shape. I suppose other people have had the +same experience; but in this mood the first herbs of the field have +been almost visible, in their fresh greenness, through the mists of the +first morning of time. + +Long afterwards, when I began to write a few scriptures of my own, +and must accomplish some feat of imagination to reach what I know, I +used to read the first chapter of Genesis as devout Episcopalians read +prayers to God from a book. I never caught the rhythm of that great +moment when the light was divided from the darkness and the waters +from the lands, but hearing the roll and rumble of it has certainly +lengthened the stride of my mind. + +I had a good deal of the Old Testament imparted to me before I received +my other mental training. As far down as I can reach now into the mind +I had then, I am a very small human, traveling by speculations through +Deuteronomy, Judges, and believing that Second Samuel was Samuel’s son. +I am keeping company with the major and minor prophets. I am the little +girl who knew Ruth and could see her in the wheat fields, gathering the +scattered heads that fell behind the reapers. I was very much attached +to her and to David in his youth. But never to the Song of Solomon. +Mother always skipped it as ‘unsuitable’ when she read from the Bible. +She had a certain look on her face when she would be turning the leaves +and came upon this Song, as if she had seen something indelicate, and +invariably flirted the page over it hastily as you would cover such a +thing. My impression is that she did not think very well of Solomon. To +this day I share her prejudices. Too much of his wisdom is derived from +the bad end of experience. + +But imagine a child’s mind taking shape under these influences. I +was haunted by ghosts and fed on the stately Scriptures of the Old +Testament. Jerusalem and Nineveh are the first cities I remember +hearing about. I was particularly interested in the latter because of +the deep-sea disaster which overtook Jonah on his way there. I believed +everything, but not with the literal humble mind of the obedient +spirit. I have always reserved the right to believe in the Scriptures +intelligently. So far as I am able to judge, stupid faith is as +dangerous and belittling to the soul as a false doctrine. + +This story of Jonah gagged me even at that early age. And to this +day I am still wondering if any one saw the whale swallow him, or if +it was a mere wave that vomited him upon the shore. Not that I doubt +the Scriptures, you understand, but Jonah. What I mean is that in +the horror of being cast overboard and drowned, he may honestly have +believed he was being swallowed by a great fish, when he was really +descending into the bowels of the sea. + +The instruction I had from the Old Testament marked my first definite +formations mentally. They seemed, as I look back now, to have opened +the casements of my mind to more gallant illusions, verified by the +angels and prophets who appeared so constantly in these Scriptures. I +used to strain myself to see Elijah rising in a chariot of fire. A red +cloud in the sunset sky might have convinced me of the repetition of +this miracle. I was a small human drop in the eternity of summer days. +I had no sense of time. I felt very near the beginning of things. But +I was unaffected morally. I went about my business as usual, without a +scruple as to what was right or wrong. + + + + +VI + +FATHER AND MOTHER + + +I felt a certain silent intimacy with my father. This was due to the +fact that we were both highly sensitized emotionally, but not morally. +I received the impression that there was more space in father for +the practices of a free spirit. It seems to me that we both avoided +the house because it was such a good place, ruled by order and +righteousness. Nothing could be changed in it, least of all mother, +who loved us with a consuming affection. I did not know the name of +the sensation at the time, but I always came into it feeling like a +prodigal son. I remember some such expression on father’s face shot +with humor. I cannot think what we had been doing; probably nothing +reprehensible; but I was full of secret stuff not to be exposed to her, +because I never could tell what she would approve. Father knew and was +silent for the same reason. + +She was literally a religious woman. She believed in the Christian +religion without tears. She could perform her spiritual duties on a +cold collar and keep the Commandments without praying or fasting. +I have always thought she might have been a trifle short on the +Beatitudes, because she practiced them with less emotion than any +other person I have ever known. She had resignation and endurance to +a remarkable degree, but she was sublimely deficient in humility. My +memory of her, revived by the wit of a mature mind, is that she was +admirably conscious of her own worth and standing before the Lord, +though I never heard her testify in an experience meeting, which was +one of the pious diversions of saints in those days. + +Father was spiritually minded, but only intermittently religious, +during which periods he far outstripped mother in the bloom and beauty +of his virtues. But he frequently fell back into original sin, where +he seemed to belong; but was never comfortable, poor soul. He would +invariably rise by the means of the most spectacular repentance. I have +observed that these acrobatic souls belong to men with more histrionic +talent than ordinary saints have. This is the reason why they are more +beloved even if they are less dependable. I am certain mother loved +father more than she could have loved a better man. It is the quality +of goodness in women, not a weakness. + +Mother used to pass into silence sometimes. She became inaccessible. No +tears, going about her duties with a certain sweet quietness as if she +was walking more softly before the Lord than usual and hoped this would +do some good. + +I still think I was right in my impressions of these periods. My +feeling was that something grand was going on. I distinctly felt the +presence of God everywhere. My lid came off in this mysteriously +electric atmosphere. I suppose it is the same sensation formerly +enjoyed by emotional people when they shouted during divine services. +I hoped for some change in the methodical routine of things, and did +not get it. When the hero of the house fell from grace he disappeared. +He was not. But I was quarantined by the tightening of the ligaments +of all mother’s virtues and obliged to practice my rectitudes more +scrupulously than usual. No escape to the terrace outside. And the +house felt like a church--terribly hallowed. + +But when father emerged from the dark pit of his transgression, +haggard with that look of noble repentance remorse imparts to the male +countenance, I beheld him with awe and speechless admiration, having no +knowledge of the cause of this moral grandeur or that so much eloquence +covered delinquency. + +I have a dim candle-lit memory of one of these scenes which took place +in mother’s room when I was a very small child. Glowing logs upon +the hearth that cast a red radiance over the bare white boards of +the floor. A candle lighted upon the candle-stand like the faintest +flickering flame in this darkness. Stiff blue calico curtains drawn +back from the windows and primly tied. A clear cold night outside and +stars shining through the symmetrical angle of these curtains. Mother +sitting in her corner, pale as peace and righteousness, hair black and +smoothly coiled, skirts arranged just so. Hands folded, her large gray +eyes slightly raised, very peaceful, as if she gazed upon her cross and +knew she could bear it. I sat in my small split-bottomed chair, hands +clasped around the arms of this chair, elbows sticking out, fair hair +glowing like the fringe of innocence in this rich darkness, copper-toed +shoes shining, head barely high enough above the window-sill to see +the stars. + +But I was not looking at the stars. I was wearing my church manners and +watching mother’s face as one consults the clock when it is time for +services to begin. I had been in these family altar services before +and knew that one was at hand now because the big Bible lay upon the +candle-stand. This Book was never opened except upon great spiritual +occasions or when the pastor called. Mother dispensed her daily +Scriptures from a smaller, well-worn volume. + +There was a step outside, coming with a long crunching stride. The +stars twinkled with that giggling sense of humor they may have acquired +from watching the doings of men for so many ages. The door was thrust +open. A blast of icy wind entered. The flame of the candle flickered, +as if this was no place for a good little candle. I vibrated. My dear +father, whom I had not seen for days, strode in, you may say, upon +this blast. But I restrained my natural affections, as one does when a +solemn ceremony is about to begin. Why this ceremony I did not know, +but once in so often it had to be performed, because it seemed to +greatly enhance father and to refresh and gladden mother. + +Father was a pallid and noble figure, somewhat disheveled, like a +long-legged eagle that has recently weathered a high wind. He took one +sweeping glance around, caught my adoring eyes upturned, and discarded +them as a bagatelle in this momentous situation. Mother merely ceased +to bat her eyes, gaze still fixed upon her cross. Let the mountains +fall upon her, let the waters of all the seas roll over her, she would +not be moved except by decent repentance! + +Well, he must go through with it as usual, is what I know now father +decided after that momentary survey, and kept his pace to the big +rickety chair beside the candle-stand. He let himself down into it like +a god overtaken in a fault, glanced distastefully at the Bible and +emitted the sigh of a bellows. My breast heaved in suspense. I knew +that my father would presently become a man of the Lord and open the +Book. These were the only occasions when he was associated in my mind +with our God. I coveted the experience. What I did not know was that he +dreaded the blasphemy demanded of him. He had his feelings and Adam’s +modesty when his sin would be dying hard in him. Then some emotion +would overcome him; maybe a man’s grateful memories of this invincibly +good woman who could not be made to forsake him. What was God’s opinion +of him compared to her dear wishes? Such a foolish little she demanded +in exchange for all she gave. Something like this I know passed through +his mind. Then he would open the Book, turn to the Psalms, taste a few +until he struck one with the right note, not too revealing, something +vague and nobly sung. That night he read this one: + +‘Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications: in thy +faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness. And enter not into +judgment with thy servant.’ + +He was ever a man quickly moved to the left or right in the moral +world. Give him a full glass, a roistering companion, and he could race +with the devil himself. Give him the noblest words of penitence and he +could produce the accompanying remorseful emotions. He could shrive +himself with the dignity and majesty of a saint. So now for the moment +he was every whit David broken by his transgression. Grief descended +upon him and shook him like a blessing: + +‘Hear me speedily, O Lord: my spirit faileth,’ he read on woefully. +‘Hide not thy face from me, lest I be like unto them that go down into +the pit.’ And so on until he came to the end. + +I did not understand, but I felt the wind of sorrow blowing from the +eloquent lips of my father. I was bursting with emotion, my lips +primped, my eyes fixed upon him full of tears. The one thing that +restrained me was mother’s inscrutable face. She not only understood +the Psalm but the man who was reading it. She simply used this method +to change the scenes of his singularly adaptable spirit. + +‘Let us pray,’ he rumbled in a choked voice. + +I have a lively recollection of this prayer. It was a good one. Very +few people have the real gift of prayer, and then only under the +emotional pressure of remorse. I have heard the ring of platform +oratory many a time in the prayer of a saint who had nothing but his +congregation’s sins of which to repent. Father, splendidly poised +on one knee, recited a psalm of his own to the Lord, not so good as +David’s but along the same line. He cast his iniquities from him in +sentences that clashed like bright swords. Sobs shook him. I was +also deeply moved, as I am to this day by great music of powerful +prayers. Kneeling like a little rag doll, very low before my chair, I +accompanied him with sounds of grief, meows of a kitten saint, decently +repressed until, casting a watery glance through my fingers, I saw +father wiping his face on the blue window curtains. This was too much. +I keened my nose and let out a wail that steadied the great mourner and +ended his petition. + + + + +VII + +MY MOTHER’S GOD + + +I suppose there are still such husbands in the world, but I am +wondering if there are any more women like mother. Maybe she would +be called a pill now. Looking back, the methods she used to restore +father’s soul do seem drastic. She loved him with a shrewd tenderness; +but let him break his traveling gait toward Heaven and she was the +most adroit persecutor of the damned and fallen I have ever known. She +kept a good little house not more than one short prayer path from the +gates of Heaven. Everything in it was clean, white where it should +be white, glistening where it should shine. If by chance an unworthy +person crossed her threshold, he brought his former virtues with him +and practiced them. She demanded at least a noble deceit of goodness. + +This was the kind of father I had, and this was my mother. I was a sort +of human hybrid composed of these two natures. Nothing could cure me +of a dangerous likeness to father. I was closer kin to him in mind and +spirit. I may have inherited some invincible stamina from mother, a +capacity for standards and principles. My notion is that father merely +begot me, and that mother continued to exercise the same functions to +me morally that she did physically before I was born. She produced +qualities of character in me which went far toward determining my +woman’s life afterwards. She had Moses’ gift for guiding me and +controlling the rabble in me. + +But I have never reached the promised land. Neither did the children +of Israel under Moses. No one does. Your Moses is too much of a +disciplinarian. Looking back now at my wilderness, it seems to me if I +make the last stretch it will be upon the wings of a spirit inherited +from father. But I shall never make it now. I shall pass like other +people who have been anxious to be good all their lives--barely in +sight of that fair and happy land. I have been encompassed about by +too great a cloud of witnesses to just righteousness. The burden of +being obedient to mother’s God, and later on to the God of a still +more drastic saint, has wearied me. I am too tired now to shout and be +happy. I shall probably die up here in a high place, barely in sight of +the promised land as usual. + +I have often wondered how real saints feel about this. I know how they +talk, but do they in their secret hearts as humans sometimes regret +the hard and narrow way? Isn’t there something unsatisfied in them +to the last? Have they been entirely gratified? Can one ever have in +this world the peace promised? Maybe we do at the last moment. I am +expecting it then. But one moment, with your breath already leaving +you, is a short time to enjoy what you have spent a lifetime to win. + +As near as I can make out, we cannot obey the Scriptures and be as +much like the Lord as we claim to be. There is too much submission, +too much bondage to sacrifice. We do not seem to have arrived yet at +that almighty mental poise where we can punish as He does. Vengeance is +still His. Our minds have dropped a stitch somewhere between the Ten +Commandments and that beatitude which reads: ‘Blessed are ye, when men +shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil +against you, for my sake, ... for great is your reward in heaven.’ + +We are short on giving out these rewards. Maybe we are still so vicious +it would not be safe to trust us with administering justice one to +another according to the Lord’s way. We must go to a court and get +balled up with an attorney to obtain our rights, and maybe have the +decision go against us. Or we must go to a church conference and get +balled up with the presiding elder and get very little satisfaction +there for our wrongs compared to the way we could satisfy ourselves +if it were not for sitting down dutifully and being persecuted for +righteousness’ sake. Maybe we should go on turning the other cheek a +while longer; but my experience has been that there is very little +gratification of the vanity of the human soul in turning the other +cheek, or giving a man your coat also because he took your cloak. It +leaves you naked, cold, and bruised in the face, and the other fellow +strutting around bragging at your expense. Compare that with the way +the Lord punishes evildoers and you get an inkling of what I mean--and +the chief reason why I am writing this history. My mind has misled me +frequently through the Scriptures. + + + + +VIII + +BOOK LEARNING + + +Ignorance is a curse, but it depends upon what kind of knowledge +you get whether that is not even more of a curse. For this reason I +have become a bit squeamish about education. Occasionally, when I am +suffering from the effects of some regrettable wisdom I have acquired, +the very sight or sound of the word gives me a sinking sensation, as +one feels when reminded of fate. It smacks too much of Calvinism, a +willful, worldly form of predestination by which the mind, morals, and +future of a youth are determined. We can teach him a lie by concealing +part of the truth, knob him like a hydra-horned monster with false +ideals and he has no defense. We can substitute a code of ethics +for religion without letting him know that ethics is a variable and +frequently very free translation we make of the will of God in the +minds of men. + +The product of such a system of education we have in the present +generation of young people. They are being deprived of their legal +relations to the Almighty. They are running true to form, predestined +to their courses by what they have not been taught, obedience to that +law which we older people call God. To be brought up illiterate in the +spirit seems to me a frightful state of ignorance and very dangerous. I +prefer real Calvinism, though I was born and bred a Methodist, because +according to that old doctrine some of us at least were elected to +salvation. + +Methods of education were much more primitive when I was a child. +You learned your Catechism and the Ten Commandments first; then your +alphabet. I knew who made the heavens and the earth, that Adam was the +first man and Eve the first woman, before I was five years old; but +I must have been nearly six before I could distinguish between the +little _b_ and the little _d_ of the alphabet. They seemed very small +and negligible compared with the hills and skies and trees to which I +had been accustomed. I was frightfully lonely with my a, b, abs. What +I spelled out by the hardest was not interesting. I had the prescience +of all things and must now be turned back to learn little words in a +book that I had always used in speaking. I could not be impressed when +w-h-a-t turned out to be ‘what.’ I lacked the erudite instinct which +makes scholars. + +My only interest in words to-day is to find the one needed, preferably +a small one; young, active, and properly colored to use for expressing +that feeling which became a thought, if you can say it or write +it down. I have never had the least cultural curiosity about the +ancestry of a word, whether Greek or Latin or even older, though I +have sometimes had the feeling that I might be using a smooth, wise +word which had formerly been in the employ of Socrates. But never one +accustomed to Marcus Aurelius’s way of thinking--a good man as pagans +go, but reduced to a negative state by the quality of his spirit. + +I have often wondered if literary people as a class show any aptitude +for grammar in their youth. My suspicion is that it is chiefly those +who speak correctly--you may say, from a sense of duty; not naturally, +nor with any charm--who take to the drudgery of studying English +composition. They are of that class who read your book, not for +the taste or flavor of the story you tell, but to find a misplaced +adverb or the tail of a participle sticking out in the wrong place. +Meanness of mind can sink no lower than this, because it is clothed in +such outrageous respectability. You cannot call him a hypocrite for +directing your attention to a grammatical error on the one hundred and +twenty-fifth page of your narrative; yet he is one, plucking at the +mote of an outlawed word with a beam in his own eye. I never knew one +who could write an interesting sentence, though a child could parse it. + +The only indication I showed of literary sense from the beginning was +a distaste for the study of grammar. I remember how small I was, and +how desolate, being obliged to sit in the house and learn a lesson in +Smith’s English Grammar. And it is still a queer thing from my point +of view that men have been burned at the stake for choosing their own +doctrines from the Scriptures; but so far as I know, the author of +a textbook designed to cower the mind of a child has never suffered +martyrdom. I am not implying a disposition to thrust a blazing fagot +into the beard of a professional grammarian; but it does seem strange +when you think about it that no man has ever been punished for devising +textbook tortures for children. + +My only recollections of this book were the punishments I received +because it remained a mystery to me, and the number of hard and fast +rules in it that I learned but could not apply. When it was done and +over with, the residuum of information left in my mind never to be +forgotten was that ‘Active verbs govern the objective case.’ I have +noticed that they do in every walk of life. In those days I developed a +personal sympathy for the noun in the objective case. It was frequently +knocked down and trampled upon by the noun in the nominative case. It +was the victim of an active verb. + +By this time I have my own ideas about the virtue and value of words. +Their worth depends entirely upon the person who uses them. They betray +more than the mind; they betray the man. The somnambulant charm of De +Quincey’s writings was due to his constant use of the passive verb. +They are nearly all drugged and recumbent. There are peaks of the +purest inspiration in Whitman’s poetry, rough tablelands that stretch +away into light and darkness, written with a rhythm of words so harsh +and strong that one hears the hoarse shouts of a man with a great +and joyful heart. But the lowlands of his thoughts are covered with +a growth of monstrous words. My belief is that those who revere him +as a poet quote him less often on this account than his ostentatious +disciples who camp most frequently in the lower regions of his genius. + +And there are the decadent writers who use words frequently that bloom +like fair frail blossoms on a dung heap--but always a line somewhere +which betrays the odor of the soil. + +The reason why the minor poets are minor is because the thoughts they +have can only be sung in slender, pale, poignant words. It is not +beauty they express so much as frailty. Poe’s tales and poetry always +fascinated me, but they reveal the dipsomaniacal genius of the man. + +David was shrewder than a psalmist is supposed to be when he cried +out, ‘Oh ... that mine enemy had written a book!’ I do not know how +the theologians interpret this passage, but it is perfectly clear to +me that David was no mean psychologist. No man ever wrote a book that +did not betray him if you know how to read it. If he has an illiterate +nature and all the words at a scholar’s command, the thing he writes +may be useful like a record; but it will not have the convincing charm +of life. He sustains the same relation to literature that a ploughman +does to a painter, an artisan to an architect--useful, but not nearly +so interesting to know. + +As for the mere grammar of language, it is essential if you have no +ear for composing a sentence, as notes are for one who has no ear for +music and must strum it as it is written for him. I am deficient there, +having no skill in the harmonies of singing sounds; but I came out of +ten generations of men who used words as the winds use the clouds, +roughly or gently, according to the velocity of their moods. And I +contend that there are some things to be said so quickly by way of +interpreting a man or a meaning that if you stop long enough to reduce +it to a parsing symmetry you have lost the breath of life in the truth +you meant to convey. + +Compared with the modern child, I was stupid. I did not know anything. +I was simply a medium of sensations, experiencing joy in the sun, +living confidentially with the grass, moved to this or that adventure +as the wind blows. I was without self-consciousness, that first +symptom of vanity in a mind beginning to be, so attractive in young +children, so offensive in men and women. I was strangely lacking in +the monkey curiosity peculiar to the bright child. I came silently by +my own knowledge without asking questions. There was no sense in what +I learned, but much enchantment. I was closer kin to the earth than +mere mind ever makes us. I knew the leaves on the trees as you hear +conversation, and the sky was very near, like a roof over my head. + + + + +IX + +SCHOOL DAYS + + +I attended the old field school at broken intervals in these days. What +I remember about that is the path across the hills to this school, the +scent of ripe maypops in the long grass, the passion flowers blooming +like lace among the corn, dew on everything; the way the gray gables +of the schoolhouse showed against the sky, the little winds that +accompanied me on summer days fragrant as the breath of the fields. +They are like verses I learned long ago. If I need one in a cheerful +tale now I always go back and copy the little a-b-c breeze that used +to blow the grass into billows and turn the leaves on a certain poplar +tree like a thousand tiny silver fans as we went by together. + +Once when I was very young I was sent to the village school and came +for the first time in contact with the bold alacrity of the children +of the world, a very small world, but strange to me. They must have +bragged and boasted. Anyway, for the first time I remember being +troubled about my financial standing. I did not know whether my parents +were rich people or poor people, but it was apparent that there was +great satisfaction to be had from riches. Still, it was a delicate +matter, upon which I was loath to consult mother, who seemed to be +above such trivial considerations. One day when I could bear my anxiety +no longer I devoted myself secretly, like an expert accountant, to the +business of estimating the worth of our estate and determining once for +all the financial standing of my family. Followed such a feat of memory +as rarely has been equaled since Adam named all the beasts of the field +at one sitting. I forgot nothing, from father’s old army shawl to the +thousands of acres of land in the plantation. My scale of valuation +was eccentric, but exceedingly gratifying. We were very rich people, I +decided, although I doubt if I had ever seen a piece of money at this +time. We had servants and land and were really poverty-stricken. + +It is a good thing to be born poor with an opulent mind. Fluctuations +in market values have less effect upon your strictly private fortune. +Wealth is a state of mind which many a rich man misses. I have no idea +how long I retained this notion of being an heiress, but I am moved to +tears and laughter by the quiet assurance I had, based upon our wealth, +to which I never referred. Children are very shrewd about preserving +their illusions. They conceal them from the diminishing knowledge of +others. I am wondering what might have happened if my young companions +had suspected the source of my ease and pride. And what would have been +the effect upon me if I had realized how anguishingly poor we were? + +After all, it was not such a bad way to grow up--next door to the +kingdom of Heaven, believing myself to be the heir of a great fortune +and descended from great people. + +I may have acquired some mettle of the spirit in these purely +imaginary circumstances which enabled me to bear with a better grace +the vicissitudes of the direst poverty later on, for I have never +felt poor. If I had a nickel in the machine drawer, I was doing very +well; if my husband had a dollar in his pocket, want and anxiety were +comfortably removed. + +What I remember about myself during this period is different and more +engaging. It seems to me that from being a shy, silent child I became a +genial little girl. I remember jumping the rope at school and sharing +a playhouse under the trees with another little girl. But these were +diversions natural to my age, as a kitten chases its tail when not +otherwise occupied. I recall much more distinctly the satisfaction +with which I parted from these companions and took the lonely path +home across the fields. I had the happier feeling of being very much +abroad then as a bird must have on the wing in a wide space. I remember +the habit I had later on of walking in the flower garden late in the +evening until mother called me. I am certain that this was a kind +of enchantment I practiced, for I have no recollection of thinking +anything right or wrong, but only of feeling like a part of everything; +not that I could have defined the sensation then. + +This habit of walking alone late in the evening has remained with me. +Sometimes for years it may be broken by circumstances or inevitable +companionships, only to be resumed again with precisely the same +somnambulant happiness I had when I was young. As near as I can tell +now, it is like resting from being mortal and old and tired. It is like +escaping from the weary consciousness of your own life, narrow and +familiar and full of thoughts that take hold of you like hands. Maybe +it is a little Enoch period I enjoy of not being. + +My first appearance on the stage was during a school commencement +about this time. I was in a dialogue composed of little girls who were +supposed to impersonate flowers--the rose, the violet, the lily, for +example. I was the tulip. When my turn came to tell how it felt and +what it meant to be a tulip, I was so deeply moved that I had to be led +from the stage in tears. But I had felt the glare of the footlights in +my face and craved the opportunity to appear on the stage. My desire +was not to show off, but to move the audience. I had the true artistic +impulse. + +There was a poem written about that time purporting to be the Lament +of the Empress Eugénie over the death of her son. The first line of it +ran: ‘Waileth a woman, “Oh, my God!”’ I remember smiting a cheerful +commencement audience one night with this thing, delivered in a voice +which ranged from soprano to a sobbing whisper, and with gestures of +the wildest grief. I suppose the poor empress conducted herself with +dignity in her sorrow, but whatever she said or did, she could not have +equaled my interpretation of her woe. The performance was received in +petrified silence, but I still believe the audience might have cheered +if it had not been so startled by the activity of my emotions. + +I am probably the only person living who believes that I had histrionic +ability of no mean order. But I have never regretted missing the career +of a great tragedienne, on account of the well-known perversity and +stupidity of audiences. Sometimes they are elegant mobs who slay you +by omitting the encore. They are the majority and hold your fate in +their hands at every performance. But if you write a book, you are +the silent majority. The book keeps going the rounds, speaking your +mind, and you are not present when the reader or critic damns it. You +are probably writing another book. I prefer the safety and remoteness +of authorship, if for no other reason than that one may go on writing +no matter how she looks, whether she has a distinguishable waistline +or not, long after the tragedy queen has lost her beauty and has been +obliged to retire, probably in straitened circumstances on account of +the extravagant habits she acquired during her affluent period in the +theatrical profession. Authors rarely are successful enough to develop +their spendthrift talents. + + + + +X + +WHAT I READ + + +I was in and out of school until my seventeenth year. Toward the last +I must have had queer teachers, or I may have been a trifle out of +drawing myself, for I was permitted to choose the books I studied from +father’s library. This was an old and honorable one, collected by two +generations of leisure-loving men with reading minds. I recited lessons +from Plutarch’s ‘Lives’ and Paley’s ‘Moral Philosophy.’ Poor old Paley! +It turns out that he was entirely wrong about morals. I doubt now if +it makes much difference whose philosophy you study on this subject. +Morals change like rules for pronunciation, and are more confusing to +learn than a foreign language. When you know the language you know how +to speak it, but one never gets a working knowledge of morals until he +learns how to compromise them with a good conscience and an upright +mind. It is an obtuse subject and requires much experience in honorable +living to master it. + +Another book I studied was Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem Delivered.’ Why I chose +this poem I cannot imagine, but it has left a trail of flaming angels +at war, memories of many flashing colors, and a sort of golden cadence +in my mind, although I cannot recall a single line. What I do recall, +with that mischievous retrospect we sometimes cast back upon our +earliest follies, is the way the good little lady teacher used to look +when I switched forward to read from this book. She used to turn her +head sidewise with that weary air polite people have when they must +listen to a bore. I always let her have as many pages of the stuff as +she would bear. + +I have spent a good deal of my life beyond the bounds of the times in +which we now live. Most people do who read and think without adding +the experience as a fact to their consciousness. If life is brief, I +shall never know it. I am not really old in years, but it seems to me +that I have been living for ages. Much of my youth was passed a long +way back in the centuries. I had a widely assorted companionship then, +reaching all the way back to Genesis. Besides the first and closest +relation I acquired with Nature, there were the prophets from the Old +Testament; pagans of one sort and another from histories of the Greeks +and Romans; heroes chosen from poetry and mythology; ghosts, angels of +the covenant, Jesus Christ, with a sort of secret hankering for many of +the Catholic saints, whose lives had drawn me to them. + +These people were amazingly real to me, because I did not know any +living people so intimately. The topography of my mind must have been +a curious map of ancient lands. Years later, when at last I saw Rome, +really it was a disappointment to me; the shattered shell of a great +civilization left half buried in the dust of centuries, a frailer, +unsubstantial city built into these ruins and filled with little men. +No gods on Mount Olympus. I am a Christian, but I did miss the altars +and oracles of those fine old deities in Rome! The sunken place where +the Forum had been, but no signs of Lycurgus or of Cæsar. + +We never shall know how many great men were created by their +biographers, but we may infer how insignificant these same men would be +twenty centuries later. I do not think Brutus or Mark Antony would cut +much of a figure in the Rome I saw. Still, I have a sort of sympathy +for Mussolini, not with him. A modern politician giving himself +the airs of a Roman tribune. Who knows but he may be the whelp of +atavism? Grant him a Plutarch for a biographer and he might shine for +centuries to come as a great man. After a while, it all depends on your +biographer whether you live in the memories of men or are forgotten +along with the rest of us. + +The people I knew in those days stalked through the Scriptures, or they +had been poets and gifted men, according to their biographers. + +I was not conscious of being different from others of my own age; but +I must have been, now that I consider what substance my mind was made +of, what scenes my imagination dwelt upon--creation, the slow-traveling +patriarch of the Scriptures. I was not allowed to read fiction, but I +read a translation of the tragedies by Sophocles. To this day I still +have a clearer memory of one scene in the ‘Œdipus at Colonus’ than of +anything I have ever seen acted upon the stage. Œdipus, eyes cut out +with Jocasta’s golden buckle, with bloody cheeks and beard, standing +above her dead body, and the halls of the palace filled with wailing +women and woe-stricken men. + +This is terrible stuff to be laid away in the mind of a young girl. +Later I added ‘Prometheus Bound.’ And after so long a time, out of the +memory of such scenes, I found out what tragedy is if you write it--an +act of fate which we perform unwillingly or without knowing what we do. +Terribly simple, in a bleak place, or in a place of great splendor like +a palace; all in the scene, not to be told in many words. + +Along with this I read Dean Swift, Sut Lovingood and Byron’s poetry. +Mother was no great reader. I doubt if she knew of some of the lands +through which Gulliver traveled, and my impression is that she thought +all poetry was virtuous. + +I must have acquired a certain boldness of mind from these various +sources in an age when the maiden mind was actually tainted with +modesty. In reading a Latin fable I was the only girl in the class +who would translate the word ‘_asinus_’ into the little English +word it means. I remember this instance on account of the blushing +embarrassment of my companions. I was not aware of the almost universal +existence of the vulgar. + + + + +XI + +THE TEACHER I HAD + + +I am passing briefly through the educational period of my life. It +was relatively unimportant. Textbooks may furnish a good setting-up +exercise for the strengthening of the mind; but if one takes them +seriously, or imagines they furnish him with the things he should know +along the way he must go, they are injurious. It is a fearful thing to +be stitched up and certified in a common-school education and later +sold out of a university into the markets for what you are worth or +not worth to the world. You have really no wisdom of your own. Your +mind is a short or long pattern of other men’s thoughts, theories, and +convictions. You aren’t anything but an addled egg of information, or a +good one that must be hatched later into a mind of your own. + +I am not opposed to education, you understand, but to the way we get +it. The best ones in my opinion are obtained as a man makes his own +living, by work and experience. I would rather learn from a great man +or woman traveling a wind-swept road than to study all the textbooks in +a school taught by a little fellow who knows the whole course. This is +my objection to schools, all the way from the primary grades through +the universities. The teachers may be scholars, but they are rarely +great men. They have nothing of themselves to impart that is worth +emulating. If so they do not impart it. Teaching is a business, not a +process of inspiration. + +The teachers I had must have been amazingly patient with me, but never +in the way of discipline. I reeked with learning in those days; I was +at the puppy-leg stage of my intellectual development, not steady in my +mental wobblings, but ravenous for the bones of other men’s thoughts +and too much absorbed to practice the pranks of the average young +person in school. + +I read more Latin than now is required in a college course, but it +was only a way I had of making the ancient dust fly through Virgil, +Horace, and the rest of those orators and poets who lay so safely +buried centuries deep in their fame. I doubt if I dealt honestly with +the moods and tenses of their verbs. There was some mystery about the +dative case which I never tried to fathom. If I derived any benefit +from these remarkably free translations, it was the practice I had +in the valiant and unscrupulous use of words for translating my own +thoughts later on. However it may be for others, this has been for me +more difficult than translating the most obtuse Latin sentence. Horace +was dead and could not protest; but being alive and exacting, I fared +worse at my own hands. To find the right words for an idea that ought +to have wings and tail feathers is an art I have never mastered. But +if by chance one such thought does rise living and winged, I have an +inkling of how the Lord must have felt when the first lark He made rose +upon its wings with a song in its throat. + +No human has the right to feel so gratified with his own performance, +but our real feelings are rarely governed so strictly by modesty as +we pretend they are when another man praises us. Modesty is often the +hand we throw up to ward off his smashing blow if he should suspect how +conceited we are. What I mean is that thoughts really are miracles, and +it gives you a secret sensation of amazement and joy to get one of the +things out of the far reaches of wisdom, disentangled from your past +and your hereafter and set down in a few simple words which bequeath it +to mankind. + +I have done a lot of presumptuous thinking along this line, sneaking +around the outer edges of creation, trying to stretch up to sensations +not really lawful to know. Sometimes, taking a look above and abroad in +a star-blossoming night, I miss the prideful humility of David when he +exclaimed, ‘When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the +moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou +art mindful of him? and the son of man that thou visitest him?’ What I +am tempted to wonder is how the Almighty feels when a brand-new star +slips out into his infinities and swings obedient forever to the first +sun that draws it. And how does He take it when one of these stars He +has ordained wobbles in its orbit and shoots off into space until it is +dissolved like a dust ball? + +I do not suppose it makes much difference. The thing is not wasted, +only a trifle more dust to be gathered in passing by the other planets. +Some time has elapsed since we have had a certified measurement of the +circumference of the earth. Apt as not it is a much larger heavenly +body than it used to be, or smaller, packed tighter from revolving +so fast for so many million years. We cannot rise far enough above +it or scratch deep enough into it to find out much about it, and our +thoughts remain as far from His thoughts as the East is from the West, +and God still is the name of what we do not know, but must believe to +live. Still, I have this hankering after the streaming glories of His +mind. I do not care a thing about being a little lower than the angels +and crowned with glory. These are competitive values. What I want is +the power to think myself into the order and majesty of His peace, so +filled with energy and what we call love, which undoubtedly must be the +law of the whole thing. + +Prophets always look ahead when they prophesy. No man can look behind +him and tell what might have happened, because what did happen has +obscured the view. I have no idea what kind of mind and life I might +have had if I had enjoyed the same religious freedom in my youth that I +had in choosing the texts I studied. My guess now is that I should have +been a very different person, and not nearly so legible morally. Still, +if I had had more religious liberty during these formative years, I +might have escaped that tightening of the conscience into a sense of +guilt from which I have suffered most of my life. + + + + +XII + +THE ‘REBEL’S’ CHILD + + +My memory is eclectic, so to speak, and would never retain what was +repugnant to me, especially in the way of education. I have forgotten +most of the multiplication table. The algebraic figure of speech, +_×_, is still an unknown quantity to me, though I remember passing +creditable examinations in this study. There must have been something +wrong with the teachers I had. + +Ridpath’s ‘History of the United States’ was the first book I ever +read. Vanity was the inspiration of this undertaking. I had been +brought up on glorious family legends and I expected to find the +volume thickly populated with my ancestors. But it was not. This is +characteristic of historians; they omit many men famous in their +own families. I think it accounts for the growth and development of +the Colonial Dames and the various orders of Daughters. You may set +out your family tree in any one of these organizations and enjoy +the distinction of being somebody in spite of the negligence of the +historians. + +After all, I was destined never to finish reading Ridpath’s history. +I was halted at the Battle of Gettysburg on account of a terrible and +unexpected censorship. + +Father had been such a good soldier that he was never obliged to boast +of his war record until he was a very old man and was compelled to +fan up his past glories to confound the current generation of his +posterity who fought in gas masks from dugouts during the World War. +I was therefore a disciple of Ridpath without sectional animus. I was +ignorant of the opprobrious reputation the word ‘rebel’ had in the +South. The probability is that I had never heard it spoken, as bad +language is not used in the best society. + +One night we were at the supper table. I was still sitting on the +dictionary in the bottom of my chair in order to be sufficiently +elevated for the proper use of my knife and fork. But I had been +reading Ridpath that day and suddenly showed forth with some childish +remark about what had been done to the rebel army at Gettysburg. + +It was as if I had cast a bomb in the midst of this peaceful scene. +Mother turned pale and stared at me as if she felt a serpent in her +bosom. + +‘Rebel?’ shouted father. + +I died beneath his gaze, but kept my eyes open, fascinated by the noble +rage that seemed to transform him. He stood up, cast his chair from +him, ground his teeth, swept a gesture that made the candle flicker, +folded his arms and strode back and forth, lashing the tail of his fury. + +He called upon God to witness his sorrow that a man should live to hear +his own child call him a rebel! + +I keened my nose and wept, still wondering why rebel should be a bad +name. + +Father laid his hand upon my head and forgave me with a sob. After all, +he said, it was not my fault that an honest man who had suffered, +bled and died twice for his country, should be set down in history as +a rebel. His unfortunate child was the victim of a partisan historian. +Where was that book? + +I slid hastily from my seat and ran to fetch the iniquitous volume. +Mother had purchased it from a book agent without suspecting how the +author had branded her husband and all brave men of the South. + +Father opened it, stared at the printed pages, wrinkled his nose, +snarled his lip as if he literally smelled the meanness of ignoble +truth, gripped it in his two hands, tore it asunder and tossed +it through the open window behind him, the pages still tittering +maliciously as they fluttered down. + +Followed the first and only address I ever heard on the Lost Cause, +impassioned, and, I still believe, veracious. He let me have the +facts--state sovereignty, slavery, secession--his own part in the +struggle. He opened his wounds and bled afresh. Did I see his +feet--halting before me and standing at attention upon these members. +He had marched without shoes through the snows of Virginia and left his +tracks there written in blood! He had slept in this snow without so +much as a shawl to cover him. He had fought all day and all night when +he was sick from hunger. And he’d never been shot in the back! Only to +be besmirched with the title of ‘rebel’! + +Socrates about to die had nothing on him in the way of eloquence, +though he may have surpassed father in the logic of his defense. But +watch the world; it is ever more easily stirred and convinced by +oratory than by logic. + +Sitting with my hands clasped in an ecstasy of all emotions attendant +upon such a ministry, I was born again and confirmed in the doctrines +of my own people. I have let it all go long since. I have praised +Lincoln and Grant--not Sherman, of course, though he may deserve it +from another point of view--but it has been, you may say, in the way of +good sportsmanship. The fact that the South was wrong will never make +the methods of the North seem right to me. I doubt now if any means +used which result in war can be right. It comes to me now that the men +of the North and the men of the South never were enemies. They fought +like growing brothers during the Civil War, leaving no malice behind. +It was the ethics practiced by the carpetbaggers that estranged the two +sections. + + + + +XIII + +NEW ENGLAND AND THE SOUTH + + +I can look back through the whole of my life at incidents like this +hour with my father which bent the twig of my mind and determined the +very nature of my thinking even after I outgrew my prejudices. Thus +to this day it impresses me as a queer coincidence that altruism, of +all things, flared up about that time in New England. Very few of us +realize the fact, but it is a sort of instinct to cover the deepest +transgression with a canopy of high-mindedness. If you are a man, it +is safer and more veracious not to speak too nobly of your own nature, +nor to spread the wing of your soul too far. The weather changes and +you come down in a bad place. Here in the South we are not good; but +that is the point--we do not pretend to be. Instead of hiding behind +altruism, we have permitted the world to capitalize our faults. This +has been good for us. We have fewer faults than if we had lived +according to a self-deceiving pose. + +Time has proved us. + +Personally, I prefer to have descended from those Virginia colonists +who came to this country of their own free will, like hardy +swashbuckling adventurers. They appear to me to have had more ease +of mind, better manners, and finer qualities than fighting over +doctrines ever imparts. But the Pilgrims, who came to escape religious +persecution, were very good people. They were a bit wasp-waisted in +their pieties, but they had a sublime courage for enduring hardship. +They were the raw-boned element of Protestantism, essential to the +life of a new nation in a new hemisphere, and if it had not been for +persecution in England they would not have come. This country might +have been settled as it is now being gorged by the overflow populations +of Europe. Such people never make a civilization. Their instinct is +to destroy it. So we must be thankful that enough of the hardiest and +bravest Protestants were driven out to start life decently here, thus +giving us two hundred years in which to mold and harden a civilization +needed now to withstand the disasters of Europe. + +But these people were encompassed about by the will of God. They were +obliged by the everlasting order of things to survive their faults +and to acquire the right virtues, as we all must do or perish. So the +New England colonists stopped hanging witches and modified their blue +laws. And the Virginia blades settled down and went to work. But they +must have suffered cruelly for the harshness of their beliefs. History +proves that the effects of theology differ dangerously from those of +religion upon the characters of men. One reduces religion to formulas, +doctrines, and creeds; the other lifts men by some simple wisdom of the +heart to a sort of nobler goodness, kin to God. + +We may perform one of those acts of impromptu justice called a +lynching, which is reprehensible, but not so bad as the torturing and +slaying of forty innocent men by mob violence, crimes that are more +and more frequently committed in other sections. Many a time men and +women of New England have felt obliged to tell me that they would not +dare to live in the lawless South, no doubt with the best altruistic +intentions of bringing home to me the realization of the dangerous +conditions we have produced down here. Now it turns out that the South +is the safest place to live in this country. It is the wisest place +to build factories and start industries, because it is easier to +obtain labor and control labor here. We are about to be swamped and +capitalized by money and immigrants from the North. It is a terrible +situation, because there is no way of limiting the quota, say from New +England, as the national Government limits those from desperate Europe. +Personally, I prefer the peace and poverty we now enjoy to the thrift, +energy, and wealth these people insure. Presently we shall have here +the same disorders and problems that greed and altruism have bred in +the North, East, and West. Time changes the condition of people, but +not their nature or their disposition. The people of the North, whether +they are Christians, capitalists, or the sons of carpetbaggers, have a +talent for meddling with the social, intellectual, and commercial life +of the South, and the nobler they are the more they meddle. It is one +of the characteristics of greatness of soul. This provincial state of +mind is bound to affect the quality of their piety. + +They have more sense than we have, but they are pathetically deficient +in that deeper wit of understanding. They understand nothing but +their own minds and their own wills. They are artlessly hypocritical +in their relations to us. Having failed to uplift their own masses +spiritually or morally, they are on a religious trek constantly toward +this section. Their world is not our world; their God is not our God. +We are a warmer, kinder, more spiritually minded people, therefore more +patient with their chastening efforts in our behalf than, say, the West +would be. + +The awful thing always characteristic of them is their desire and +determination to govern and take all the credit for everything +accomplished. I do not think a union between the Northern and Southern +Methodist Church would be any more successful, except in a financial +way, than any other government set up by a foreign people who had the +balance of power. And religion consists in no such circumstance. I +have my very grave doubts as to whether the great body of Methodists +in the South favor this contemplated corporation of the two churches. +The thing is being engineered by the politicians and princes of these +respective organizations. + + + + +XIV + +CERTAIN LIES + + +According to my way of thinking, one of the most engaging charms I +had as a child was the simplicity with which I lied. I was totally +deficient in the arts of deceit, but the slightest moral pressure +from mother sent me flying to cover behind a perfectly transparent +falsehood. I have known many a man to practice prevarication in his +pacifying relations to a woman. They choose this method of childish +fiction in dealing with women through some simplicity of their own +psychology. And it is the secret which nearly every woman keeps that +her experience with her youngest child and her husband are very similar +in this matter. But no such thing is characteristic of the pussyfooting +feminine mind. We are much smarter in merely twisting the truth than +in lying. Maybe I was too young then to have developed the gender of +my faculties. My peculiarity was that once I had committed myself to +a falsehood I would not confess the truth, nor any part of the truth. +Neither prayers nor punishment could move me. My own notion is that +this was due to some kind of misdirected self-respect. To this day I +have a well-bred horror of confessing. + +But mother believed that it was innate depravity and took measures +accordingly. One day when I had told a fib and stuck to it, much +evidence to the contrary, she took the Bible and read from it that +passage which says, ‘All liars have their portion in hell.’ + +I was not the same after that. I had a conscience which humbled me, and +a very real fear of the place lurid with flames where the worm dieth +not and liars inherit a certain portion. I was the wicked. My sins +accompanied me like a still, small tune. I began the hectic life of +indulging in sprees of goodness. I would be very industrious or very +thoughtful for a day, but I never could hold any high moral note in +living. To this day I hate objective righteousness as every true artist +hates drudgery. I am not denying that faith without works is dead; +but good deeds, even the very virtues by which you are recognized and +praised, frequently adorn a Pharisee. + +I have often wondered if all children pass through a period of joyfully +achieving innocence. They are not good, but what freedom there must +be in not being able to think evil! Maybe Shakespeare was right: +‘’Tis thinking makes it so.’ Certainly it is written of children in +the Scriptures, ‘Of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ Which suggests an +idea of Heaven I have never seen advanced by a theologian--that it is +a place of infinite relief where one may be as unscrupulously busy as +a child without doing anything wrong. But we could not risk living +in this present world with a generation of such Kingdom-of-Heaven +saints. A man with that much innocence in him would be an outlaw. +So it may have been all for the best, the mill and anguish I passed +through getting my mind and virtues to fit me and that sum of human +heinousness so essential to surviving here. + +Guilt must be the parent of the moral sense. We are not born with +it. We are born innocent and very dangerous. Then slowly, or quite +unexpectedly, we receive that first spiritual perception of ourselves; +a guilty feeling that weighs us down, never again to be so free, never +again to be the same assured heir of all the stars and half brothers to +the angels of God. We call it the voice of conscience, but I am telling +you it is the sense of guilt, a ticker in your breast warning you of +the change in the value of your virtues, recording the loss of one. +It is a good thing, but very painful. I think most of the activities +we engage in are due to the effort to escape it. One of the salvation +promises is that we shall be delivered from it in the world to come. +I do not know about that. I have prayed so often to be delivered from +my sins and trespasses, it is inconceivable to me that I could develop +very virtuously anywhere without them to brace me morally. I believe in +eternal life, but I should feel queer, finished and laid aside, without +my temptations to worry me onward and upward from within. + +Far be it from me to question the goodness of God because evil +is present with us! We should never have the honor of choosing +righteousness for ourselves without it. Who would be charitable if +no one was in need of charity? Who would know how to practice mercy, +forgiveness, and long-suffering if there were no faults or weakness in +others to forgive? And how in heaven shall we be able to use all these +virtues so hardly acquired here if there is no occasion to exercise +them in heaven? How can we possibly enjoy ourselves where all the other +saints are as good as we are and no distinctions made? + +We derive more satisfaction than we realize from successful competition +with our fellow men in righteousness. I offer no solution; I merely ask +these questions of those people who look forward with joy to eternal +life without one single familiar thing in prospect to occupy their +minds during this infinite stretch of time. As for me, I trust the Lord +to make my everlasting life even more interesting than this short one, +which has certainly been a feverishly exciting experience. I cannot +help hoping there will be a few of the dearer sinners in heaven upon +whom one may practice a little encouragement. And I hope there will be +tremendous saints also whose attainments far outshine mine, so that +I may have the honor of associating with them, as we are proud to be +recognized here by great men who have surpassed us in the victories and +laurels they have won. + + + + +XV + +REPUTATION + + +We make reputations long before we suspect that we have any such +comet’s tail of public opinion attached to us. We leave ridiculous +caricatures of ourselves along the way, which illustrated tragedies in +our lives at the time. Later we come upon these records and pictures +and are rarely ever pleased. But somebody has kept them for you, and +somebody will remind you of them one day when you are sitting on your +pinnacle. + +I have been painfully reminded of such things, such as the time in +my early school days when I wore the wrong little girl’s bonnet and +came home with boogers in my hair, the frightful ordeal my head passed +through, and mother’s tears. She was a woman who made mountains of her +mole-hills and then climbed them, dragging me, miserable, after her. +I lived a very sensational life with her morally on this account. I +remember the almost fainting state of humiliation I fell in on this +occasion, because it seemed I was the only child in the whole history +of her family that had ever contracted these disgraceful insects. I +have also been obliged to recall how I learned to play cards under the +schoolhouse, never having seen such things before, nor dreaming that +they were the devil’s own deck of sins. This business lasted a week, +and I cleaned up all the available property of my companions, chiefly +slate pencils. Then one of the heaviest losers virtuously betrayed me +to my grandfather, a stern old man who knew more than I did about the +iniquitous gift of gambling in my immediate family. + +There was a terrible scene, and I was obliged to stand beside the +marble-top center table in the parlor, lay my hand on the Bible and +swear solemnly never to play cards again. I have kept this vow. The +little girl who betrayed me is a grandmother now, an exemplary woman +who indulges in nothing worse than a social game of bridge. + +I might easily have forgotten these and many other diminishing +incidents of my childhood but for the fact that they are treasured +in the archives of the family with parsimonious care. If you wish +to collect complimentary material for a record of yourself, never +appeal to your relations. They may be proud of you as an asset to the +family name, but they have a gift for remembering your gawky period +privately, the follies and faults you committed and have forgotten. +You may have come up in the world with a laurel on your brow, but if +you go back home forty years later wearing two laurels on your brow, +and a noble expression, they will miss the point. What you are only +serves to remind them of the little snub-nosed girl you used to be. +They are determined to remember that you are dust. No matter how well +you conduct yourself, you cannot fix their attention on your virtues or +your fame, but they remember how you looked in a long-tailed ruffled +basque and full skirt when you were eight years old. Or how you grew up +to be very sarcastic, and the impudent thing you said to the Baptist +preacher who wanted to proselyte you just after you were converted, +meaning that the sting of my tongue had not been changed by conversion. + +I do not think they mean any harm. They are simply keeping you where +you belong in the family no matter where you belong in literature. +Still, I would have preferred not to have become such a surprise to +these people who knew me in the beginning. It does seem queer that none +of them suspected the kind of youngster I really was. I could write a +very serviceable anthology on family relations; but it is wiser not to +do so, because some of them are bound to survive me and have the last +word. It would be truthful but misleading. + + + + +XVI + +‘BEAUTIFUL AND PRECIOUS’ + + +The older I grow the more beautiful and precious life seems to me. +The time will come, I know, when there will be nothing else to pray +for except life and everlasting life. Give me that and an even break +between joys and vicissitudes, the same right I have here to choose +goodness, and I would cheerfully risk existence longer than a pious +saint could stand with folded wings singing in heaven. But I know very +little about this. Maybe I shall be changed when my corruption puts +on incorruption, acclimated to all this music and brightness and the +high level of perfect goodness. In the meantime, surely the Lord will +respect my honesty in clinging to my human feelings, since I am subject +to them according to His will. + +I do not know how it is, but there is a doctrine which teaches +damnation like consequences in all the churches with which I +am familiar, either by election or predestination--terms which +distinctly imply the exclusion from salvation of those not elected or +predestined. I can find no Scripture in the Bible that justifies these +interpretations without giving the passage a theological twist. The +Methodist church, which makes such generous provision for salvaging +and saving those who fall from grace, is not without blame in this +matter. It covers the whole ground for the doctrines of election and +predestined damnation, or salvation as the case may be, with the +doctrine of apostasy. The only difference is that an apostate chooses +his own fate and is not predestined to it from the foundation of the +world. This is only apparently putting the blame where it belongs. The +threat hidden beneath is that the Lord will stand just so much, then +His spirit ceases to strive with a man. When you think about it, this +is the worst fate of all. What is to defend a person highly sensitized +spiritually from the perpetual fear of being forsaken in his sins? + +I had my first lesson in theology very early--religion is something +else. If you have the mind to believe, the Scriptures are singularly +clear; but only a student and a scholar can make heads and tails of +theology. It is a sort of puzzle the wavering minds of men have made +from the Word of God, to the end that sinners have been exalted by +a creed, saints burned at the stake for the sake of a doctrine, and +thousands obliged to flee from one country to another to save their +necks and their liberty of conscience. + +Maybe all that was for the best. Certainly, if you give it time, the +worst turns out for the best. + +Mother was the kind of Methodist who could afford to believe without +much personal anxiety in this doctrine. She was a truly good woman, +with an Old Testament mind. Somewhere along the way she warned me +of the danger. She impressed me with the fact that if I hardened my +heart the spirit would cease to strive with me. The time came when God +abandoned the willful sinner and left him to his fate. I went around +with this red-hot coal of fire on my spiritual back for a long time. +I acquired habits of thought then that worked havoc with my peace +for half a lifetime. I have never entirely escaped the fear that I +may turn out to be an apostate after all. It seizes upon me like a +malady. I am troubled by the realization that the spirit does not seem +to strive with me as it did when I was younger. This is a fearfully +lonely feeling, and not rational. But sanity, in my opinion, is an +achievement. I have seen very few well-balanced people in my life who +were not dunces. + +I was finally soundly converted and joined the church. At the time +that experience seemed more miraculous than it does now; I have been +born again so many times since. First I had to adjust myself to the +heavenly mind. Then I must adjust myself to the ministry of my husband. +Finally, after his death, I had to be born again to the world, capable +of dealing with it sensibly and honorably. My experience is that this +last requires more divine inspiration than being a private Christian +protected by all the defenses that marriage and religion raise about a +woman’s life. + + + + +XVII + +THE WORKING OF LOVE + + +When I was nine years old I remember a certain thing that happened. I +was sitting somewhere behind the old field schoolhouse with three other +little girls. We were making wishes and telling our fortunes by pulling +the petals from daisies. I made a wish and tried it out by the daisy +petals. But I would not tell what it was. + +‘I know,’ said one little girl. + +‘You never could guess,’ I retorted. + +She bent over and whispered, ‘You wished for a husband!’ + +It turned out that we had all wished for husbands. We were the +simplest, most innocent of little creatures, at the doll-mothering, +playhouse stage of development, totally ignorant of love and lovers. +But we felt the need of husbands, as, I suppose, the Eastern Hemisphere +might have longed for the Western Hemisphere to make the world +complete. We felt incomplete. + +The florescence of nature came to me as it does to all youth, +unbeknowingly. What I remember about that is the quantities of romantic +poetry I consumed, practicing at the same time a very strong virginal +antagonism toward young men. + +At last love and the lover did come to me. I have written all the +experience out in another place, and of my marriage at the age of +seventeen. + +Love does something to the mind. But it is something that you cannot +use so long as it lasts as a vital part of your experience. During the +first ten years of my married life it seemed to close the intellectual +pores of my mind. I lived according to that definition of faith which +says it is ‘the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things +not seen.’ I passed through many joys, poverty, fear, and great +tribulations according to that ritual of one sentence. I did not think +in the terms of ideas, but only in the terms of love. I was guided +entirely by my husband’s mind, which was one you may say literally +stricken by the Holy Spirit. He was a preacher and made only one use of +his mind, that of finding God and teaching sinners the way of salvation. + +This was not as you may suppose a drab and monotonous existence, but +one filled with strange and lofty experiences. + +I was destined to discover that mother’s ideas of religion were coldly +platonic as compared with the passionate fervor of my circuit rider in +his devotion to God. Mother believed in behaving yourself and keeping +the Commandments and walking according to the ordinances of the church +to which she belonged. He believed in literally living the life of +Jesus Christ--and could not do it. This brought on the struggle that +lasted for him more than twenty years. I tried to keep up with him. The +first time he fasted and prayed all day after we were married, I fasted +also, but could not pray that long. Protracted prayers are a mystery +to me. I can simply fall upon my knees and let that be a prayer any +time. What is the good of words to God? They are symbols we use to one +another because we neither know nor are known to one another as He +knows us. + +This was the last time I ever fasted, because at the end of the day I +was exhausted, nervous and in no Christian mood. + +I cannot tell in years how long it took me to do it, but I finally +adjusted myself about my husband like a small protesting world and so +stood the siege. Love held us as close together as if we had one heart +in common. But I do not remember that we ever had the same mind about +anything. The point at last with me was to get mine disentangled from +the bondage of his brave, beautiful, but impractical religious beliefs. +I never succeeded. All these years after his death I am still more +conscious of the truth that led him than of my own right mind. I am +still beholden to his God; I have never got round to serving my own God +with a free mind and a comfortable, cheerful spirit. I must fall into a +state of anguish once in so often, make sacrifices that do not ease the +pain, and go about wondering where the witness of my spirit is. I have +the feeling sometimes that at last I may be dragged through the gates +of heaven, spent, woeful, and humble, by the very power of his spirit; +that I shall not stride in with my hat on and my head up, bearing a +good conscience with me in token of a well-spent life. + +If you have been born in the twentieth century and have a good deal +of human dust sticking to your soul, if you really love the world, +remembering that God made it and blessed it, as others think they love +only Heaven; if you like human beings, good and bad, better than you do +saints--it is a queer feeling to know that you are forever involved in +a mediæval religion of asceticism, sacrifice, and sufferings. + +By this time it is my very nature to work up hardships and great +spiritual struggles for myself which only involve me deeper and higher +in the will of my husband’s God--all the time remembering the child I +used to be, so sure of a kinder God, so peacefully at home beneath His +kind heavens. It is a queer situation which will end very creditably, I +suppose, with my funeral. + + + + +XVIII + +VENTURES IN SCRIPTURES + + +I was eleven years younger than my husband, being really in the +plastic period of adolescence. He was the gentlest of men, but he +had a brilliant and mature mind, a queer temple of intellectual +loveliness with pure classical lines. He did his thinking as a master +architect does his drawing, with delicacy and precision. He was never +overbearing, but the elegance, sweetness, and sincerity of his mind +confounded my younger wits. I supposed that a man who could think like +that must be correct in his conclusions, and for something like ten +years I surrendered my own mind and left him to do our thinking. Most +of it was pious, but always informed with that effulgence of the spirit +peculiar to the rarer saints. My impression now is that I became a +very good young person, by ear, so to speak, and that I was strangely +stupid. The mental background I had acquired from much ravenous +reading before my marriage faded. I forgot Tasso’s great poetry and +settled down on the hillside of a mountain circuit with Lundy and +the beatitudes. Maybe this was good for me spiritually, but it was +diminishing mentally, which, in my opinion, was never meant to be the +effect of any Scriptures upon the mind. + +Lundy was not a practical man spiritually. I remember distinctly how +determined he was to remain poor in spirit that he might become one +of those legitimate heirs to the Kingdom of Heaven. I imitated his +poverty here with the same artless sincerity a child imitates an older +person, though I could never put much feeling into the idea of being +poor in spirit. The effect upon him was that with his nature elegant to +the point of fastidiousness, and his scholarly mind, he walked humbly +hand in hand with the meanest of his flock, making himself literally +one of the least of them. + +It was all wrong. I call your attention to the fact that Jesus went up +into a mountain and set Him above the multitude before He began that +great Sermon on the Mount. And when He finished it and came down the +great multitude followed Him. I do not suppose He was jostled by that +crowd. He was apart and far beyond them, and so held Himself there and +everywhere else. It will not do to be intimately poor in spirit with +people who have no sense of your meaning. If you do they will keep you +poorer than the Scriptures require both in spirit and fact. + +Lundy was the same way about that beatitude which recommends those +that mourn for they shall be comforted. We were rich in love and peace +and were being as good as it is possible for human beings to live, +but he would mourn in spite of everything for his transgressions, any +transgression he could remember. He was the most unforgiving man of +himself I ever knew. + +In this connection I remember the first theological ruction we had +after our marriage. He had harked up one of his former sins and was +making himself miserable about it. I tried every way to smooth over +his transgression--in vain. Finally I lost patience and called his +attention to the generous forgiving Gospel he preached to other +sinners. Did he believe he preached the truth? Certainly he did, was +his reply. + +‘Well then,’ I retorted, ‘why should you malign the goodness of God by +imagining you yourself are not forgiven according to the same Gospel?’ + +This was one of the many clinches we had over these beatitudes. He said +that a man’s conscience must be his guide in such matters. He reserved +the right to repent of his own sins! He went on to imply that I might +be morally obtuse. This was the straw that broke my camel’s back. I +retorted that I was tired, and I supposed the Lord was tired of the +vain repetition of his repentance over some little dead and forgotten +transgression. I thought such conduct was morally debilitating. From +this we had hot words and I flung myself upon the bed and wept bitterly. + +My belief is that I had some glimmerings even as far back as that +of the true meaning of these particular Scriptures. I know now that +they are emergency remedies for the soul and not designed to create a +perpetual state of mind. The effort to practice them all the time will +victimize any man in his relations to his fellow men. I feel better +most of the time, but now and then I have known what it is to be poor +in spirit before the Lord on the occasion of some defalcation in virtue +or patience or courage; but it is not my idea to tell any one else +about it. I do my mourning and hurry on as quickly as possible to +the more cheerful part of this beatitude which says ‘for they shall +be comforted,’ feeling that I do myself credit by taking the Lord at +His word as soon as possible. I have practiced swiftness in acts of +faith and found it profitable. If the Bible means anything at all, +you have a right to believe it. That is the test of the truth of the +Scriptures--believe them, and if they do not come true you have the +right to deny them. I have never had the chance to deny a single one, +though of course I have lacked the spiritual capacity to try out the +whole thing. + +But there is that one which says, ‘Blessed are the meek’--meaning +teachable--‘for they shall inherit the earth.’ It is not my nature to +be teachable, but I have been in such tight quarters all my life that +I have been obliged to learn a great deal with meekness. And it is a +fact, I have inherited more of the earth than I deserve. To be strictly +honest, I have never hungered and thirsted after righteousness to the +point of egotism characteristic of some saints. I always had a feeling +of modest limitations along this line; but now that I think back to +those first years of my married life, it seems to be anguishing and +pitiful the way I strove to be good. It was so terribly necessary if I +was to keep up with Lundy. + +The motive was a trifle crooked, as you will see; but the Lord honored +it as He did that woman’s faith who had the issue of blood, which was +an unintelligent faith. For as I look back now it seems to me that I +was pretty well filled with righteousness then according to the other +end of that beatitude. With me, being merciful is not a virtue. It +comes too easy for me to have deserved much in return, like some kind +of happy weakness of character. Still, I have finally been overwhelmed +with mercies. I feel sometimes that I might have used them to a better +advantage further back in the years when my needs were very great. But +the point I make is that this Scripture was fulfilled. I have even been +pure enough in heart at rare intervals to see God. But not often when +I was up and shining. Usually it would be when I was passing through +some valley of the shadow of great grief. After the pain is over I +have always been able to look back and know that sorrows are much more +purifying and elevating to the mind than joys. + +But when it comes to that verse which says ‘Blessed are the +peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God,’ it has +depended upon the circumstances whether I came out of the scrimmage +like such a child. I have known myself to forgo the blessing and refuse +to make a peace that left me in the lurch. In that case I hunted up +some such Scripture as an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, and +took what satisfaction I could get from that. Never yet have I parted +with an eye or a tooth, or turned the other cheek except to my Lord, +who is the only one who has the right to smite me. + +These, of course, are my favorable experiences with the truth of the +Bible. I have suffered a-plenty from the unfavorable passages, such as, +‘Judge not.... For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged.’ +I have had this experience a thousand times. Some one who knows me, +or a stranger of whom I have never heard, rises up and passes judgment +upon me as if it was a harsh and sacred duty he performed--without +ever suspecting, I suppose, that he is measuring to me again unfair +and superficial criticisms I have passed on other people. They do have +somewhat the advantage in this business, because there are so many more +of them than there is of me, and one person cannot spare the time to +pass as many adverse judgments as one author endures. Even at that, I +fare very well on account of getting so many more favorable judgments +than I deserve from the same sources. + +I was so much involved in the purely spiritual struggle of trying to +live above and without the world until I was thirty years old that I +became a sort of ignoramus. I cannot now recall what were the social +and intellectual conditions of this period. I remember who the great +preachers were, but not the name of a single statesman or public +servant except one old congressman who used to do his electioneering at +Sunday-school picnics. Readers of the circuit-rider stories must have +observed that these are records in religious living to the exclusion of +all earthly interests. + +I suppose this is the reason why even ‘My Book and Heart’ produces +the impression upon some readers of being the chronicle of a narrow +and dreary life. I do not think it is, you understand. It seems to me +that almost any person with a provincial mind might fail to appreciate +the literature of a foreign country with which they were totally +unfamiliar. The spiritual world which I inhabited at that time is +not known now by a great many people otherwise very well informed. +They are unable therefore to appreciate the vividness and romance of +such an existence. It seems drab to them because they live in sums and +dividends and secular realities and the same kind of diversions, not in +sublime illusions. + +But try chasing an impractical saint up one Jacob’s ladder after +another for twelve years and find out for yourself what a varied and +stimulating experience it is. Hunting big game in a jungle is nothing +to the risks you take and the rarefied hardships you endure and the +keen relief you feel now and then between adventures. I cannot claim +that it was mentally exhilarating, but I developed considerable wing +power of the spirit very helpful to me when I finally did go back, pick +up my mind, shake some of the star dust off, and begin to use it with a +good conscience for my own benefit in this present world. + +But never so long as I live can I escape the tragic effects upon my +life of these early years. My mind is free now, and I can reason as +clearly as the next one about what a dear and blessed gift from God +the world has been to me; but in my heart I seem still to belong back +there in the years upon the lower rungs of that ever-upward-stretching +ladder I used to climb toward Lundy’s God. I cannot get over feeling +hard pressed spiritually sometimes, as if I was in dangerous need of +chastening--I suppose the steel bridge never forgets the furnace in +which its girders were melted and forged; I would give anything now +and then to rest from this smelting sense of God and be comfortable in +my carnal mind, but I never can be. + + + + +XIX + +THE WISDOM OF THE WORD + + +What I have tried to prove is this: The Word of God is a prophecy of +us in all of our manifestations and it records the laws of life and +conduct from which no man can escape. Whether he is a good one or a +bad one, he will find his portrait drawn there and a complete prophecy +of what his fate will be. It never fails; it always comes true, for +the atheist, agnostic, or spiritualistic sorcerer no less than for the +saint. + +Just look yourself up in that Book, and if you know how, you will +find yourself predicted and recorded in it down to the very nose of +your nature. Set down a list of your virtues and look up the rewards +promised in return for these virtues, and you will know for certain +what your dividends in living will be if you hold onto your assets. +Make a list of your vices and weaknesses. Then, if you have the +courage, look up the consequences which follow them as recorded in this +Book and you will know long before judgment day what will happen to you +even in this present world. ‘He that liveth by the sword shall perish +by the sword.’ + +Even if one does not feel the keen edge of the blade in his breast, he +is cut down one way or the other, and knows it whether any one else +suspects it or not. He may be a rich man and a philanthropist, and +he may get a great send-off, with a splendid funeral and a mausoleum +set over his grave; but if his fortune was built upon widows’ mites +and the bread taken from the poor, if he swindled and cheated, if he +practiced usury, he went down to his dust a very poor man and knows it. +Because the Word is written in him and only copied in the Bible. + +The Baptists are not so far wrong about their notions of predestination +and election, though far be it from me to travel my days encompassed +about by their doctrines. That would be too nerve-racking to the mortal +mind. Give me a creed with more elbow room in it for my transient +transgressions and more encouragement for believing I have a chance to +save my own soul by growing my own virtues according to the Word, which +I could not have if I got the notion that I was damned or elected from +the foundation of the world. + +The place where the makers of these sterner creeds miss their cue, in +my opinion, is when they fail to realize that the Scriptures are a sort +of key to which we may refer and find the answer to the equation we +are. They contain the history of all dead men and the prophecies of all +living men and men to come. The smallest little squinched-up fraction +of a saint can look in that Book and find out exactly what he is equal +to and even how to become the whole unit of one. But we turn the trick. +We do make ourselves according to the mind we use in the business. I +do not know any more terrifyingly liberal provision made by Providence +in our behalf. I have often wondered why the preachers do not say more +about it, for it is far more convincing than the damnation gospel with +which they used to set us afire. + +I had no such wisdom of the Word as this, however, in the days of +which I am now writing. I was a sort of Protestant Catholic, if you +know what I mean. I accepted Lundy’s interpretations of the Gospels as +a devout Catholic gets his from the priest. And I was not very much +worried about not being able to live up to his ideals in the Christian +life. Who has ever kept pace with the piety of a good priest? I did +not feel obliged to do so. I existed in a state of mental obedience +to certain religious convictions which were not my own. This was bad +for me mentally and morally. I had considerable natural ability, but I +remember distinctly being afraid to cut loose and think thoughts kin +to my kind of mind lest I should sin against my husband’s faith. The +virtues that one gets under such conditions do not really belong to +her, but to the church or priest who imposes them. You are trained to +them as a leopard is trained to jump through fiery hoops in a circus +without singeing his tail. Without suspecting such a thing, I was that +artificial in my Christian life during this period, a pathetically +accomplished trick saint. + +I have sometimes wondered if the stampede of human souls from the +tyranny of creeds accounts for the strange mental and moral disorders +of our times, and that presently, being as we are, forever immortal +and close kin to God, we shall discover righteousness for ourselves +and choose goodness as the great vocation of man, as it surely is. +One thing is certain--in every age when the people have not been +permitted to study the Scriptures, but have been obliged to accept +a church’s interpretation of the Word, there followed a period of +animal simplicity of mind in the masses, ignorance, loss of ambition, +initiative, and all the poverty, follies, and meanness of mind which +issue from such conditions. + +Without every kind of liberty, men must perish, and they do. The +only knowledge that really counts in character is the knowledge we +get for ourselves tested by experience. This is the reason why some +very cultured people remain so ignorant and ineffective. The only law +that ever will actually control men is the will to obey their own +conscience. Therefore the primary object of every preacher and teacher +should be to set up the ideal of courage and an honest mind. Such +people are safe citizens in this world and the next one. But they are +not safe under doctrines, creeds, and laws arbitrarily imposed, whether +they get them from the Bible or the Bolsheviks. + +Consider the condition of our own country now. The democratic form of +government is the best form for patriots. We were patriots when we +signed the Declaration of Independence. Now we are not in principle or +conduct. We are getting a commercialized conscience and covering the +snare of it with philanthropy. So it turns out that the Constitution we +made back there in the days when we were plain Christian patriots does +not control the mind or illustrate the character of this nation now. + +A monarchal form of government would be no better. Mankind seems to be +outgrowing kings, not by growing better but less good. We are turning +our back upon conscience and the Ten Commandments. No system of laws +will govern such a people. I do not know what the political economists +think of this situation, but as an old woman who looks at it through +the passages of many Scriptures, I see the shadows of terrible events +lengthening across the world. It is coming, that fearful punishment men +inflict upon men for their sins. It is coming because it is not in us +to endure too long our own unrighteousness. This is the law of moral +economy written in us which we cannot escape. + +The big knot in this whole problem is human nature. But once in so +often we do untie it and straighten things out, not so much by the +grace of God, but by the perverted righteousness of ferocity. Then we +react and turn out once more to be the children of God--not lost after +all, only chastened. + +The secret of all things is as far from us as the East is from the West +and as His ways are from our ways. Therefore, the higher standard we +reach in pure romance the nearer we are to truth. I prefer Milton’s +poetry, the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, my choice of the Psalms, +and a few of the elder hymns to anything Mr. H. G. Wells can think or +write about the beginnings of life or the history of Christianity. It +is interesting copy and contains much entrancing information, but Mr. +Wells has too much sense and too little faith in the right direction +to be the medium of the Lord’s divine illusion, which clothes us like +a garment and is the only protection we have against the destructive +rationalism of the mortal mind. + +We have daily examples now of an educational system which encourages +license in thinking along these lines. Two youths who graduated with +distinction from two leading universities developed such unscrupulous +intellects that they planned a monstrous crime. They had an ambition +to commit a ‘perfect crime,’ as formerly Christian education inspired +men to achieve honor. They executed a murder and proceeded with their +plans for blackmail, ransom, and the scientific torture of their +victims. They were not originally perverts. Now they must be regarded +as criminally insane. They are the products of the rational system in +education and of the ever-increasing intellectual slums produced by the +license of this system. + +I think Mr. William Jennings Bryan has the wrong bull by the horns +when he assails the theory of evolution. It is not a theory, but a +fact distinctly recorded in Genesis and proved by the whole history of +creation down to the present time. But he might become a benefactor of +youth if he would exercise the same energy in getting an interstate +alienist commission appointed to test the moral sanity of many learned +professors in our schools and universities. The findings of such a +commission would go far toward revealing the sources of the wave of +criminal insanity that is showing its crest in every court in this +country. Too many learned doctors without any faith in the law which +God is, are teaching young people how to think. They become criminals +mentally whether they ever commit a crime or not. + + + + +XX + +CONFESSION AND THE CHURCH + + +But what about the Church in all this moral confusion? More and more +active, more and more prosperous, without having much effect upon the +situation! What has become of that note of authority with which it +formerly controlled in so great a measure the conduct of men? Well, it +turns out to be a sort of spiritual bluff the Church put up, now no +longer effective because men have learned how to think. + +This is a dangerous discovery in view of the fact that we do not know +enough or fear enough to think righteously. But less than at any time +for the last two thousand years are we listening to the voice of the +preachers. It is they who have their ear to the ground listening to the +rumbling demands of the world. They are cats fighting over modernism. + +I do not know what a modernist is, but my impression is that it is an +element in the ministry of some churches anxious to accommodate its +members and keep them cordial by yielding to their demands for less +piety and more diversion. One pastor has introduced the ‘sacred dance’ +about his church altar and quotes David’s example as his justification. +David was a great singer, but not a good man. This preacher might take +another man’s wife as David took Uriah’s and be quite as plausible in +his contention. + +The Methodist Church has just lifted the ban on worldly amusements +for its members. And we are just now getting the news of a fine old +bishop about to be tried for heresy who strode into the court of +bishops accompanied by his radical lawyer. He looks as queer and out of +drawing as Socrates must have appeared going off with that young rascal +Alcibiades to make a night of it! + +What I mean is that the Church is losing its dignity and authority as +a holy institution. The debacle was inevitable, because its oppressive +methods over the minds and imaginations of men were at variance with +the wisdom of God. His Word was split into doctrines and creeds. No one +denomination of us could use the whole of it. The plan of salvation +varied according to the Church to which you belonged, and the doctrines +by which we were to be damned varied even more. A good deal was taught +concerning deliverance from sin, and nothing much was proved concerning +freedom in Christ, which is the whole thing. + +Jesus was of all men the mildest and tenderest in his relation to men, +but the prelates, dignitaries, and princes of all the churches with +which I am familiar have been overbearing either in their own personal +character or in their interpretation of the will of God. This was their +method during the Church’s period of power to frighten men into the +Kingdom of Heaven, as now during its decline we find the disposition to +coax people into the Church by offering indulgences. + +There is no warrant in the Scriptures for such practices. They +contain the laws of righteousness, the rules of living set down plain +enough for a wayfaring man to understand. We are left free to enjoy +the rewards of our virtues and to suffer the consequences of our +transgression. The rest is silence. This is where the Church made its +mistake--too much preaching and terrorizing, not enough teaching of +just the Word. Now we have the reaction. + + + + +XXI + +LUNDY AND I WALK AND TALK + + +It is queer how thoughts you had long ago and the very scene of these +thoughts come back to you after you have lived a dozen later lives. +I recall something now that indicates how narrow the margin was then +between me and one of the threadbare fallacies of my sex: + +Lundy and I were walking late in the afternoon through the college +campus. I remember the deepening twilight beneath the trees. I wore a +dark dress. I was young, slender, pale, homely--what I mean is that +I remember feeling this way, sad and put upon. Lundy was stepping +along innocently beside me, gracefully silent, no doubt enjoying this +silence, for he was one who never practiced speech as a relief for +intellectual hysteria. He could retain his thoughts like a gentleman. +Suddenly I let out what I was thinking about the world’s injustice to +women. We were the victims of the whole social and domestic order of +mankind. We were the bond servants of a civilization which we had no +part in making. We had no rights, only duties to perform, and so on and +so forth. I cannot think now how I came by such thoughts. I must have +read something along this line, and, like D---- was suffering from, +mental regurgitation. + +What brought me to my own personal senses was the look Lundy gave me, +not reproachful, but startled, as if he had received a thrust and +wondered if he deserved it. + +We walked on, staring straight ahead; but I could feel my husband +searching himself, looking for his sins against me, and his harshness. +This was unendurable. I sat down beside the road and made haste to +renege. All at once it was clear how good this man had been to me, how +hard he worked that I might be a little more comfortable, how patient +he was with my ruffian mind, and how he had given me all the love he +could spare from his jealous God. And now--appalling thought--what if +he went off on one of his remorseful tangents, his ever uncertain peace +destroyed by my complaint? + +Never did a woman praise her husband more fervently than I did for +the next few minutes. I laughed and stroked his legs. He would not +sit down! He had the rigid air of a man who preferred to take his +punishment standing up. I vowed I was only teasing him. As a matter of +fact, I was not thinking of my own husband at all when I began to drool +about the wrongs of women. I must have been seeking martyrdom at large. + +This was one of those little epochs we make in living. I passed as +quick as a flash through an enlightening mental process. From that +moment I escaped the idea of grievances from which many women suffer +too much in their imaginations. I have been a sluggard ever since about +correcting the abuses from which women suffer. I have never been able +to cast myself or my pen whole-heartedly into a campaign to clean up +the men and bring them to repentance for their trespasses against us. +Let somebody else do it! Because, of course, it must be done before +we repent of the wrongs we practice against them, such as headaches, +indifference, inefficiency, and extravagance. Upon those occasions +when I have been even slightly moved to do my duty toward chastening +them, I always think of Lundy, the astonished blue look he gave me that +time on the campus in Oxford, as if this was the first he knew of his +unkindness and injustice to the woman rib in his side. I remember him, +the whole mind the man of him had at that moment, and I cannot believe +in the light of his kind heart that men really mean to be unfair to +women, any more than we mean to be as exasperating as we are to them +sometimes. + +We are both the victims of some secret plan of Nature in this business. +Men are overbearing on account of the kind of gender they are, and +women have nervous squalls on account of the kind of gender they are. +If they were entirely compatible, the one to the other, their children +might be poor, spiritless creatures. For love certainly is a fearfully +eager, exacting, and destructive influence upon the dead level of +peace. Therefore incompatibility never seemed to me reasonable grounds +for divorce. On the contrary, it must be in Nature the best of all +genealogical grounds for those two afflicted people to continue to live +together. + +The success of marriage does not depend upon how well it is financed +with money or social position, but almost entirely upon how much love +and wit you can put into it. Maybe there is some grave inequality +of mind or spirit or quality between you in the beginning, but go on +living together and presently there will be six of one and half a dozen +of the other. You will develop practically the same horse power of +perversity, even if the man becomes ferociously impatient and the wife +sinks away into cowardly patience. + +There is nothing known to man as exasperating as an infernally patient +woman. She is either mean or lacking in wit. She never seems to realize +that domestic temper in a man is a form of hysteria and should be +treated accordingly with a dash of cold water, figuratively speaking, +or some sort of shock, which is not meant to be a suggestion of license +in conduct. He would ask no better excuse for a tantrum or a tyranny +than for his wife to commit a fault. But there are a thousand ways of +twisting the tail of a perverse man’s temper without ceasing to be an +artless lady. All you have to do is to put your mind on it. The Lord +has endowed every woman with special talents for this emergency. + +I know one charming little gentlewoman who married a very ordinary man +who never had the opportunity to control anything or anybody until he +achieved this lovely wife. Then he set in to exercise his powers along +this line. If he had been the warden of a penitentiary he could not +have been more exacting than he was as the master of his own house and +the husband of this woman. The marvel was the sweet way she went on +showing her admiration and affection for him. Some of us were disposed +to pity her as a poor creature without spirit. Then I caught on to her +game. + +When her husband was present she never ceased to augment him by telling +what he would permit her to do, or more particularly what he would +not allow her to do, say or think. Each revelation was, of course, +accompanied by an exchange of eye-flashing intelligence between those +present and frequently by an embarrassed flush on the husband’s face. +Nothing could stop her from making these revelations of his meanness +and tyranny, always as if she approved of him to the point of boasting. +We heard that when he reprimanded her for exposing his private +authority she remained artless and too simple to be managed. + +‘But you know, dear, you did say I should not go to that meeting, and +I wanted them to understand why I would not accept their invitation,’ +and so on and so forth. In the course of two years she let in the light +of so much public opinion on this man and his methods as an overbearing +husband that now he practically runs to open the door to her every +wish. He is tremendously concerned that his neighbors shall know his +wife may do as she almighty pleases. And so she does. It was one of the +most diverting and enlightening dramas of married life I have seen in +years, played without a single mis-said line, and ended, you may say, +with much secret applause. + +If it appears that I have turned my light too far forward through the +years in the immediately preceding pages, I can only say that we must +follow the beam while it shines when one is trailing the mind, even if +it is your own mind. This was as good a place as any to set down the +effects of that first and last interview with my husband concerning +the grievances of women. The reader will recognize it as the veracious +record of a strictly feminine mind whatever else he may think. + +If I may be permitted to comment upon my own copy in thinking, I should +say that once a woman’s mind is divorced from her affections it is +a trifle unbalanced and untrustworthy no matter how brilliantly and +broadly she uses it. It ricochets like a ball fired at a low angle of +elevation which is apt to fall back upon her own destiny disastrously. +A good many of these duds are already dropping behind the Nineteenth +Amendment. I cannot see much improvement in the character of women, +though they are more alert mentally and less satisfied. They have +gained something they wanted and they have lost something they needed +personally and privately. I have felt obliged for conscience’ sake to +believe in equal rights for women, but the best success I ever had +along this line has been to go out and win by my own works and wits the +rights I preferred and that would be the most becoming to me in the end. + + + + +XXII + +WE CONSIDER GREEK CULTURE + + +My husband was not only a distinguished scholar and a great preacher +but he had a brilliant, gallant mind of his own. Let him have it, and +God be thanked, was my attitude. Whenever he flared intellectually, I +turned out my light and watched with admiration such an aurora borealis +of fine, cold, clear thinking as I have never seen in any book or +heard from another man. Some radiance of his mind will remain upon the +horizon of mine as long as I live. I can never tell how much of it has +brightened the edges of the copy I have produced since those days. For +I have been a cheerful plagiarist of light whenever I found it. + +But if we came to loggerheads in an argument, as frequently happened, +on any subject, whether it was religion, philosophy, poetry, or the +fatalistic mind of the ancient Greeks, I stepped out with gaffs on +the legs of my native wit and met him as an unscrupulous wrestler +meets an honest big man. I had all the advantages, because I was never +constrained in the exercise of my mind by much real knowledge of the +subject or by those precedents which govern a scrupulously trained +intellect. I left him to furnish the information. My business was to +digest it quick as a flash and use it, then to prove my contention or +to reject it for the same reason. I do not know what a casuist is, but +he frequently accused me of being one, as if this was a fault of which +I should be ashamed. But I never was. This grieved him. I am sure he +felt that I would not overcome a certain vulgar insolence of ignorance, +because I had no native reverence for learning. + +Once when I was belaying the ancient Greeks like a ruffian he assumed +the dignified manner of a gentleman and a scholar who must be patient +with a Smart Aleck. As near as I can recall, this is the gist of that +altercation: + +‘You do yourself discredit when you speak disparagingly of an +illustrious people,’ he said. + +I knew nothing of their civilization, art, or literature. Then he +went on to pay a tribute to the Greek intellect. It was symmetrical, +dignified, and beautiful as their architecture. Had I ever studied +the glory and simplicity of the Parthenon? I admitted that I had not, +but I was willing to concede that they had highly developed artistic +instincts. Which, I had to infer, was the wrong phrase to use. + +‘They had brains, brains!’ he retorted hotly. + +‘I would no more revere a man for his brains than for the hair on his +head,’ I shot back; ‘the quality and quantity of both are determined +by purely physical conditions, the climate, the food they eat, their +habits as human beings. I judge the Greeks by what they have produced.’ + +‘That is precisely what you cannot do intelligently, because you do not +know what they produced.’ + +‘Yes, I know the effects--’ + +‘You are profoundly ignorant of the effects of Greek culture upon the +world,’ he interrupted. + +‘Culture’ was one of Lundy’s words, never a favorite with me. I am not +denying there is such a thing, but whether it is beneficent depends in +my opinion upon the moderation with which you absorb it and balance it +with better, sturdier elements of character, like honest bigotry and +hard-headed convictions. It is a boastful word with a bad reputation in +advanced stages of civilization. It too frequently became the elegance +by which the distance between morality and immorality is shortened. + +Lundy, however, loved it, with no such barbaric instincts as I had to +warn him against it. And I suffered much from the personal uses he made +of it during what may be called the Hellenic period of our married life. + +This time I made a clean sweep and cut Greek culture to the bone. + +‘There was something wrong with their culture,’ I returned, ‘because +they did not survive it as a nation. Men are destroyed by their own +minds, their systems of thought. What the ancient Greeks produced with +all their art and learning and culture are these modern Greeks. I do +not think much of them. Neither do you. They have the same hair, the +same brains. They are out of the same stock, but virtue has gone out of +them. They are no longer sculptors and philosophers. Nobody quotes them +or imitates them. The fatalistic mind back of all their culture made +slaves and little men of their descendants.’ + +Lundy regarded me for a moment in regretful silence, as we sometimes +measure some one who is dear to us who is determined not to be like us. + +‘Corra,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you have an underhanded mind. You +deliberately missed my point.’ + +‘I made my own point, which was better than being run through by +yours,’ I laughed. + +Then I had to listen to his explanation of how there were now no Greeks +of that breed. The Persians had destroyed that great race. + +His scholarly indignation frequently rose to the pitch of sarcasm. But +I was never abashed. I could not be made to hang my head mentally or +to feel what is now called the inferiority complex. If you can finance +the outrageous courage of ignorance with a certain secret wisdom of +your own, you stand a very good chance of disconcerting a learned man +in an argument. I always came out of these intellectual scrimmages +exhilarated like a ragged young sparrow that has enjoyed an upward +flight upon an eagle’s wings. + +One little trait I venture to record by way of illustrating how +shrewd a woman’s mind can be at ducking out of sight at the right +moment. Lundy was resentful like most learned men--or unlearned for +that matter--if it appeared that I was about to get the better of the +contention. He felt the trickery of wit at his expense, a petticoated +Puck putting Bottom’s head on a wise man’s shoulders. Intellectual +rage caused him to blink. Whenever he regarded me with this fluttering +blue gaze I cast the argument aside, rushed to him, laid my head upon +his knees as these knees were the executioner’s block and invited him +to strike in case he desired to make such a disposition of a fool. In +such a manner I was always able to restore the equilibrium of love and +charity between us without his ever suspecting that this was balm I +laid upon his wounded vanity. + +I have now a certain misty tinge of time in the colors of my mind, +elegant wisps of culture, pseudo evidences of learning obtained from +my association with Lundy. I have practically no accurate information +on any subject, which is one reason I so rarely burden the reader with +a quotation; but I have the sense and feeling of all these things +Lundy studied in his lifetime to learn. I walked for years in the rich +pastures of his mind. + + + + +XXIII + +THE YEAR IN OXFORD + + +As the years passed there were happier periods, all of which have been +recorded in ‘My Book and Heart.’ The years in Oxford, for example. + +More than one circumstance contributed to the relaxation I enjoyed +there. The prim academic life of the little college town was +stimulating and refreshing to me after the hard and lean years in the +itineracy. We were relieved from the burden of souls, and Lundy was +absorbed in his work as teacher of Greek in the college. This is the +one interest he had that I could not share. I had worried and prayed +with him through all the Gospels, but when it came to feeling my way +through the enclitics and iota subscripts of a dead cross-stitch +language I had no conscience about leaving him to his fate. + +Now that I look back, this is a queer circumstance, that I never had +the least ambition to keep pace with my husband mentally. I was not +uneasy lest he should escape me by this route, as I always felt he +might do in those frightfully arduous pilgrimages he made toward God +in the spirit. Anything might happen to such a traveler, I feared. +But I have always enjoyed the assurance of having a very dexterous +mind, regardless of whether I had as much information or intellectual +training as the other person had or not. + +This is no more a conceit than a man feels in the strength of his +muscles. He is not disposed to skin the cat in order to prove his +physical power. He is much more apt to sit down comfortably observant +while some weaker man boasts of his biceps. I have done a lot of that +kind of sitting down in my life. Nothing fans me into such a state of +peaceful mental somnambulance as the intellectual antics of a person +who displays his learning, not from vanity always, but frequently +because it is all he has got; no real sense, no wisdom of his own, +merely much good stuff he has learned from other sources. He spreads it +like a garment as any other decent person would to hide the thinness of +his shanks. + +The literary life of Oxford was the most youthful and strident feature +of this old college town. I do not know how the dean of the English +department contrived to mislead so many young men, but year after year +a certain per cent of the senior class were imbued with the idea that +they had some kind of gift for literary creation or literary criticism. +The latter predominated. During the winter months they shook the very +battlements of English literature. They spared nobody from Henry +Fielding to Dickens. Never shall I forget the way the feathers of the +Brontë sisters used to fly when half a dozen of these young whelps +seized upon ‘Jane Eyre.’ I was in my George Eliot stage at the time and +suffered a graver mind, but I recall with no flattery to myself the +part I took in these discussions. There may be such a thing as a mature +mind under the age of forty, but if so it is the result of premature +gray matter. I was still in the adolescent period mentally and found +great refreshment in the group of young-rooster intellectuals who +frequently came to the house. We worked out our theories and opinions +on one another as growing children wrestle. + +Oxford was a narrow-minded little community, but it was pigeon-breasted +morally. The only disciple of Zola in the town was an innocent young +man from Arkansas, who had been well grounded in his morals. He was +by way of becoming a novelist at that time, but turned out to be a +historian. He graduated in vain from the English departments of five +universities and was finally reduced to recording facts and dates and +rewriting information that he could not digest. It was a form of mental +regurgitation. A great many people have it. The one rash thing he ever +did was to espouse the cause of realism in fiction, which none of us +knew or cared enough to attack. He came in frequently to discuss the +subject with me, chiefly, I suppose, because no one else would listen +to him. + +I have always been interested in bores. They are in my opinion the +strangest of human phenomena, probably the one type of character +impossible to dramatize. Has any one ever read a novel entitled ‘The +Bore’? You have not, because the creative mind cannot produce him. +He is automatic mentally. He can learn, frequently more than an +intelligent man, but he cannot think. He is without imagination and the +personal messengers of sensibility. He never knows or suspects how the +other fellow feels. Poor D---- could talk indefinitely in a sensible +monotone without the glint of a thought to brighten his durable +conversation. To me it has ever been fascinating to watch a good brain +work that was totally disconnected from life, charm, or personality. + +Everything was settled except the relative merits of the new school of +realism in fiction as compared to the old school of romanticism. This +was a burning question then. As I remember, Émile Zola was the father +of the realists. He had written a particularly disgusting novel, the +title of which I do not recall; but one scene in it I am compelled +against my will to remember--which, I suppose, proves that Zola was +indeed a realist, because I have forgotten ten thousand lines of poetry +that entranced me more. + +This was a description of the decomposed body of a soldier plowed +up on a battlefield after the Franco-Prussian War. Zola omitted not +one worm from this picture. Yorick’s skull was a clean white bone as +compared with this horrible pollution of what had been a man. He made +realism stink for five pages. I shall never be willing to confound +this monstrous insensate vitalizing of the processes of death with the +convincing romanticism of life, which is what the best literature is. +However, my opinion is prejudiced in this matter, for I am an incurable +romanticist, from the first chapter of Genesis to the last breath I +draw. I think the world of life is one bright illusion conferred upon +us by a good God, and that if it becomes anything else, that also is an +illusion by which we damn ourselves. + +I have a vague recollection of Cæsar or some such person having said +that the Romans were made indolent and effeminate by the importation +of luxuries from the provinces--a free translation, but the gist of +what he meant. I cannot tell what might have happened to me if we had +gone on living in Oxford and if Lundy had continued to hold the chair +of Greek in Emory College. We were as poor as possible, but I had my +little luxuries from the various provinces of literature. Every college +community titters with quotations from the best writers and speakers. I +was subject during this period to short-flighted aspirations, such, for +example, as trying to understand prosody. But I could make nothing of +this science of poetry, not even with Lundy’s illuminating assistance. +I remember at another time reading Guizot’s ‘History of France.’ This +was a real experience and came near starting me to thinking. There is +something in the quality of the French mind to which I have always felt +a reluctant kinship. They are the only people I know who can leap into +an enormous vocabulary of words and beat them up with the wings of +their spirit into a fine hysterical eloquence. + +I cannot tell how I missed my cue, but my suspicion now is that I must +have made a more or less deliberate effort to develop mentally. I do +recall regretfully certain intellectual flutterings which are never to +be confounded with the stirrings of the creative mind. + +When it is all over, or nearly over, and we look back with the wisdom +of all our experiences gained, we know that love is the best thing in +life and that it leads through whatever shadows to the best things we +are capable of. So I know now that my devotion to little Faith was more +stimulating and informing than anything else. + +In contrast to this tender happiness I enjoyed as a mother, I was never +free from a nameless fear and anxiety for my husband. It turned out +that his duties as the head of the Greek department in the college +did not divert his mind from that absorbing passion for peace in God. +Rather the fatalism of the Greek mind reacted disastrously upon his +own mind. In addition to this his vitality was depleted by overwork. +No matter how pale saints are--and I have observed that as a rule they +have poor complexions--I shall always contend that it is easier to +step up and trust the Lord if you are in good health. Lundy’s strength +began to fail and he passed more frequently into those dark periods +of despair. So I labored with him in good faith according to his +interpretation of the Scriptures. I remember now the premonitions I had +of unimaginable misfortunes. + +Years passed and our fate had come upon us, driving us far from our +little world at Oxford before I finally realized that this was not a +spiritual condition from which Lundy suffered, but a very real and +dangerous disorder of the mind; melancholia, which took one form after +another of religious mania. + +I have written out in another place the life we lived during this +period, but not the terror and silence that fell upon me. This cannot +be set down in words; the frantic efforts I made to save him from +himself, and to protect him from that terrible world in the Church. I +know where the spirit of all tragedies dwells--in the silence which you +dare not break, with even one call for help. I contracted the habit of +holding my breath in these years of suspense. Even when my body slept +it seemed to me my heart was forever sitting up with Lundy in the dark +hours of the night. + +This was long before the Great War, but I distinctly recall how I +used to wish I could find relief in a real battle, see the dreadful +face of my enemy and feel his wounds rather than face the powers and +principalities of Lundy’s terrible darkness. + +I fell sick under the strain and lay at the very doors of death for a +long time, but not wishfully. I survived the predictions of various +physicians for no other reason, I believe, than that I felt obliged to +live and stand by my husband. + +I did it. No one can say I failed him or ever drew back once from the +shadows that finally engulfed him. I had written ‘A Circuit Rider’s +Wife’ and put the crown he so richly deserved upon him before he passed +away. I remember being in a hurry to do that. + +Nothing was further from my plans than to become a writer, but I +must have already begun the practice of studying characters, for I +remember all those people whom I knew then, not their faces but their +attributes, their inside minds. Otherwise, I am inclined to believe now +that this was not an important period in my own mental development. It +seems to me that I had very little raiment on my thoughts, not much +sweetness or color. That bright and halcyon past which came back to me +later in a dark time was eclipsed by some sort of adolescent egotism of +the mind. I remember being very smart, which is a form of stupidity. +I try not to remember it, but it occurs to me that I may have felt +intellectual. I entertained views too noble or too bitter to be true. I +must have done some soul-stretching of my mental neck. + +Nothing that I have ever written about myself humbles me so much as +this confession, for I have observed the same state of mind in others. +It is ugly, insincere, and leads to maudlin movements, agitations, and +other disorders of our times, especially among women. The wonder to me +now is that I did not get the idea that I had a message for the world. +God in his mercy saved me from feminine screech of this emotion which +so many of us mistake for noble inspiration. + + + + +XXIV + +HOMELY PLEASURE + + +I was thirty years of age before the character of my mind differed +consciously from that of any other woman’s mind who is a devoted +wife and mother, and, by marriage, deeply and sincerely pious. I was +backward with my needle, but necessity compelled me to become skillful +in this art. I made my own clothes and they proclaimed the fact. But +I was more successful with dear little Faith’s things. She came up in +the drawn-line period. We could not afford linen, but every ruffle and +hem on her white muslin frocks was hemstitched. The gathers were rolled +and whipped. The yokes were elaborately carved with the needle into +blossoms and webs worked into the drawn threads. + +Faith was an adorable mite of a woman from the very beginning of her +life. She felt her feathers and could not resist the joy of switching +when she pranced forth in one of these dresses. I wore the long skirts +of that period and held them up behind after the manner of those former +ladies. Likewise, Faith invariably reached back, caught a fold of her +exceedingly abbreviated skirt between her thumb and forefinger, the +other three fingers hoisted and curled as daintily as if she held an +afternoon teacup. Then, bent slightly forward, head thrown proudly +back, she frisked forth glorified in her own pride. It comforts me now +to remember that I never chided her for these airs and that she had +the joy of her things. + +They really were beautiful little garments, if I do say it who should +not boast of my handiwork. You may have observed that love can impart +to a woman who has no sense of style about her own clothes, a rare +genius for dressing her girl child. + +I had no domestic accomplishments, but I had one hard-and-fast rule +as a loving wife. This was to appeal to the eye. I have a vaguely +guilty feeling that I was not an exquisitely neat housekeeper--which +immediately became a belligerent feeling the moment some one referred +to the fact--but I always kept one place attractive in the house that +would strike Lundy’s eye as he entered the door. + +I remember once after we had left Oxford and our fortunes were at the +lowest ebb we lived in two rooms far up in the mountains. I had saved +his dearer books, some draperies and precious ornaments from the sale +of our household things in Oxford, but not enough to furnish a whole +room cheerfully. So I massed our wealth in one corner of it. + +There was an ugly little stove set far enough out to admit of a seat +behind it on both sides of the corner. I had it put in, no more than +a low wide shelf against the wall. But it was softly cushioned and I +covered it with a dark blue chenille curtain. I covered some old sofa +pillows with the red-and-yellow borders of these curtains and piled +them like gaudy mushrooms on this seat. Some distance above I put in +narrow shelves for the books. These were arranged without regard for +their titles or inside substance, but to bring out as much color as +possible. A red or green backed book was precious and must be placed +where the light would fall on it. + +There was a vase on the top shelf, two brass candlesticks, and wedged +in the corner was a remarkable plaster-of-Paris little boy, quite +naked, sitting cross-legged on a square pedestal, reading from a large +book open upon his knees. I take it that he was an erudite child, +because from the looks of his pouncy body he could not have been more +than three years old. Lundy had given me this thing in an opulent +moment years before. Remembering the classical Greek turn of his mind, +I cannot believe it truly represented his taste, only what he could +afford to buy. But he craved statuary of the graver sort to the last +and treated himself now and then to the moulded bust of a great poet or +a great philosopher. I keep them all, though the little boy has lost +half his book, broken off long since in our travels. + +Two very wide chenille curtains remained. These were split and hung +at the windows on either side of this corner. I do not suppose a +professional decorator would have admired the general effect, but +compared with the remaining space and furnishing of that wretched room, +it was palatial. + +On very cold evenings when Lundy came in, the stove would be glowing +like a grotesquely deformed red-hot coal. The two candles would be +lighted and flickering bravely. The little boy high up in his corner +between them would still be studiously reading his book. The books on +the shelves below would be lined up brightly like old friends waiting +as usual to spend the evening with us. And Lundy, merely giving me +the peck of a kiss as he passed, would make straight for that long +cushioned seat behind the stove. He stretched out there like a wealthy +man and read or scribbled notes for a sermon. I do not think he ever +really saw the other part of that wretched room. + +This was the life I lived then and the mind I had then. Good, +tender and very anxious for my dear ones, but not by any stretch of +imagination an intellectual existence. I doubt if we can be very active +in such a love affair as this and be intellectual at the same time. +Love itself is the self-expression of such a woman, which is something +we hear more about these days than in those days, when it seems to me +women loved more giftedly than they do now. + + + + +XXV + +LOVE AND AUTHORSHIP + + +Mothers are especially methodical. Love makes them and tempers their +minds in the beginning. They find out how to love each one of their +little children differently, then they settle down in their maternal +formulas of affection. These children grow up, their natures change, +but this makes no difference. She remembers that Thomas was a sensitive +little boy and had to be treated tenderly. So she goes on making +allowances for his beautiful, sensitive nature, although he may have +grown up into a cold-blooded wretch who has made his fortune on a +widow’s mite. + +By the same token, she never forgets that her other son was a normal +hard-headed youngster who must be disciplined and required no petting. +So she goes on giving him the lick and the promise of a sterner +affection, although he may now be a broken-hearted man who has failed +on account of going into business with the meaner, more excitable +brother, and is very much in need of tenderness. But she apportioned +her affections between them like an estate she willed them long ago. +Now she is too old and _non compos mentis_ affectionally to change her +will. + +Authors do their work the same way. They find out how to write. They +get their own method, a certain set of characters, and they stick to +this method and these characters, with a few lay figures added here +and there in different stories. What I mean is that their leading +heroes and heroines show a marked family resemblance to one another in +every succeeding book. And why not? They are all out of the same parent +mind. I should recognize a certain author’s heroine anywhere on earth, +even if she escapes from all the stories in which she figures. She is +a young woman who usually works her way up, when the reader has every +reason to believe she is bound to fall. I have not seen her lately, but +she used to make me very anxious on account of her threadbare skirt and +having to heat a can of tomato soup over an alcohol burner behind her +washstand screen. I do hope she has kept her chastity and married well +as usual these late years, since I have been too busy to keep up with +her struggles. She was a model and an inspiration then to every working +girl without a job. Which, when you think about it, is very high praise +for her procreator. + +I had been one of the most diligent unknown authors in this country for +ten years before circumstances thrust me into the written rôle of ‘A +Circuit Rider’s Wife.’ It was then that I seemed to have found myself +as an interpreter and at last capable of producing that literature of +the heart which is peculiar to all of us. I am not wholly in my right +mind in any other character now. She knows the very gist of everything +I feel or know about men and women. + +I would not attempt to tell how earnestly and unsuccessfully I have +tried to be a younger, lovelier, and more attractive woman in fiction. +Being a youthful, coquettish heroine is frightfully hypocritical and +embarrassing. If I am compelled to play that rôle, I always put that +dearer, wiser old woman in as a neighbor to the girl so that I may rest +and dwell in her for a scene now and then. + +I am far removed these many years from the circumstances that made +the ‘Circuit Rider’s Wife.’ She was very poor and enjoyed her +economies; I am now no longer poor, but cannot bring myself to commit +an extravagance. She walked very softly before the Lord, and I walk +even more softly before the world, on account of having attracted some +attention from that quarter which she never had. She was always anxious +for the peace and fate of her circuit rider; now I am lonely for the +lack of these cares, and Lundy has passed away into what may be called +the literature of my soul. She went to church every Sabbath day, and +I do not go. Nevertheless she constrains me. Sometimes even yet the +mind she had comes back to me like a song and I am tempted to sit down +in the amen corner of my years, tell everything that is comforting to +know, sing a hymn and try to lead us all in prayer! I seem to slip off +into that same old-fashioned tenderness for men and women we used to +feel for mourners kneeling about the altar during a revival. + +Then the woman I am now looks about me and takes a more sensible view. +What the world really needs is to have its emotional nature disciplined +and trained even more carefully than we take the pains to develop the +purely mental faculties. Praying will not meet this emergency. + +My hope is to get at least ten strides ahead of this woman I used +to be in the record I am now writing of my mind, which has changed +considerably since she managed its downsittings and uprisings. + +The question is whether I can do it. As we grow older it seems to me we +break none of the bonds that formerly bound us; we simply add to them. +I doubt very seriously if there is any such experience as liberty. It +is a notion we get from not remembering for a moment the habits that +bind us no less in the spirit than in our more obvious affairs. + + + + +XXVI + +THE MIND OF THE WRITER + + +I had been writing ten years before I discovered the amazing capacity +even the ordinary mind has for creating from experience and memory, +and that its powers of production are limited only by one’s courage to +think, and by the amount of physical strength and endurance one can +afford to spend on the performance. After the ‘Circuit Rider’s Wife’ +was written I was in the gravest state of anxiety lest I should never +muster the material for another book. + +About this time I met an old friend who now holds the chair of +metaphysics in one of our great universities. I may have given some +intimation of my despairing state. In any case, he instructed me in the +laws governing mind. He drew a diagram of my mind on a piece of paper +and showed me how it worked. I had only one consolation as I studied +this thing--that he did not know or suspect the thoughts I was thinking +about him at that moment. They were not complimentary. + +I rejected his theory, but I could not get the picture of his infernal +diagram out of my mind. Every time I sat down to work at my desk, +I could see the lines and segments of my mind on that piece of +paper and the dot where a thought would probably appear. The result +was a hysteria of self-consciousness mentally which made thinking +impossible. Quite by accident that great student hit upon the method +of obstructing thought. The mind turned like a worm on itself! + +In my opinion it is wiser not to fumble with this delicate piece of +machinery, no matter how much you may find out by tearing it to pieces. +What I know is that he who peeps at his mind will never have the use of +it. It is wiser to leave not only your mind but your gender severely +alone if you hope to do good spirit-level thinking. It would not +surprise me at all if these were not the bonds which do somehow bind us +to God, to be accepted, but not understood. + +After all is said and done and taught that we can possibly learn from +others, every man faces his own problems and solves them the best way +he can. The lawyer learns law, then he practices law according to the +bias of his own mind and character. Maybe he is a shyster. Maybe he +has an honest legal sense. It all depends on the kind of man he is. +The same thing is true about the physician. After a while he gets his +own mental habits of diagnosing our complaints and diseases. If his +mind catches and holds some fixed idea about neurasthenic tendencies, +apt as not he will diagnose your case accordingly, although you may +be having fits on account of an ulcer in the stomach. In any case, he +finally works out a system of favorite prescriptions. Then he fits us +to his medicines, and his methods as he grows older, no matter how new +our disease may be. He cannot help it. His mind has made him and it is +too old, inelastic, to add another cubit to his wisdom or courage as a +physician. If you are about to become a patient, the risks are six of +one and half a dozen of the other whether you choose a young doctor in +the experimental stage of his practice or this old one who has settled +down in his methods, because they are reasonably successful and rarely +ever result in your death. + +Preachers are the same way. They see God according to their lights, +make sermons until they exhaust their vision. Then they go on preaching +this same body of thought as long as they live under various texts from +the Scriptures. + +I am wondering how a literary critic would go about reviewing the +mind of an author instead of his book. He would probably decline the +assignment. He is a judge of the material, the copy a writer produces, +but he is no mental mechanic to pass judgment upon the amazing +motor of our faculties. The best he could do would be to write an +illuminating essay upon the times in which an author lived; the effect, +by inference, of that particular period of civilization upon his work; +whether he was well and in good circumstances, or wrote under the +pressure of ill-health and poverty. + +But none of these circumstances would account for the main fact that he +became an author instead of, say, a fishmonger or a banker. The great +majority of poor people or sick people never take it out on the world +by writing books. Neither does their state of health determine their +literary style or their choice of material to convert into copy. Robert +Louis Stevenson was an invalid, suffering from an incurable malady. +By all the laws governing such a life he was due to die early without +accomplishing anything. But he sat up in bed and wrote the healthiest, +most entrancing stories of his times, and died later. + +The mind is something else, not us. It is an instrument set up in us, +controlled by spiritual forces which reach it through the medium of our +emotions. It can be well and powerful when we are weak and ill. ‘By my +spirit,’ thus also sayeth such a man. On the other hand, the mind is +frequently ill to the point of dissolution when we are enjoying perfect +health. Witness the sickly slime copy produced by a decadent writer +who may be an athlete physically. ‘By my spirit,’ also says such a man +who has adopted his powers and principalities of darkness. My notion +is that it is a choice between spirits which determines the quality +of your thinking, but not the power with which you can do it. That, I +suppose, is the personal equation in the whole phenomenon and would +depend upon the strength of your emotions and the capacity of your +mental motor. + +It is not for me to venture into the realm of metaphysics with my +cheerful, flat-footed ignorance of this subject, but I am now writing +the record of my own mind in relation to my work as an author merely +from experience. The conclusions I have reached in this manner may be +erroneous from the standpoint of the professional students. But I have +frequently erred with the happiest practical results in my own living +and achieving. + +I remember being very much upset upon learning that poetry, religion, +and sex animation were all products of the same emotional reactions. +This was a serious matter. If I could not dispose of it in a manner +satisfying to my mental and moral platform in living, it would take +the luster off my thoughts and render me some sort of automaton in +spiritual consciousness. You are not really the author of a thought +which splashes up like spray from a wave of emotion which has its +origin in sex. This information was too diminishing. Also, I prefer to +believe in God, not because of my sex, even if I was of the other sex, +but because I have a spiritual consciousness which only the idea of +Providence can satisfy. + +Still, I had a squeamish feeling that we probably were made precisely +by this economical pattern, one emotion carrying all our sensations; +thrift in expenses being one of the axioms in creation as I have +observed it. + +Any sensible person must have reached the same conclusion I reached, +provided he did not consult too many learned authorities, but stuck +like a leech to his Scriptures, which was something like this: By +nature, delicacy, and decency, by all prayers, every hope and noble +ambition, the sensations of sex are so mixed in us with the highest +emotions of religion, eloquence, and every sublime imagination that we +have been for ages the parents of spiritually minded beings instead of +brutes. + +I suppose this was the only way to insure such a phenomenon in an +apparently physical and carnal world. We are thus born convinced of +immortality by that admirable device of the Almighty. I am ready to +stretch a neck ahead of the current animal propaganda concerning sex +and contend that it is probably the basic principle of the instinct +we have of immortality. How else does the lowest type of savage also +arrive at faith in God and keep company with ghosts and spirits? +Superstition is the name we apply to that, when it may be a much +sounder, though more elemental, faith than we have ourselves. In any +case, how do you account for the character of his superstitions or for +his ability to produce them at all? He has no Bible, no literature, +neither theologians nor scholars to direct his mental processes. But +he has his emotions. He is some kind of stick-in-the-mud poet, and he +arrives at the idea of God because he is a man. A dog cannot do it, +though he has the same procreating instinct, but is not informed with +the spiritual sense. + +These conclusions have given me great satisfaction as a writer. I am +never embarrassed if a particularly entrancing thought comes to me. +I do not attribute it to the inspirations of my gender, but to the +spiritual quality of the mind produced by gender in general, if you +will have it so, not that I am personally disposed to dig down to the +rudiments of my thoughts. Some mysteries are sacred so long as they are +hidden, but shocking when they are exposed. It seems to me that the +tendency of our times is to suspect sex of something which is really +good, but that we are inclined to make something bad of what we suspect. + + + + +XXVII + +DO YOU WANT TO WRITE? + + +I should be slow to advise the most gifted person to enter the literary +profession. It is a life of infinite labor and hardship. The rewards +are commensurate if you win them. But comparatively few who strive to +enter in do so. Nobody lacks the sense to write, I believe; but most +people lack the intuition, that hidden truth out of which romance and +poetry and all literary illusions are made. + +Very few people who read books know or suspect the literary casualties +in an author’s life. The most successful, as the least renowned of us, +suffer amazing losses in labor and a corresponding depreciation in +self-confidence. You may buy a seat on the stock exchange, get a ticker +and do business there according to your own secret information about +the market. But you cannot buy a seat among the editors in this country +if you are a writer. Neither can you discover the ticker in their mind +which determines the worth and unworthiness of your copy. They also are +taking a chance with the public which reads. It is a fickle public, apt +to change its mind any time. + +Nothing is less profitable than to study a magazine with reference to +producing copy peculiar to it. You are almost sure to make the mistake +of writing something similar to the article or story you have studied, +when your common sense should warn you that the editor will not want to +repeat that dose. You have been subtly guilty of a repetition of the +motive back of the story you took for a pattern, which is reason enough +to expect that the thing will be refused. + +An editor must have a kaleidoscopic mind. He cannot tell you with any +degree of accuracy what he wants, because he does not know very far in +advance what his readers want. But he can tell you as quick as a flash +what he does not want, because he has more past experience than you can +imagine to guide him in rejecting unavailable copy. + +The best bet, I discovered long ago, was to find out what was true and +vital in the experience of the greatest number of people and to write +that. As a rule it is so old and elemental as to have become identical +with them, like a man’s ribs. He rarely ever thinks of them. There is +such a body of thought and emotion in all of us of which we no longer +speak. We have lost the words to do so. But when we see them written +out it is as if we had recovered some dearer speech of ourselves. + +The language we use is for the obvious, the things we do and say, or +for the impressions we wish to make upon others. We have ten thousand +dialogues for lovers, a considerable vocabulary for speaking piety and +eloquence, and we are not short on narrative sentences; but I challenge +any man to prove that it is easy to tell in words what is going on in +his mind which is peculiar to him and not to be told. He is thinking +them in the same way he breathes to live--by way of being mentally +conscious. He is registering himself in every emotion, motive, and +desire faster than these mental sensations can be translated into +words. + +Language is artificial. We only use it to be heard, or to be seen in +the written word, or when we are so moved that we are practically +talking to ourselves. The greater part of the thinking we do is +so mixed with feeling that it is like a circulatory system of +consciousness, therefore the only absolutely veracious mental versions +of what we really are. + +To set down as much of this copy of us as possible has been my +particular business as an author. It requires a sort of loving cunning +in the use of words which has been the most fascinating feature of my +work. Mere words will not do. They must convey the color, charm, and +pulse of life. They must have a private twinkle of wit in them that +makes a good-natured noise like laughter through the keyhole of the +reader’s mind. If you take pains, make every one count like a stroke +in the picture of a secret trait which is peculiar to all of us, the +individual reader gets the same shock of surprise that he would have +if his mother had been eavesdropping his mind. It makes him nervous, +wondering how much else she has heard. + +As to that, it is like seeing God; you cannot do it without being pure +in heart. So I doubt if we could interpret the secret hearts of men +and women without feeling very close to them in love and sympathy. +My observation of meaner-minded people is that they never really +understand other people, only what is evil or potentially evil in them. +I reckon it is a blessed provision of Providence that we only see +through the glass darkly when our deeds are evil. Otherwise the wicked +would have a frightful advantage over the innocent and good. + +One of the most profitable experiments I make along this line is to +write out good impulses peculiar to people who are not good, but have a +perpetual hankering after their might-have-been virtues. + +They invariably rise like woefully undone children to the bait. I get +a batch of letters from sinners the moment such a paragraph picture of +their futile goodness appears in print. Some of them very smart and +bitter, but feeling that soothing plaster I have laid on the wounds +their sins have made in them. Others are low in the dust. They do not +expect to rise. Still, they want me to know they have enjoyed the +relief of a few tears on their cheeks. + +I do think this is a dear thing about men, even the worst of them--how +they will confess their tears of grief or regret to a woman in whom +they believe or whose confidence they desire to win. If she is an +elderly person with some wisdom of their sex, she knows that these +are histrionic tears, shed to move her. Still, it is an artless sort +of compliment they pay her good old simplicity. But if we should tell +how many men and which men we have seen weep, the world would never +believe us! The poor things are driven to it as we are driven to little +hysterical manifestations with our dearer men which we should never try +to put over on another woman. Before other men they must play the part +of pride, strength, and courage, even if they have no such attributes; +but once in so often the last of them will break down before one of +us, quiver his chin and let his tears flow, because he knows that we +know he is really a child who never grows up, begging for cake when he +is a boy and for sympathy when he is a man. + +Very few lost and undone women ever show up, but now and then one +comes in a letter, lays her head on my Circuit Rider’s Widow’s knees +and whispers that she remembers when she felt like that, referring to +some paragraph, say, in ‘My Book and Heart.’ This is as near as one of +them ever comes to admitting that she no longer has the right to feel +like that. And none of them ever sign their names. Thus they let you +know they do not expect an answer. It is their sad way of walking like +ghosts for a few lines close to what they believe is a kind heart. + +It must be fearful not to be good if you are a woman, because you never +can forgive yourself, while a man can and will do so with the least +encouragement from you. If the woman he loves shrives him, he will rise +up and strut like a spiritual peacock without ever taking the trouble +to lay his case before the Lord in prayer. He is the greatest economist +in contrition the world ever saw. + +But when you think about it, this only goes to prove how transparent +they are. I am by men as I am by the more occult Scriptures--they are +not difficult to understand if you have the right mind toward them, not +antagonistic or suspicious. + +But I am always careful never to let one know I am reading him. Nothing +upsets a man so quickly as to realize that you are seeing him maneuver +in and out of sight behind the lines of the rôle he is reciting so +well to you. He is offended. He takes his leave of you like a puppy +with its tail between its legs, or he goes off with a prideful stride. +Presently he tells somebody that he does not like that woman. But he +does. He simply dislikes the glimpse he had of himself mirrored in her +old Sea-of-Galilee mind. + +I never answer such letters. Let them read Paul’s epistles! But I do +feel closer kin to them than one ever does to the comfortable saints or +to the brazenly virtuous. + +When you have been a mother and known such richness of hovering love +as that, after you are childless the wings of your heart do feel +strangely empty. I have sometimes considered adopting a bunch of bad +grown-up children and starting them all over at their A B C’s of morals +and decencies. But it would never do. This whole countryside would be +working presently with runaway children. I have a vague suspicion that +I am not an easy person to live with. I have a hot and heady temper, +and exacting standards acquired in these lonely hills where there is +no world to obstruct or soften my convictions about what is right or +wrong, and about the exceedingly early hour when dutiful people should +get up and go about their tasks. As the stepmother of sinners I might +be rather terrible in my manifestations. Besides, I could not love them +as a real mother loves. I should lack that essential wisdom in dealing +with them. So I have abandoned the idea, except to think about it. + + + + +XXVIII + +EXPRESSING ONE’S SELF + + +Personally, I do not think so much of self-expression as a noble +yearning. I would not go so far as to suggest that it is a wave of +feminine psychosis; but the suspicion grows in my mind that it may be +a sort of hysteria peculiar to that class of people who have boastful +souls and considerable mortal vanity, neither of which can be financed +by the finer art of living privately. We notice it in women now, as +we do other symptoms which were formerly characteristic only of men. +Job had a notable case of it. He fretted his wife until at last she +lost patience with his groaning vanity about his integrity and advised +him to curse God and die. Carlyle made his wife miserable while he +expressed himself like a winged leviathan in ‘Sartor Resartus.’ It is +easier to write an epic than to live your own life becomingly with no +audience to cheer the performance. Therefore we are a trifle long on +epics and short on achieving a good record of ourselves in secret. +Women have at last become infected with this disorder of the mind, a +pathetic desire to cast themselves on the wide screen of the world in +some rôle of self-expression. + +My mail has been laden with letters from them for years asking advice +about how to do it. They are either distracted spinsters or married +women who are childless and unhappy. Their homes and their husbands +have got on their nerves. They are the pseudo heroines of their own +sorrows, futile egotists in tears who wish to publish their tears in +a book. They have only a martyr illusion of themselves and no sense +at all of other people. They are totally lacking in that quality +of the medium without which there is no such thing as a truthful +interpretation of any life. God himself could not teach such a woman +to write an honest sentence about herself, much less her husband, +concerning whom she is determined to reveal the worst. + +Recently a mean little wife with a soul-pulling use of words sent +in a long account of her grievances. She had married beneath her +own position in life. Her husband was an honest man, but not--oh, +not a gentleman! He did not understand or appreciate her. He was +cruel, contemptuous, and overbearing. Judging by the way she praised +herself, it was easy to infer that she was one of those women who +make a damnable use of their virtues and would not lend one for any +consideration to her husband. I suppose she wore that sad accusative +look which provokes the worst in any man. She felt that it might +relieve the tension if she could find some means of self-expression and +she wanted advice about writing the revelations of her married life. + +On account of being partly Irish, I am not always able to resist the +temptation to use the shillalah of my wit upon these little Judases. + +‘Do not write the record of your wrongs,’ I advised her; ‘but meet your +husband with a smile the next time he comes in and strike him over the +head with some blunt instrument. He will probably clean you up, which +is precisely what you need. This will much more quickly relieve your +nervous tension than writing a book, which is a drastic business and +very hard on the nerves, even when you tell the truth.’ + +The women’s organizations have a less sensational way of cashing in +these unhappy ones. They give them a task to perform in connection with +their vast activities. They are doing everything, maintaining schools +and clinics, they are lobbying for bills. They are the most rapacious +collectors for charity on earth. They have their publicity departments +and their propaganda. They are setting up monuments and preserving the +memory of honorable men. They almost invariably do what they set out to +do and they are the only corporations in this country that get their +labor free of charge, that even collect dues from their workers--which +will indicate the fierce passion in the women of our times to achieve +worthy ends and to express themselves in honorable service before the +world, whatever happens to their homes, husbands, and children. + +No one respects them more than I do, but a burned child is afraid of +fire. For so many years I did not have the use of my own life. It was +controlled entirely by the rules of the Methodist Church and limited by +the adversities of a circuit-rider’s life. Never in this world would I +yield it to the executive committee of any kind of woman’s board. I am +a woman myself and know very well how much greater our talent is for +governing others than the most despotic form of government founded by +men. + +My idea is that the good little life, with no publicity screen in the +background, leads with less confusion and certainly less embarrassment +to peace and happiness. + +The theory is excellent and does me credit written out in words. But a +master mind could never put into words the web I have spun upon it to +ensnare my own life, liberty, and happiness. + +For years past I have felt my immortal spirit zooning in it like an +insect with its legs tied. No woman ever longed for self-expression as +I long now to escape from my own plan of happiness. + + + + +XXIX + +SITTING IN THE PUBLIC EYE + + +I could have been contented with intimate blessings. I do not remember +ever to have craved a career. I do not now understand those who strive +so brilliantly and senselessly for recognition, fame, and one sort of +distinction or another. + +For me the career of an author was purely accidental and resulted from +a desperate emergency. I have written all this out more particularly +in another book, but while we are on this subject of careers and +recognition I may as well set down now what I have to say about that. + +Anything you do, however well, which draws the world’s attention is a +fearful thing, not to be lightly sought. And I do not refer in this +connection to the competitive jealousies engendered by success, having +had no experiences along this line. What I am trying to tell you is +that with the rewards one earns in this business some right to live +privately passes away. Your habitation may be divided from the crowded +world by a thousand hills, but there are voluntary biographers in it +who create the life they think you live back there. I could write much +more entrancing legends about myself. + +I have an ambition to sit gracefully in the public eye, one hand +resting on my desk, neatly littered with manuscript, and the other +curled like a white lily across my breast. When you are posing thus +in your own mind it is disconcerting to learn that you are a country +policeman, conscientious in the discharge of your duties. I respect +policemen, but I should shrink from crowding into that profession. + +If you have written much testifying to your Christian faith, even if +you do admit a somewhat crank-sided human nature, it is depressing to +learn that you are an atheist smoking with bad doctrines. + +After that happened, I had no sooner retired behind that Scripture +which says, ‘Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute +you, and say all manner of evil against you, for my sake ... for great +is your reward in heaven’--and I am taking particular satisfaction in +the dark intimation as to the probable nature of this reward--than +I was startled by the report that I had become a Catholic. This is +a compliment which I shall never deserve, even though I am totally +lacking in Protestant animus against the Catholics. If you have been +one of those certified widows so highly recommended in Paul’s epistle +to Timothy it feels very queer to hear that you have been cutting a +swath in the social life of Havana. + +Not everything you hear about yourself can be considered good +publicity. And if you have delicate sensibilities, the currycomb of +public imagination frequently rubs your vanities the wrong way. + +You can never choose your own duties or pastimes again. You must work +at your thoughts. They hold you and compel you like voices calling to +be heard. + +Sometimes now I still feel the womanly instinct stirring in me to sew +a fine seam. I want to lay a pattern on a piece of beautiful cloth, +cut out something sweet and make it. I long to gather a ruffle with my +fingers, pin one end of it down and scratch the gathers with my needle +as I used to do long ago. But I never can do it. No time. No such +cunning left now in my fingers. I have become a sewless woman. + +When it is a fine, large, perfectly rounded day, with the sun shining +and all the leaves talking in the wind and a faint perfume of woodland +flowers floats in through the window like an invitation, I would give +much to cast my pen far from me and follow it out and away to the deep +green valleys where these blossoms bloom. But I cannot take the day +off. I must stay here and write down the things my mind makes believe. +No real blossoms, only the things I know--so little, compared with what +the trees tell and the river sings, if you know how to listen. + +Every author knows what I mean. We become the slaves of our thoughts +that must be written before they fade into forgetfulness. + +Invitations to speak upon public occasions are among my most grievous +embarrassments. Why is it inferred that one is or can be a public +speaker because she has written a book? Writing is a very private +business. I do not know any other occupation which requires so much +privacy unless it is a life of prayer or a life of crime. + +During these many years with a bee in my bonnet and a pen in my hand +I have practically lost my oral faculties. I cannot scintillate on +a rostrum. The flare of so many faces would put out my light. I am +accustomed to work in the presence of three open-eyed windows which +look upon a wide green forest. Much motion and life out there, but +complete and magnificent indifference to the mortal mind in here +struggling with the adverb of an idea. + +I am not apologizing, you understand, for not being able to live up to +this side demand of a literary reputation. I am simply telling what +happens to one not anxious to dine on her own fame in a public place. +Many people will not believe an author shrinks from committing this act +of sublimated cannibalism, because so many of them do it, especially +the English writers imported by our women’s clubs. But I cannot be made +to believe they enjoy the performance. One must have spent a while in +England, realized how repressed their enthusiasms are, for Americans +to understand how these speakers must suffer from our goggle-eyed +reverence for their voice culture, their outrageous pronunciations and +their perfectly exquisite intellectuality. Nothing, I believe, but a +sense of financial duty to themselves brings them to us. + +Meanwhile women are now the best public speakers in this country. They +have something to say, and they are saying it with charm and courage. +Heaven forbid that I should ever expose my old ruminating mind among +them on the stage! What I mean is this: When you write you may take +infinite time and patience to say what you want to say. You write in +ten different ways. You reface it and begin again and again until the +breathless, speechless idea you had lives and shines. This is how +slow the pen-traveling mind may be; but try fumbling the ball of your +thought like that before an audience and see what happens to you! The +reporters would be justified in publishing the news that you had a +stroke which rendered you practically inarticulate soon after you began +your address. + +As for preparing an address and delivering it with your eyes and +spectacles fixed upon the page instead of the audience, I know this is +intolerable, for I have been in many an audience on similar occasions +and it has frequently occurred to me that the offending person might +have chosen something much better from a book to read. + +That which so many people strive to win must be a good thing, but I am +simply telling you what fame costs. Once you grow accustomed to being +famous, you do not realize it, but you are never quite your humble, +honest self. No matter how tight you keep the lid on, there is some +watered stock of vanity inside. You are always in danger of the thing’s +coming off and of giving yourself an air or two. No man or woman was +ever so distinguished that this exhibition did not make him ridiculous, +especially to those of meaner minds. + +But the final and most depressing part comes in the evening of your +great day when you are no longer great. Your career has ended. Fame +fades like a withered rose in your hair, and you are forgotten even +if your works are not. Other writers, whom you naturally feel are not +doing so well, are popping up in the public eye. + +I am still sufficiently able-bodied in my mind and spirit not to +notice the crowding forward of these youngsters; but I have a sort of +presentiment that after a while, when I am no longer strong enough to +practice nobility of mind, it is going to hurt some to do without the +praise and admiration they get. I am dreading the time when I shall +be so lonely, so much in need of a little recognition that I may be +anxious to accept an invitation to sit on the stage behind the speaker +of the evening. + +I can feel myself like a pain sitting up there, very old and gray, +maybe a little soft in my head, but so pleased to be present and face +foremost to the audience! I am waiting for the speaker to conclude his +oration and for the applause meant for him to die down. I am hoping +like a poor old hungry child that a few people in the audience will +recognize me as the author of ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife,’ or the woman +who wrote ‘My Book and Heart’ many years ago. I am all in a flutter +lest no one press forward through the crowd about the speaker and clasp +me by my old palsied hand to say how glad he is to see me, and how well +I am looking--not a day older! How do I manage to keep so young? And he +will never forget when this or that circuit-rider story came out. And +how he loves ‘My Book and Heart’! Maybe he has just read it all over +again. I shall be hoping he will say something like that. Meanwhile +I am glowing with childish pleasure at this spoofing, but trying to +maintain the air of dignity I used to have when I really was myself. + +Heavens, how I do despise those people, now in the strength of their +years, who look with contempt or indifference upon the old children we +become! + +This is the lightning of fate already flashing in my sky. For I have +observed the weather at the end of more than one distinguished career. +It rarely ever is very warm and bright. You have outgrown the normal +mediocre sense of yourself, and you are no longer able to keep up the +intellectual expenses of your reputation as a famous person. + + + + +XXX + +ON LAYING DOWN YOUR LIFE + + +I doubt if the best people live their own lives. They make themselves +the shield and buckler of another’s life, or they are the foundations +of peace and security upon which many lives are built. + +What impresses me is that they seem to pass beyond the reach of any +rewards. They lose the capacity to receive or to shine. If the most +devoted mother survives the sacrifices she has made, it is with +pathetically folded hands, as the spectator of the brilliant careers of +her sons and daughters. I suppose mothers get some sort of half joy out +of being merely present; but even that is sacrificial, for they are not +puffed up over establishing these young ones; they are simply rejoicing +in their success. Something has happened to them, they are tragically +emptied of self and cannot share the lives they have made. + +It is the same way with preachers, priests, prophets, all that class +of men who spend themselves for others--they lose the capacity to +live. They are those good, quiet shadows in the background everywhere, +strangely contented with your fame or your prosperity, not neglected, +but used up. + +We are very good about making them the objects of our benefits. We get +them out and show them off now and then for conscience’ sake, but they +never really enjoy the parade except to be in our reflected glory. +They are dead to themselves, which is being dead indeed. + +Just practice laying down your life for others and see what happens to +you! These others will take it, strengthened by you, and go on about +their affairs. I have never seen that Scripture fulfilled in this world +which reads, ‘For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but +whosoever will lose his life for my sake the same shall find it’; so +it must be fulfilled in the world to come, which is a long way off and +very mysterious, geographically speaking. + +Sometimes when I am very low in my mind I get a feeling of terror about +the Word. So many Scriptures read like laws every whit as merciless as +those which control life in the natural world. All that lives has been +and must be fertilized by that decay provided by death. Every flower +fades, every leaf falls to enrich the soil for next year’s leaves and +blossoms. Must we also lay down our lives forever and ever as living +sacrifices that those who come after us shall be stronger and wiser to +win what we missed of life and happiness? Is no mercy to be shown to +the very good? Must they wait to be raised from the dust of all things +to receive their rewards? + +Such thinking makes me nervous and a trifle indignant about the way +those people who do not lay down their lives seem to flourish more than +we do who have served long sentences in that wearying position. + +I do not know how it may be with women of other sections, but in this +part of the country if you do your own work something goes out of you; +not virtue--you are likely to multiply frightfully in virtues--but that +bright, fluttering grace of the spirit more becoming to us than all the +nobler attributes folds up and disappears. No matter how conscientious +she is about setting aside a certain part of each day to improve +herself and to keep up with her husband’s times--I never knew one to +keep up her music--music is one of the things that go out of her--she +cannot do it. She is so busy doing her duty she falls fatally behind +his times if he is a man who marches with them. I do not know why this +is so, but it is probably a feminine geographical phenomenon. + +This is a blessed and glorified land; there is a fragrant inertia +in our climate suitable more particularly for the production of the +sweetly sitting inspirational woman. She does not need to know so much +in the way of mere learning in order to be placidly wise. The dust +down here is an alluvial soil, humanly speaking; it has been warmed +and brightened for so many ages by the sun, the perfume of so many +flowers has sunk into it, the sorrows and misfortunes of a great people +have sanctified it. My feeling is that it has a cultural quality which +must be got through higher education and the most poignant mental +exercises in the other sections where it has been spewed up into +hoarfrost for a corresponding number of ages, stauncher dust, but not +by nature so pleasant when raised, say, into an able citizen, a strong +ballot-bearing woman. Therefore it is not so important for our women +to exercise these rights in order to save the country as it is for +the abler types in other sections. All they need is two or three of +the neater virtues, a prayer capacity in faith, a kind and forgiving +heart--and the right look on their faces, effulgent, without being +offensively intelligent. I am not one of these, I weep to confess, but +I have known such women all my life, as one is acquainted with certain +private blessings not shared by the world at large. But I have never +known one of them who did all her own work--a noble service diminishing +to such a woman. + +No matter how correct the pattern of her frock is, or how good her +manners are, or how sensible her conversation is, I have never been +in the company of one who performed these tasks without becoming +immediately aware of the fact, a sort of uneasiness, as if her shoe was +pinching her foot. Her seams are too straight. Her draperies do not +flow, however voluminous they are. Her eye has a measuring gaze. She +feels like the two-edged sword of a just woman made perfect regarding +me. Or at the very moment when I am about to confer the bright splash +of a thought upon her, my light is put out by the realization that her +mind has skipped back home to make sure she did not leave the top off +the soda jar and did lock the kitchen door. + +I am not complaining of her, you understand; I am endeavoring to +compliment her upon her merits. She has all the virtues and you have +only your grace in words, a fluttering heart and a mind that climbs her +like a clinging vine in conversation. You must lean to her because she +will not bend to you. She has lost some graceful elasticity of the +spirit. You cannot clasp fingers with one of her thoughts and fly up on +an idea and share opinions with her. She is pickling her opinions. You +can frequently smell the vinegar of her mind boiling. At such moments +I have become so enfeebled spiritually as to be momentarily deprived +of my soul. I am of the earth earthy, due entirely, I suppose, to the +effect her obvious worth has upon my stricken conscience. + +But I am not alone in these sensations, only more vocative about them. +I have observed her carefully; she is widely depressing. + +I have known such a woman to go abroad, spend a year studying art +in all the galleries of Europe, come home, deliver a lecture on the +masterpieces she has seen and fatigue her audience to the brink of +tears. One must be a person in order to entertain other persons, and +she had lost that touch of Nature which makes us kin whether we are +kind or not. She is a grammarian of duties, and a recitation of culture +if she invades that field. Nothing illuminating sticks to her, nothing +softening can happen to her mentally. + +Some instinct for liberty warned me from the beginning to avoid the +fate of these unfortunate best-of-all women. I have been very busy +for forty years, but in my hardest circuit-rider days I never would +do all of my own work; only so much of it as could not possibly be +avoided. Even then I was careful not to put my whole mind on it. If I +had to wash dishes, I always spat enough wit through the kitchen door +at Lundy, even if he was in the uttermost parts of the parsonage, to +draw his fire and thus divorce my attention from the clatter in the +dish pan. Whatever else happens to me, I will never do my own work. +If it comes to that, I will escape the disaster to my soul by having +no works. Dishes and laundry are not mentioned in the Scriptures, +therefore they are not obligatory. I will let my faith praise me rather +than my doughnuts. + +In recording this scandalous moral limitation I am simply exposing +to view the kind of mind I have, knowing well how many better women +will take a shot at it. Let them bang away. I would rather have +my reputation as a domestic animal riddled than to have my dearer +faculties destroyed by a flatiron or dishwater. No one was ever more +reduced in poverty than I have been, not one a more considerate +or obedient wife. But I managed to remain a wife, never the mere +servant of my husband. If you must do it, make the business brief and +forgetful. Give him a balanced ration and leave every man to iron his +own shirt, would be my motto, even if I went to the field with him +afterwards and ploughed a furrow by way of reciprocity. The idea is to +keep in with your husband at whatever cost. It works out better in the +long run than making a pig of him at the table and a tyrant of him in +the house. + +The disposition to do that is a senseless weakness in devoted women. +Added to their domestic pride, it accounts for the enormous labor now +necessary in the conducting of a home and the entertainment of guests. + +I am writing this record, however, to prove that the keeping of virtues +and those attributes becoming to what you think is your nobler nature +is an expensive business, and places you within grasping range of +everybody doing business with you who has no such vainglorious sense of +himself to serve. + +I have never found that it pays in any worldly sense to be outrageously +and unscrupulously upright in my dealings. The question is whether +the inward foundations one lays that cannot be swept away by earthly +misfortunes make up for the losses one sustains. I do not know. I +sometimes suffer a very strong temptation to take an inferior’s +under-hold upon a person who thinks I am an easy mark and pull off the +deal according to his standards in business, not mine, just to learn +how it feels to win that way. This, however, is a puerile temptation. +My habits are established. I have no practice in shrewdness; only +cunning enough not to experiment with my too-long-buried talent. + + + + +XXXI + +YOU MAKE YOURSELF + + +The forces that create us pass away, whether they are parents, +teachers, or books, and we are left at last to re-create ourselves in +the image of our own minds. This was what happened to me after the +death of my husband. The woman I was and the mind I had then faded +into a sort of peaceful silence. I was not for a long time. I remember +feeling strangely like a ghost, surrounded by the same friends, in the +midst of familiar scenes, but not of them, removed by death as far, +maybe, as he was from the mind and life I had with him. He had been my +altar and my church, I discovered. + +From that day forth I escaped from the meekness of being merely a +Methodist. I was Hagar going off into the wilderness with my own Bible, +leaving behind me forever the Abraham and Rebecca brethren and sisters +of the established order. I was in danger of raising up the very +Ishmael of a mind against them. But this passed. By nature I am short +on vindictiveness. I am not even respectable at this point. I have +known myself to relax and forgive people whom I doubt if the Lord will +ever forgive. They seem to pass out of my thoughts like shadows that +obscure the light. + +This happened later. Directly after Lundy’s death I was a very +dangerous person, quite mad with the pain and horror of what had +happened to him. + +I have a vivid picture of myself at this time one day in my darkened +house. I am sitting outrageously straight, pale and wan in my black +dress, but not bowed down or weeping as a widow should be. And I am +being visited by a great preacher in our church who has come to pray +with me, to the end that I shall find the grace to forgive certain +brethren who used my husband despitefully in his last days. But I +refuse to kneel or to pray or forgive these men. Let God do it, I told +him, since the Lord only knows how and when to pardon us. I left them +terribly in His hands and sat with mine neatly folded, while this +prince of the Church parted his coat tails and fairly shook the shadows +of that sad place with his petition in my behalf. Then he arose, faced +about, and stared at me. + +‘Their sins be upon their own heads,’ I retorted, feeling very pale and +weak, but tearless and determined. + +I may have referred to this incident in another place, but I am copying +it here to indicate that as soon as that I was stripping my mind of +religious sentimentality and assuming a sensible relation to the Lord, +who believes profoundly in punishing wickedness even if a good man +commits it. + +Shortly after this I had an assignment from the editor of ‘The Saturday +Evening Post’ to go abroad and write a series of articles about the +women of the Old World. + +I was seriously ill at the time, depleted in mind and body; but I +accepted the commission, as a gambler takes a bet, without giving the +editor the least intimation about my physical condition. You cannot +be overscrupulous in dealing with editors without queering your own +game. Very few of them will arrange with a sick man to do a long piece +of work. My idea is to keep my word with them if I die for it, and +to leave them to take all the other risks. Even at that I have been +obliged to deny myself the vanity of making many contracts with them on +account of knowing that I can write just so many words a day, and that +there are only three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Which is as +much as I am capable of morally in my relations with them. + +On my way home, after making this arrangement, it occurred to me that +I would stop over at Dr. Howard Kelly’s hospital in Baltimore and find +out exactly how ill I was; not that this would make any difference in +my plans to go abroad, but I wanted to get some idea of the odds in my +own body against this achievement. + +Doctor Kelly was positive that I was in no condition to go. I was a +very sick person. If I persisted in this undertaking, he predicted that +I would be brought home feet foremost, which in my opinion is a very +dull way to arrive. + +I sailed two weeks later, stirred around for six months among the women +in the various countries of Europe and wrote my impressions of them. +Those articles would read now as old daguerreotypes look of a far +former generation. Some of the great ones whom I met then are dead, +like Frau Cower of Berlin. I doubt if she would be great now if she +were living. Women have changed the definition of their greatness since +then. She was a neat, dim little old woman with a piece of lace pinned +like a rosette on top of her gray hair. She had a patient, enlightened, +philosophical mind about the future of her country women. The emperor +reviewed his troops that very day in September of 1911, but I do not +suppose Frau Cower had the least inkling of the terrible future already +dawning for German women. My idea of her is that if she had known she +would have skipped the Great War by the length of a century and gone on +with her calculations as if that had been an interruption in destiny. +She had a long-distance mind. + +Rosa Goldberg was the most notorious woman in Germany then, but not the +most influential. If there was one with actual influence there at that +time, it was Alice Soloman. I have often wondered what became of her. +She had power and charm, a certain beautiful enthusiasm that made her +effective with men. But Rosa was murdered. This was before the time +when it was conceivable to deal so with even the worst of women in +public life. + +Emma Goldman, a far worse woman, was quite the fashion in this country +then. She had her disciples among a certain class of our decadent +intellectuals, to say nothing of the great following in her own class. +I remember her well, slouchily dressed, with a scrubwoman’s figure, +black hair, straight and parted in the middle, black eyes, large and +strong, that missed focusing on other women’s faces. Olive skin, +flushed, thick, red lips, the lower one loose. She taught dishonor +and deserved death, but worked like an evil worm at the foundation of +our social order for twenty years before she was even banished. Which +always seemed to me a futile sort of gesture, in view of the fact that +immigrants are examined at Ellis Island for physical disorders and are +rejected on account of having a pimple, but are permitted to enter with +the most frightful diseases of the mind. + +The point about this first adventure I made abroad is that I survived +it and came home head foremost in the business of living as usual. + +I have survived a number of physicians who predicted my death. It is +not so difficult. You simply make up your mind not to die of your +complaint, however fatal it sounds in the diagnosis, but to live +according to your spirit as much as possible. I am not expecting to +keep up the struggle indefinitely. This body is not so substantial as +it used to be. The dear thing will drop off me some day like a worn-out +garment. But I shall have got the last shred of wear and tear out of +it. And I shall always remember in paradise what a brave chance I had +in it to do and think and go about on my two feet, which in my present +mortal state still seems a safer way of traveling than by wing. + +I do not pretend to be a grasping, discriminating student of the Bible. +I have chosen from it what I need, but I cannot even claim to have +read it through consecutively. Many enlightening passages may have +escaped me, but I do not recall the portrait of a single saint with +wings in the Scriptures. Elijah disappeared in a chariot of fire. Moses +died like a disappointed man. When they reappeared in that cloud of +witnesses, it was a cloud; nothing recorded of their wings. After Jesus +was transfigured, He ascended into heaven. No need of wings. + +I think it is probably the mortal imaginations of our preachers and +artists have added this doctrine of wings to saints, because they +felt obliged to illustrate by the familiar symbol of feathers the +_modus vivendi_ of immortality to mortal minds. On the contrary, the +one authoritative description of how we rise from the dust discreetly +records that our corruption puts on incorruption and this body shall +be raised a spiritual body. Only angels, those earlier messengers sent +to men, are recorded as having wings. I do not suppose these beings +ever were in the flesh. I doubt if they are of the same stuff we shall +be. It would not surprise me if they turned out to be the mere birds +of heaven, and that the saints will be stepping around as usual, very +light on their feet, maybe, but wingless. + +I do not recommend this idea to others, but to me it is comforting. I +have always felt the need of having something firm to rest upon, even +when I tuck the head of my spirit beneath the wings of my imagination +and pass into a heavenly reverie. I am psychologically opposed to being +up in the mere air, here or hereafter. + +The minds we have make slaves of us. We build a city or take one. +We make laws, establish our institutions and our covetousness in +commerce. We call this a civilization; but it is nothing, no more than +the dream of a transient world that never stands the tests of the great +realities which remain unshaken in us beyond all our knowledge and +powers assumed. It is invariably destroyed, blown away before the wind +of some change in our minds. And we lie at last buried deep in the dust +of our endeavors. But nothing sleeps in the dust. It must rise and live +again. So do we come up from the dark wilderness of these disorders and +start all over again after the pattern of our own minds. Another dream, +in which men walk like somnambulists for centuries to the same doom +of death and dust regardless of God, even when we call it a Christian +civilization, missing the way, the truth, and the life as we did before. + +The importance we attach to the workings of the merely mortal mind +seems to me to approach madness. If for one moment we could escape +from the illusion created by our own faculties, we should perceive +that we make of ourselves the fools of all creation. The sense to live +is the only wit that really counts, and we have less of that than any +other creature. We have only the sense to overcome, achieve, and to +destroy. A flea knows where to hop, but we do not know. A dog knows the +way home, but the smarter a man is the more likely he is to lose his +way home. He can only think, believe, hope; but he does not know the +simplest things that the beasts of the field never have to learn. He +will drink from a pool that a thirsty ass will pass by because the ass +knows the water is polluted. + +The very earth has more sense than we ever show. It is not inanimate, +but contains and uses all the elements we call brains without having +them incased as ours are in a small bone shell. The life that springs +green and silent from its breast is more obedient to law than we are, +and survives us. It knows a joy and peace in living that we never +learn. We are foolish to think the trees are not wise because they do +not speak. + +I have long suspected that the power of speech is not a power at all, +but a mere form of hysteria from which the living that really know the +truth never suffer because they do not fear life or death as we do and +can afford to be calm and silent. The frailest flower that blooms knows +that it will rise from the dead in the next season’s sun, breathe, +feel again the dew and rain. Therefore these little ones make no such +tragedy as we do of death. Their knowledge is better than our faith +in immortality. We make a religion and an anguish of doubts about an +incident which all Nature, every Scripture, and our own instincts prove +is a senseless anxiety. We do live again in the spirit if the very dust +rises again in myriad forms of beauty and strength. + +But no scientist would offer such evidence. He must think it out, +when this is something which cannot be thought, but must be accepted +as we take our breath from the air without arguing about it. And the +very theologians will throw up their hands in pious horror at such an +idea, give it a bad name like pantheism, as if this was the name of a +peculiarly damnable heresy. + +My notion is that it is not our heresies but our sins that damn us, and +no Christian name we apply to them will save us. I am no pantheist; +I am one of those humbler, more transient manifestations of the will +of God. The grass outlives me, the rose outblooms in blossoms that +praise Him better than mortal deeds, and I know the stars outshine me, +no matter how immortal I am. As a spirit clothed in celestial light, +I doubt if I should amount to more than one short beam in a universe +filled with the brilliance of His glory. + +To me, it appears sillily egotistical to give ourselves such airs +about being immortal. Everything else is. The very stones are fertile +and furnish elements indispensable to life. We, indeed, are the only +created forms of life that entertain trembling, despairing doubts about +that. We are even stupid and narrow-minded when our lid comes off +and we go insane. We stick to the beaten tracks of the mortal mind, +no real imagination in our delusions. The asylums are filled with +men and women who believe themselves to be kings and queens or some +other great mortals. I have never heard of one who imagined himself a +disembodied spirit. The nearest they ever come to that is by claiming +to be disastrous prophets. I have never heard of one who had the glory +of madness to believe himself a majestic oak or even a blade of grass. +The nearest approach I recall was the poor young lunatic who thought he +was a grain of corn and invariably took to his heels at the sight of a +chicken. We show too many evidences of ignominy to give ourselves airs, +sane or insane. + +If I should take leave of my senses while I am still in the flesh--for +I do not expect to need such senses when I am finally in the spirit, +any more than flowers take thought to bloom--I hope I shall swing out +into a more becoming conceit than the notion that I am an article of +diet suitable for a hen, or even the Queen of Sheba. I have my doubts +about whether she was all she should have been, or she could not +have been traipsing after a man with Solomon’s notorious reputation. +My vanity would be better served with the delusion of being an +ever-blooming rose. As it is, I suffer sometimes from the vague regret +that I missed blooming at the right time, the weather of my years being +inclement then and unsuited to mere happiness. + +But this record will prove that I had my delusions along with the rest +of my kind, and that though time and experience destroy the dearest +illusions, we do cling to the last to whatever delusion we adopt. It +is a bondage of the mind which we work up and strengthen year by year +until nothing remains but a terrible obedience. + +What amazes me now is the shrewdness with which I avoided various forms +of bondage by which women are so frequently defeated in their pursuit +of happiness. + + + + +XXXII + +THE LADY POLITICIAN + + +Without taking thought I have avoided the conscience of the modern +woman, which is a very sensitive, diligent, and unhappy conscience. I +seem to have lost step with my sex. No one honors more than I do the +sincerity of their purpose to reform, improve, and save the world. +But I mistrust their judgment. I particularly mistrust their power to +achieve their own wills. We have always been dominated in mind and +conduct by men. We have never been free moral agents, nor even immoral +ones. Cast your eye about and you will always see the string some man +pulls to move the puppet we are. + +However it may appear to others I do not know, but to me women seem +to be more completely under the dominion of men than ever before. +The difference is that formerly we were managed or mismanaged by our +husbands and fathers; now it takes a whole political party to turn us +about and use us for their honor and glory; but they do it. If any one +calls attention to the amendments and laws we have been instrumental in +getting on the statute books, I call your attention to the fact that +the state of the individual woman is not changed. The wife signs away +her property as usual if the husband needs it. The mothers have less +influence than ever before upon the character and conduct of their +sons. The only political influence they have is by adding themselves +obediently in subordinate positions to the great political parties. +Never were there so many handmaidens to politicians in this world. It +is a less elevating service than being a down-trodden ‘widow indeed’ +who was required to wash the feet of saints--presumably male saints. +They are now atoms of public life, but men control public opinion. So +watch the atoms spin. + +The trouble is we can pass no amendment to the Constitution that will +change our own nature. + +How well I understand the predicament of that young woman delegate to +the Democratic convention recently held in New York! + +No one will deny the frequent assertion made through the press that +the women delegates in this convention were an admirable body of +women, but those who are most familiar with the attributes of what men +call admirable women will have their very grave doubts about whether +they had any more to do than they were told with the final choice and +nomination of John W. Davis as our presidential candidate, which was +the very creditable performance of what appeared at one time to be a +convention decidedly discreditable to the great party it represented. + +If the women in it had been equal to the emergency, they might at +least have insisted upon a physical examination of the contending +candidates. This would have eliminated some of the contestants quietly +and decently, as we bury the dead, without so much scandal and with +less than half the expense incurred in getting rid of them. Right now +we do not know whether the livers and kidneys of Coolidge and Davis are +sound. But when we consider the casualties in the White House due to +electing men depleted in health and vitality, this is as important an +issue before a nominating convention as any plank in their respective +platforms. More than half these give way anyhow later on under +pressure. But when the man himself is sickly the chances are ten to one +he will not survive the intolerable burdens he has assumed, and this is +always a national tragedy. + +The ineffective person is always the shrewdest critic of those who +strive, however blindly, to achieve. I seem to belong to that class, +but I am so located for the sake of discretion, not for purpose +of criticism. I do a bit of haphazard voting now and then for the +purifying of my purely conventional conscience, much as one recites a +prayer without believing the Lord hears his petition. I know the cards +have been stacked and the successful candidate for that office has +been predestined. So I never fash myself into a state of enthusiasm or +animosity over an election. + +The most significant evidence I have of the political importance of +women is the change in the character of my own mail. Formerly it +consisted entirely of letters from admiring readers or indignant +readers of my books, or from those kind private folk who are one’s +dearest friends, even if one never beholds their faces. They write by +way of clasping hands with you or exchanging confidences with you. But +now if a political campaign opens, I suppose every woman receives as +many letters as if she had written a particularly appealing book. Every +candidate from the coroner type to the more iridescent eloquent type +who wants to be a congressman or senator writes to solicit our votes. + +These are remarkably dull letters, couched in the embarrassed +language of an awkward man writing to a respectable woman, whom he +really does not like, inviting her to vote for him. To me it seems a +frightful waste of postage, especially when the thing bears a picture +of the aspiring author. Yesterday I had such a letter, ornamented +with the printed likeness of one who is running for the office of +health commissioner in this State, a man so grossly fat that he has +practically no lines in his face by which a thought might be expressed. +My idea of a health commissioner would be a lean man with a vital +athletic expression. + +But my political psychology may be wrong. It is possible that an obese +commissioner might be moved to preach a healthful gospel of abstinence +and a balanced ration. My impression is that they are all glittering +generalities so far as the health of the people is concerned, and that +the lady demonstrators who travel like missionaries through all the +counties teaching girls to can and cook hold the health of the next +generation in their frail but diligent hands. Nobody elects them. They +get appointed by hook or crook and do valiant service. + +In short, I have reached the eye-opening age when a personal letter +from the noblest statesman of them could not move me to any real +interest in his fate. + +Why should one vote? At the present moment the highest official in +this state is candidate for reëlection without opposition. Personally, +he bears a faintly pathetic resemblance to Lord Byron. And quite the +contrary is true of him. He is not a poet. He is totally lacking in +that quality which inspired Byron, banished, to lead an insurrection in +a foreign country against despotism. And we cannot banish him! I have +understood that he is an eminently respectable family man, which really +contributes little to his eminence as a public servant. He can lead a +prayer meeting accompanied by the amen chorus of the best brethren, but +he cannot lead a people. + +The instinct for personal liberty mentioned a while ago has also led +me to avoid participating in the activities so popular and so ably +conducted by the various women’s organizations. Place yourself within +reach of the executive committee of any up-and-doing group of women, +and find out how much time or strength you have left to spend upon +your own affairs! If you are a social climber, they will give you +prominence in exchange for as much faithful service as you are capable +of rendering. If you desire recognition, which is the complimentary +name of publicity, you may have it as a reward for devoting yourself to +some department of public service for the benefit of mankind, or for +children, or for charity. + +If by some fluke of circumstance you have earned distinction, they can +use you for the good of half a dozen causes so completely that you will +never have another half hour to devote to your own cause. Henceforth +you will be identified with their achievements. You will not have +one laurel left on your brow which does not belong to womanhood at +large. If you belong to that ever-increasing volume of women who crave +self-expression, they can provide more ways for you to express yourself +than if you were a mere Christian wife and the mother of ten children. +They are using up more wasted feminine energy than any other power +company known to civilization. + + + + +XXXIII + +LIVING IN A BOOK + + +If you have lived in one house all your life, it becomes so familiar +to you that you do not think of its corners and angles, how the light +comes and the shadows fall through the windows. You do not remember its +upper chamber, because you are living in that chamber, nor that quiet +inner room where you sometimes go to pray, because you are still going +in there, closing the door and falling upon your knees when times are +hard in your spirit, and asking for a little comfort. But some day when +the door is shut and you are left outside, carried away by some wind +of destiny, bereaved of these intimate associations with it, then you +remember all the inside of that house, every board in the walls, where +you slept and where you worked, the place you used to sit with folded +hands when the day’s work was done. + +So it has been with me about the Bible. As long as Lundy lived we were +in it. It seems to me I was always traveling its pages back and forth +from the old dispensation to the new dispensation, from one Gospel to +another Gospel, wandering around in Revelation as one walks upon the +shores of a strange land, mystified. + +In those days it never occurred to me to quote the Scriptures. I left +Lundy to do that. I was not even aware of being word-perfect in them. +But after his death they came back to me, and I had the use of them as +if they belonged to me at last according to my own mind. I recall them +by my association with him. I use them right and left as he never would +have dared to use them. The little kind ones are like bright footpaths +that lead now more particularly to my own God, which I used to travel +with him in the shadows. The great ones stretch away before and after +me beyond the limits of time and sense. I do not try to reduce them to +the dimensions of my own thoughts; I simply spread myself in them and +feel immortality eased in all this space. + +When you have only one book you use it a great deal. I have read +many books, but I never had my own personal rights to but one, the +Bible. The others belong to the authors who wrote them. They have been +created, but, broadly speaking, they are not creative. The Bible is. I +may be pardoned then for referring to it frequently as the source from +which I have received most of my inspiration in living and thinking. + +Now it is a mistake to fit your life to one or two Scriptures +when there is such a wide choice of them. So when these moods of +godly depression fall upon me and I am feeling like a poor old +How-Firm-a-Foundation, or like a spiritual leaf that has been used a +long time for the fattening or healing of the ungodly, I stir about in +the Gospels for a better prophecy of myself. Something like this, for +example: ‘And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, +that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not +wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.’ + +Nothing is changed, you understand; the same law of the spiritual +world is demanding the laying down of my life for His sake; but I get +an extension of that law for my own mortal sake. Somewhere, sometime +I shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, and whatsoever +I do shall prosper! I am not above making a literal interpretation +of such a promise in the fairing weather of my mind. I begin to feel +greener, fresher in my boughs. Suddenly I am conscious of many rivers +of kind water that have flowed close to the roots of my life. I have +sinned quite a good deal and come short of my own glories, much less +the Lord’s glory. Still I have not lost much, only a few of my dearer +treasures laid up where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. I am very +well off here. After all, for a bush of my size I have brought forth +considerable fruit. I am not old; I feel everlasting. Therefore let the +years come; time cannot defeat or harm me. + +In such a mood I can swing paragraphs by the hour from the tip of my +pen, or I can go forth and plant a field, strutting in the conviction +that whatsoever I do shall prosper. It is a grand feeling, kin to +that liberty the old-fashioned preachers used to claim when they made +sure the Holy Ghost had descended upon them and they fell upon their +congregations with power. + +It all comes to this again and again when you get the chance to see +through your glass clearly for a moment: The Scriptures were made for +us. They are the literature of what we are, the great reference book +of man. We are not created like victims to fulfill them. By living +we do fulfill them, no matter how we live, in the flesh or in the +spirit, or, like the mortal hyphens we really are, halfway between. +I use my Scriptures this way, regardless of what may happen to the +favorite creeds and doctrines of other people. The idea of a church +God or a national God is too diffused to meet my personal needs and +peculiarities. + +I believe this is true of every man. + +I cannot tell now how I missed even the faintest association with the +Scriptures in the minds of the people who knew me best. Maybe it was +because I was never prominent in church work; maybe it was because +after the shadows fell upon me and I had premonitions of Lundy’s fate +I did not ask the prayers of all Christian people, nor take even one +saint into my confidence lest he should suffer by this betrayal. In any +case, after he was gone, and I stepped forth in my own written word +caparisoned in so many of his favorite passages from the Bible, some +of these people were scandalized as if a light and humorous person +masqueraded in sacred garments. My own church regarded me askance for a +long time. I was never offended. On the contrary, I comprehended their +anxiety with a sort of sympathy. + +Comparatively few people inherit the Scriptures; they get them as +we Protestants accuse the Catholics of getting theirs--predigested, +interpreted, laid down for them in creeds and doctrines. My poor +brethren could not be sure that I would not presently rise up in +the insolence of my own mortal mind and deny the divinity of Jesus +Christ or commit some other damnable heresy. This is frequently the +way with those who interpret the word for themselves. They want to +square it with some half-developed science which will be changed or +refuted to-morrow, or they go off on a purely intellectual tangent. +As a spiritually endowed person I have always had the sense to look +down upon our finite reasoning powers and to despise my intellectual +tangents. + +I have discovered, however, that in dealing with Christians of whatever +denomination it is discreet and valorous to use my mortal wits as +shrewdly as if I dealt with the impious. They may not be subject to +the same vices, but they have a record as long as the history of man +for persecution. That is still an active principle of the religious +conscience. I had my doubts about whether a mere woman would be +considered eligible to a church trial for heresy, not having heard +of one in my times who had suffered this distinction. Still, it was +just as well to settle down somewhere beyond the reach of this honor. +So, long since, I have allowed my membership to lapse. Not even a +presiding elder can summon me before a quarterly conference to be +tried either for my sins or my views concerning this or that doctrine. +I am a Methodist unconfined, outside in the Lord’s pasture at large. +If my church puts on a million-dollar drive for funds, I dutifully +give my widow’s mite and spend my real Christian charity on a family +of Hardshell Baptists who are in graver need of help than a rich and +prosperous church. + +When the Southern Methodist Church unites with the Northern branch of +this same denomination, as now seems imminent, I contemplate reducing +the widow’s mite of my contribution. As the devoted bystander of the +Southern Methodist Church, I am opposed to this Union; not on account +of prejudices connected with the reconstruction period, when we escaped +their maudlin sentimentality concerning the negroes by withdrawing from +them. I merely remember that as a warning, but my real objection is +that we can be better brethren in Christ further apart. + + + + +XXXIV + +HAPPINESS + + +The trouble is that we can use the Scriptures only as far as they will +go, and those we have do not seem to be complete. I have a vague hungry +feeling that we have not discovered all of them. There must be a few +tablets still buried somewhere thousands of years deep in brighter dust +which record a little happiness, something to ease the strain of so +many sacrifices and holy joys. I have had such joys. It is like coming +up through great tribulations and sitting for a moment beneath your +halo with tears on your cheeks. I am not complaining, you understand; +it is a grand feeling, but too poignant to be really restful, as if you +had been exalted by a deed or a sacrifice and must choose just holiness +when you are still in the flesh and feel the mortal need of relaxing +some. + +I know by the witness of my own spirit that we have missed a Gospel +or two which contained the strictly human touch in words. Paul comes +somewhere near it in his tender letters to Timothy, but all these +apostles were made too grave by their suffering to catch the light of +that message we should have. The place where it really belongs is in +those passages quoted from Jesus. I am certain they failed to record +all he said, or that it has been lost, or that it is still hidden +away in the archives of time. He was fearless, merciful, so good at +remembering that we are dust, he would have made a little allowance +for that kind of happiness humans need; not an indulgence in sin, but +an indulgence in life. + +I do hope it is not blasphemous to say that I can almost see Jesus in +such a mood; His people at ease about Him. It would be a quiet, bright +morning before the multitudes began to gather. And He will have looked +at these chosen to keep and defend the Word with that blessing look +even we can bestow upon children whom we love. And He will have said, +‘Little children, be happy!’ Something like that He must have said, +knowing what travails they were to pass through and how greatly they +would need the respite of light-heartedness. But nothing of the kind is +recorded anywhere in the Bible. + +The word ‘happy’ does occur at rare intervals, but it is too fearfully +qualified. ‘Happy is the man that feareth alway,’ says Solomon. And +Job in great pain catches his breath with this: ‘Happy is the man whom +God correcteth.’ And James says, ‘We count them happy which endure.’ +All of which means, fortunate are they who are prepared for the worst, +take their punishments with meekness, and endure with courage. These +are the evidences of a good character and a noble mind, but not my idea +of real happiness. One wearies of worrying all the time with his best +attributes, especially in plain sight of the wicked, who do seem to +flourish without any such attributes. I have never taken this as hard +as Jeremiah did; still, I have had my feelings. + +One day Jeremiah’s virtues irked him. He was too aloof and lonesome. +And he had what you may call an altercation with the Lord: + +‘Righteous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with thee: yet let me talk +with thee of thy judgments: Wherefore doth the way of the wicked +prosper? wherefore are all they happy that deal very treacherously? +Thou hast planted them, yea, they have taken root: they grow, yea, they +bring forth fruit: thou art near in their mouth, and far from their +reins.’ + +He goes on reminding the Lord of his own obedience and how he has borne +his trials until his sense of outraged justice gets the better of him, +and he exclaims, ‘Pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and +prepare them for the day of slaughter.’ + +I do not suppose the very treacherous are happy and I have never wanted +the wicked pulled out like sheep for the slaughter, but I have always +wanted to ask a truly bad man who seemed to be having a good time if he +really was enjoying himself. + +I have always had a hankering after some cheerful salvation, suitable +and sanctifying to me as a human being in this present world, where +I know what I am doing and what I want. I feel that I have a buried +talent for just happiness, a sort of incandescence of my own nature +which longs to shine. It seems to me that I have never made my happy +sounds in living. I have missed that laughter which is the speech of +a merry heart. But I have heard it many a time in a crowd and always +flirted my head around to see who made it. Usually a young person whose +burdens are still being borne by others. + +But once, I remember, it was an old woman standing in her own dooryard +watching two children, serious and absorbed in their play. Such a +figure! Tall and gaunt, so straight and finely posed, her homely dress +might have been a rag flung over an imperishable ideal. Such a face! +Wrinkled, brown, rough, like a crude verse written by somebody like +Ossian; the wind and the weather of life had passed over it, but now +the sun in her eyes, the simplicity of the deepest wisdom made humorous +upon her smiling lips. No comeliness anywhere, but that beauty of +honest happiness in every line. I think of her as a song I saw once in +the flesh set to a good stout tune of laughter. + +I have a distinct recollection of such people through the whole of +my life. They do exist--women who have survived all their fears and +learned their burdens by heart and stand canonized by that undefeated +look of happiness. I have seen someone go by who looked like a joyful +traveler on his way to some happiness he had earned, carrying himself, +you may say, with the long light stride of a good conscience. At such +times I have felt the light of my wings as if I had seen the witness of +my own hopes go by. + +These are the only people I have ever envied. They have an expression +of animation not intellectual, but vital, so different from that +conquered look of peace which I am always fearing will settle upon my +face before I know what they have learned, not by thinking, but by some +happier use they have made of living. + +I cannot now recall when this idea first took possession of me, but it +was far back in the years--that the life I was living was not mine, +but a sentence imposed upon me by fate, to be served faithfully. And +then as a reward further on I should have my very own life, which would +be different. I was not so concerned as my husband to win heaven. I +had an impression then which has persisted with me to this day, that +for all we know this life may be a rest the Lord gives us between +long spells of eternity. I anticipated some place in my years where +happiness would begin, as tired people look forward to a vacation. + +Shortly after ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife’ was published, it seemed to me I +saw it, as you look a long way down the road and see a wider brighter +place where you turn in through a gate and enter your own house. I +remember saying something to Lundy about this. We would get away +presently from all the cares we had ever had, take a little house in +the country and begin to live happy ever after. I remember his silence, +the look he gave me. If in the last day when we are called there is one +who hears, but cannot rise from his dust, he will have just that look +of terrible comprehension. + +It comforts me now to remember that not even in this dark time when the +shades were deepening about him did I ever raise my hands to heaven and +cry, ‘Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?’ I think well +of myself that my one concern was to keep him and comfort him as long +as I could reach him. Maybe I shall never achieve happiness, but one +thing I have had--the terrible wisdom of love. I cannot doubt that I +have received the best of my life and nearly every gift that prospered +in me from my association with Lundy. What really troubles me sometimes +is whether or not he might have fared better in the spirit if he had +been free as a monk to seek his sacrifices and renunciations. + +I think now happiness is a thing you practice like music until you have +skill in striking the right notes on time. We have no vocation for it. +And I had no practice, not a day when I was free from care and one +great anxiety--and one must be free to be happy. I know that much about +it by having missed it. + +I came nearer to what happiness must be, a sort of deliverance from +the things that are, after I began to do creative work. Once I had a +pen in my hand and the use of my faculties, the casements of all my +darkness were flung wide and I escaped into a very bright, quiet, good +world of thoughts. Every memory from my earliest childhood came back to +me, luminous substances to be worked into words. It was like weaving +love and deeds and the beautiful colors of every sensation upon the +loom of my mind. What I accomplished was as nothing to the visions I +had. If, as Matthew Arnold claimed, genius consists in the power to +recall, I may lay some claim to having genius. In one small room all my +lights and darkness came; people that I had seen, but never knew, were +suddenly revealed to me, so that I could write down the very secrets of +their hearts. Men and women, long since dead, lived again and waited +there close as life to be used in case I needed them for a paragraph +or two. Things that Lundy had said, poetry and philosophy that he had +read to me, piled up like notes on my desk, changed, you understand, by +the alchemy of my own mind, but still the parents of my thoughts. When +I think of the vast stores of material I have had, the wonder and grief +to me is that I have made such a dim and poor use of them. + +Once you get away from the Word, any discussion of religion is +unprofitable and apt to become acrimonious. For this last page or two +I have felt my own spiritual gorge rising, a mean and distasteful +sensation which has no place in this record. It is better to go back to +my original speculations on happiness. + +This is not a thing to tell, for it concerns the more intimate annals +of my mind and is set down here with the same apology one should make +for shouting in public when in an exalted spiritual mood. But here it +is. Many a time when I have filched a grand thought or some finer truth +out of life to write down, I am too moved to do it. I get up and pace +the floor. I cast a thankful look through the ceiling at my heavenly +Father, or I rush bareheaded out of doors in the bleakest weather to +cool off this happiness, so that presently I may return and copy it +into words. + +If this is happiness, I have had it; but my suspicion is that I may +have experienced then only the pangs of a great joy. It is not a thing +achieved by inspiration, even if you write an epic or paint a noble +picture. You have produced something. My idea of happiness is something +you get. It is intaking, not creative. You cannot think it. It comes +to you in the reality of personal experience, selfish and satisfying. +What I want to know is how I have missed it. Is it by some infernally +digestive attitude of my mind toward common human experience which +consumes my illusions, or is it on account of circumstances over which +I have no control, or have I just led myself like a wanderer walking in +a blind circle between two worlds? + + + + +XXXV + +THE LATTER DAYS + + +I have often wondered what becomes of us here in this life. For what +we were in the beginning does pass away, and we become the millstone +around our own neck. No matter how good we try to be or how bad we +actually are, we barely keep up appearances. It is not time that +changes us, but our own desires, ambitions and the fierce struggle +we make to get what we want. The body breaks under the strain, our +faculties begin to wabble like shooting stars, even if they leave a +trail of light behind them. We lose our grip, let go and stand aside, +but not satisfied. No matter how wise we have been, we grow simple. No +matter how rich, we become mendicants searching the faces of youth for +a little praise or recognition, ready to accept any flattery, however +obvious, disposed to keep our noses and let out that long plaint of +weariness and disillusionment peculiar to our condition. + +Many years ago there was a distinguished Methodist preacher in +Tennessee. He rose so high in the ranks of his brethren that we called +him a divine, and he had some kind of double-D title conferred upon +him. He was a good man and did valiant service for his Lord and for the +Church. At last his strength began to fail. Some power of the Presence +went out of him as it always does when the magnetism of personality +dies down in a preacher. His sermons lengthened intolerably, which +is the final symptom a minister in our Church shows before the bishop +and presiding elders superannuate him. No congregation wants the Word +drooled to it even by a saint. So this old man was retired on his +niggardly little pension and went to live with his married daughter. + +One day I met him on the street, pushing a baby carriage with his +youngest grandchild in it. He wore his pastoral clothes, stiff collar, +and white bow tie. His linen was as white as the apron of a neat +nursemaid. But what a look in his eye, an expression of tears! Isaiah +demoted! Nothing humanly unkind had happened to him. His daughter had +probably taken this method of airing the baby and getting her father to +take exercise at the same time. But when you have preached salvation +with power from the pulpit for fifty years, it is worse than a fall +from grace to be reduced to pushing a baby carriage. + +I halted to wish him good-morning and to admire the baby. He did not +care much for this morning, and let the baby go for a moment; he wished +to say something to me. + +‘If you knew what old age really is, you would pray for death while you +are young!’ he quavered. + +I tried to comfort him, but he was too terribly wise to be comforted. + +‘You know,’ he went on, ‘I am not supposed to be of sound mind. So they +give me little tasks like this to keep me occupied,’ regarding the +infant ruefully. + +‘When you have been ordained and preached the gospel for many years, +and moved men by the spirit, it’s a terrible experience to be set aside +as of no further consequence. I may act a little queer; you do when +misfortune and defeat overtake you in your old age. But if I behaved +as senselessly as a lot of young men do, I’d be hailed before a lunacy +commission!’ + +And this was twenty years ago, when nobody thought of summoning an +alienist to determine the mental responsibility of a youth who had run +amuck and committed a crime. + +As I grow older and feel the changes that wisdom and experience make in +me, and learn to sit down more to husband my failing strength and to +keep silent longer when younger people are exploiting the foolishness +of their wits, I often think of that old man toddling feebly behind +the baby carriage, shorn of all his earthly glories save the insignia +of his long pastoral coat tails, despised because his mind had passed +the spring and summer seasons of animal wit and aggressiveness, but +pathetically wise. + +I am determined to avoid his fate by taking thought now while my will +is strong, and I have fairly good business sense, and still reign +supreme in my own estimation to be spoofed or cajoled by the flattery +of being merely humored. I am already old enough to fix a measuring +eye upon any younger person who undertakes to pacify me with the mere +assurance that such-and-such a thing is all right; nothing is going to +break; everything is greased and the clutch is working properly. I have +known myself to get out of the car and find something wrong and ready +to break, and much of it not greased, and the clutch needing to be +relined. + +This sort of enterprise does not enhance your reputation for sweetness +and light among young people, but we must simply keep up our courage +and stand the gaff. If you are a woman, and have passed the age +of control by your merely feminine charms, the only thing left is +to exercise sufficient authority to put the fear of God in these +youngsters and sit tight. My grandfather was not so far wrong when he +was dying and ordered us who were about to supersede him in living out +of the room! That was the last act of authority performed by a gallant +gentleman who showed a proper contempt for sniveling youth. + +I do not know how it happens, but as we grow older our friends and +relatives become miraculously younger. We seem to survive too many of +those companions with whom we started in life and passed our achieving +years. As our infirmities increase, they wax stronger, and we become +no more than a memory sitting in the chimney corner. However generous +and considerate they are of your feeling and comfort, you have lost +your standing among them. The consequences are inevitable. You cannot +hold your hand with them. With the best intentions, they are ready to +take up your burdens and manage your affairs, which is really a tender +way of taking your life away from you and leaving you in your old age +without the means of supporting your own vanities and self-respect. + +Never again can you show how much better judgment you have than they +have in matters of management and economy! You may be permitted to hold +your dear old yellow deeds, though frequently in a weary moment you +also surrender them; but they have come into real possession of your +property and they are inclined to use it recklessly, according to this +speeding, spending new world they are making for themselves, while you +become the helpless pensioner upon your own hard-earned bounties. + +Nothing like that shall happen to me. I have observed young people very +carefully. They are really the pensioners upon our wisdom and reared +upon our earnings. If every man and woman past sixty should suddenly +die, there would be one grand wake of a funeral, then this world would +rock upon its foundations and go to pieces. I give youth thirty days to +destroy the whole thing. What I mean is that we are very important the +older we grow, and for conscience’ sake should endeavor to live as long +as possible in full possession of our powers and affairs. + +I have sometimes considered passing my last days writing a book of +gospels for the aged, designed to stimulate their courage and sense of +self-importance. I have observed that we begin to lose them when we +lose the purely physical attributes of strength and animation. This +is that period when the mind clears and can be used most effectively +according wisdom and experience, instead of those emotions which +inevitably affect our actions and judgments during our younger years. + +The time comes when these friends and these relatives who have grown +up long after we grew up will gather around you out of respect, +affection, and politeness; but you are a short circuit. There will be +such a divergence in your point of view from their points of view that +no common ground of conversation or comradeship remains. They will be +sitting up with you off and on in this manner as if you were the dear +dead body of an ancestor, although you may be getting your breath as +usual and looking straight through those innocent young things, too +polite to read aloud what you see going on inside of them. + +The thing to do then is not to retire to your own room like a sundown +old cat, or like a pathetically forgiving old woman, but to exile +them. Send them back to sink or swim in the world they have made for +themselves, and keep yours. Live and die under your own roof, even if +you do it alone. I have a suspicion that it is a lonely passage, even +if everybody is present. + +I willed the world to these young powers and princes ten years ago +when I came to this valley. They can have it. I am willing any time to +spare them a few words of advice about how to conduct it, and I like to +step around in it once in so often to see how things are going. But I +reserve this small one, laid off like a garden between these hills and +fitted to me as a fine old tune is fitted to the simple words of a good +old hymn. + +Once you begin to fumble according to your own light with a +denominational idea of God or to mix politics with your religion, your +light goes out and you find yourself being tried for heresy or in some +brotherhood which denies the divinity of Jesus, whereas if you had your +own right mind toward the Lord you would know that any brotherhood +which denies Jesus is apt to be a vindictive corporation organized +against all men who do not belong to that union. We are not brothers +except according to the way and the life of the great Galilean. I +myself cannot pretend to be more than the disgusted stepbrother of all +modernists in the Church and of red radicals in general. + +But after all we spend most of our centuries maneuvering in the right +direction. It is only now and then that a demoniacal cat-fit starts +somewhere, as in Russia at the present time. The hysteria spreads as +demoniacal dancing did in the middle centuries, but it dies down. The +whole thing comes from some monstrous mob ignorance of the spirit. The +individual Russian still believes in his God, but the evil forces of +stronger minds are exploiting him. + +The thing that grieves is the casualties among the innocent along the +way. + +Here is a poor old bishop who has written a book in which he denies +a personal deity and doubts there ever existed such a historical +character as Jesus Christ. On the cover of his book is the emblem of +Soviet Russia, the hammer and the sickle. Beneath that is the red star, +emblem of the workers’ party in America, and the first sentence of +the book is a quotation from Karl Marx, ‘Religion is the opium of the +people.’ I am touched by that old man’s predicament as I am sometimes +at the sight of an old Confederate soldier who had a brave record, but +who has lost his wits and goes about decorated with cheap pewter and +brass medals; only this poor soul has got them published on the cover +of his book instead of being pinned upon his breast. + +I have noticed a certain thing especially about brilliant men. They +retain the use of their faculties long after they lose their judgment. +If one of them remains in business too long after the prime of life, he +is apt to slip up and make an investment which costs him the whole of +a hard-earned fortune. If he is a thinker and an authority upon some +obtuse subject, he is apt to lose his grip, take a header and show up +among the spiritists, as in the case of Sir Oliver Lodge, who appears +to have retained his thinking powers long after he lost the sense to +use them. + +It would not surprise me if H. G. Wells turned out to be a religious +fanatic in his last days. These people suffer some kind of reverse +in mind. They go off on tangents. So this innocent old bishop with +the ascetic countenance and a noble Christian life behind him lost +the rudder of his faculties, and is now being exploited by those arch +madmen, the communists. He has apparently reached the mimetic stage +of senility, got his metaphors mixed, and is trying to impersonate +both the grand old bishop and the grand old communist so magnificently +interpreted in the first chapters of ‘Les Miserables.’ + +Old men are sometimes subject to great vanities of the soul without +any wisdom. How else does one of them get the idea of calling himself +the Episcopus Bolsheviscum et Infidelium? Instead of being tried +for heresy, he should be rescued, put away in a quiet, comfortable +place and allowed to fan himself out according to his illusions. He +is obviously a good old man who has been tricked and flattered by +designing men and their still more designing propaganda. Somebody +has reversed the lever of his mind, else his training in spiritual +consciousness would have insured him against being upset by discovering +traces of our Scriptures in mythology and every heathen religion and +philosophy. These pagans, the very barbarians and savages, naturally +borrow, plagiarize and take the truth as we do, frequently veiled in +tradition. We all have the same God and must feel the stirrings of +His image in us. If this man had been in his right senses, does any +one believe that the study of astronomy could have possibly upset his +strictly Christian faith? Can what we know or suspect about a purely +physical universe affect the everlasting fact that our spirit does bear +witness to the truth of such Scriptures as the Ten Commandments, the +twenty-third Psalm and the Sermon on the Mount? + +Words are dangerous things. They lead to heresy trials now, and they +formerly led many martyrs to the stake. I suppose the good Bishop +still believes in Providence, but here he is in his old age trying to +liquidate his God into natural law. Somebody has stolen that many pages +of his mind or he would know there never was a law without a lawmaker. + +‘Banish gods from the skies and capitalists from the earth!’ he cries. + +Well, that has been done in Russia. Religion certainly is the opium of +the people there. Never has the world seen such a politically pious +people. They sleep, indeed, but what uneasy slumber is this that +filches all a man has and degrades him by his very sacrifices! Imagine +living under a government which permits its people to prosper for a few +years, in order that it may step in and confiscate their wealth and +thus reduce them once more to the direst poverty of a national ideal +where the only capitalist is this rogue of a government and the only +god is the pickled body of an arch-fiend who even in death imposed his +monstrous will upon them. + +My feeling is that every man is entitled to his own God, which is the +same God no man can escape. And heaven deliver me from living in a +country where there are no capitalists! My idea would be to live in +one where everybody would be in neighborly reach of one. But at that I +am this close kin to the bishop in the perversity of my mind; I should +like to see all communists and radicals banished from this country +before they pollute the minds of the ignorant, irresponsible, and +unwary, who are the real poor we have always with us, even if some of +them are learned and rich. + +My tides are falling. I have no longer the mortal power to believe +everything and hope everything. I must leave hopes now for those who +need them more than I do. + +When you are passing into the afternoon of your years it is wise to +break the habit you used to have of planning for the future, because +your future is behind you, as some Smart Aleck has said. It is +sensible to economize in hopes, because they are depleting when you +no longer have the power to achieve them. I have planted all my trees +years ago. Presently I shall be obliged to sit beneath their shade and +fold my hands. Even then I know I shall not be contented with just +peace. I shall be looking and wishing for a little happiness. + +When you are about to matriculate into old age you speculate a good +deal about how you will feel then. I am thinking it would be a grand +thing to live long enough to grow simple and full of faith and the +artless happiness I had as a child. Old people do sometimes; they come +again into that eager, snooping curiosity the very young have. They +go about wondering and getting themselves happily deceived as we keep +terrors and anxieties from little children. It is a sweet and blessed +state. + +Heaven preserve me from becoming a grand old woman and being obliged to +keep my dignity and mind sitting up overwhelming others to the last! +I should hate to pass out as one of my grandfathers did. He was very +old, but he retained to the end an outrageously overbearing use of +his faculties. All of us who were his meeker posterity had gathered +respectfully about his bedside, not tearful, because he was intolerant +of tears and we dared not weep. Presently he swept the whole bowed +company with one glittering gray glance and commanded us to leave him +alone. + +‘I will not be stared out of countenance at the very last!’ he gasped. + +So he died with all of us hidden behind the bed peeping at him. + +I want some one to hold my hand then, and to hear many kind voices +soothing me and praising me as if I had been a dear good old child for +a long time. I want to be reduced to that innocency of the ‘such as’ +when I go hence, and maybe trailing some fragment of the same cloud of +glory with which I came from God who was my home. + + + + +XXXVI + +WHY WORSHIP EUROPE? + + +We never can be sure what it was that gave us a bad cold, and for some +reason we invariably speculate about that as if it made a difference. +So it is with getting to be an old person when we have always felt +young. I suppose we do grow old, but we do not know it until suddenly +the fact comes upon us. The curtain drops behind us, all those years +when we were young pass into memory, and we see the whole of life from +a soberer, wiser, different point of view. Our very self-consciousness +gets a stoop in the shoulders, and though we may go on for a time with +a square-shouldered air we are not the same. + +About this time that change took place in me. I shall never know +whether it was the death of my husband, ill-health, or that six months +spent in Europe, but some vivacity of the spirit was gone when I came +home. Life had been bent somewhere within. I felt the weariness of +wisdom, such as one gets from the world. And I never had it until this +time--a curious depression about the mortal fate of man. I was so +outrageously tamed that I lost the habit of making dogmatic statements, +which had always been a refreshing insolence of the mind with me, as +bearing arms must be with a soldier of fortune. It seemed to me that I +had been demoted and suddenly civilized. + +Whatever may have been the cause I do not know, but in my opinion it +was Europe, that aged me. It is an old book of history, illustrated +with the scenes and architecture of former, younger, more spirited +races of men. The countries I saw could never have been produced by +the people who are now living in them, with the possible exception of +England. I do not like Britishers, but involuntary respect compels me +to hand it to Englishmen wherever I see them. They have the weakest +chins in the Old World and the strongest wills still to survive and +achieve. + +I cannot understand Americans who worship the life, culture, and +mental attitude of these failing civilizations. But they do. Nothing, +not even the Great War and our experiences then with their rapacity +and their resentment of our qualities can cure us of this obsession. +If the League of Nations had been called the League of Arts, nothing +could have kept us out of it. We spend more every year staring at their +scenery, buying their pictures, statues, tapestries, and the very +stones of their ancient castles than would be required to open every +door in the world to our commerce, our inventions, our morals, and our +institutions, all of which are more vigorous and vastly superior to +anything along the same lines in Europe. + +But we seem determined to degrade our own powers to achieve better +things by this idealism of old things abroad. We note disparagingly +the imitative characteristics of the negro race in their relation to +the white races, which has in fact delayed the development of their +peculiar genius in many ways; but we show the same tendencies toward +European culture with less excuse. I suppose we buy their old things +because we feel the lack of the tone of time in our civilization and +collect this stuff to produce that effect. + +As a matter of fact, there is no virtue in the tone of time. Virtue +comes alone from our own achievements. We cannot mellow what we are by +what we hang on our walls. This is cheating, in my opinion, such as we +do when we chase our ancestors back until we derive a coat of arms from +some old swashbuckling knight of the fourteenth century. Very few of +them would be acceptable now in decent society. It seems to me safer +and more respectable not to admit descending from any further back +than our original pioneer American blacksmith ancestors. This is good +stock, cleaned and charged with the noblest virtues by the courage with +which they endured hardships and built a great civilization. Benjamin +Franklin’s sister made soap and sold it to her patrons in Philadelphia +for a livelihood. It seems to me a more honorable record to hand down +to posterity than that of a seventeenth lady whose only distinction was +that she had a title inherited, not earned, and that she sat to a great +artist for her portrait. + +Europe is childish, overbearing, grasping, like an old man. We ought to +contribute liberally to its support on that account, as we do to aged +parents; but we ought not to ape the senility of old age. We do now +limit the quota of immigrants from these countries, but it seems to me +even more important to limit the number of American tourists who go +abroad to the aged and mature. The youth of this country should be kept +at home until their characters and ideals have been firmly established. +I was forty years old before I went over there, confirmed and certified +in my convictions as an American citizen, but it was a long time before +I recovered my own spirit and wiped the shadows of a weaker world from +my mind. Even now I cannot be sure. It seems to me that I detect a +foreign substance at times in my thoughts, not so firm or sound as real +living makes thinking. And I have known a great many people who never +do repent of Europe after they have indulged in it. They get an air of +aloofness and superiority. They are sick and disgusted with our honest +sins. They have acquired a decadent taste for vice as if vice were one +of the arts of Europe, as indeed it is. Now it does seem to me that +if we must be wicked we ought to be normally and healthily wicked and +call our sins by their right names. It is a sign of degeneracy to be so +virtuously sensitive and proud of your vices as so many men and women +of older nations have grown to be. + + + + +XXXVII + +THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN + + +A young man with a mind of high degree and an extensive literary style +recently shot off this in a magazine article: ‘Gossips are people +who have only one relative in common, but that relative the highest +possible, namely, God.’ He might have exchanged places with his nouns, +written it: ‘People are gossips who have only one relative in common,’ +and hit more nails on the head. But at that, he missed by half the +number we have in common. + +The nearest relative of every mortal man that always survives him +is the earth. He is atom and acid kin to it. He springs from it and +returns to it, laid back into it, earth to earth and dust to dust, +which is closer kin at last than he ever was to his up-and-speaking +relatives. He bears but one relation to God, a spiritual resemblance, +either real or fancied. Lacking that, he sustains literally no relation +to God beyond that of mere material scrapped and to be used again for +another form of perishable life, vegetable or flesh. The spirit of him +in this case is a disease to be cured by some divine method with which +no man is acquainted, whatever the theologians may claim to know about +it. + +The wisest of us do not actually know much. We can only believe +according to the quality of our minds. The favorite notion used to be +that such spirits went through a severe smelting process, similar +to that of four thousand degrees centigrade by which pure gold is +now extracted from quicksilver, but not, I understand, in paying +quantities. I am merely suggesting this, not as a doctrine, much +less a dogma, but by way of speculating upon the possible method of +purification. Personally, I find it disturbing and unprofitable to +dwell upon the reclaiming processes of damnation. I have seen too many +damned people in this world, and been too frequently damned myself, not +to know that we damn ourselves, and that by an act of will and faith +we can always escape from this sense of guilt, which settles the whole +doctrine of punishment so far as I am concerned. + +But the point I wish to make now is that we are all conscious of being +kin to the earth, though comparatively few have more than a creed +sense of being related to God. It is a thing we are taught, but really +learn to feel. The man who begins life next to land never forgets. He +may come up in the world and be carried by his illusions of success +far from its life and loveliness, but there come wearying days in his +countinghouse when his thoughts fly back like homing birds to that +quiet place. His own people may be dead and gone, or he may have lost +the sense of kinship to them; but he remembers still where the shadows +fell upon the grass, as a child far from home remembers his mother’s +face. It is the child in him longing for the comfort of that ancient +mother of all men. + +If he has lost out and gone down in the world with a bad conscience, +the same thing happens. There comes a woeful day when his tears rise +like a tide and he knows if he could go back, fling himself beneath the +shade of a certain tree for a long, long time, the silence and goodness +of the earth would cure and restore him. It would not, but this is the +way he feels. The sensation proves and defines the sanctity of our +relation to the earth. + +As to those other people, born in cities as chickens are hatched in an +incubator, they have the same instinct changed to silliness. They are +like stepchildren who do not know how to love the earth; still, they +have their transient cravings for its blessings. But few of them can +bear to live with it, because its weather and its silence is terrible +to them. They are really inebriates, living by the intoxication of the +eye and the ear upon the vast confusion of cities and crowds. They may +be strangers there, without home or friends, but they require this +frightful motion and noise as an addict must have his drug. They cannot +bear the solitude of silent places or the diminishing companionship +of their elder brethren, the trees. They are waifs blown like leaves +in the wind the world makes in passing. They never had the capacity +to live, and so substitute motion and noise for life as a sort of +artificial respiration. + +I do not know anything more tragic to contemplate than these lost +children of the earth. They may be learned men or successful men; they +may be dutiful or merely beautiful women; but if you dare to realize +how lacking in quality and the original stamina of life they are, +thrust them back upon the earth from which they sprung for longer than +a vacation period, and watch them go to pieces. They are parasites, +consumers. They have lost the valor to produce their own sustenance +from the earth. They survive by trade, commerce, inherited wealth, some +kind of artificial labor. There is not a drop of honest Adam sweat in +them. They are the kind of people who carry an umbrella over their +heads through life, whether it is the roof of an office, a factory or +a stock exchange. They want money, prestige, power, more rights and +privileges than any man can ever earn except at the expense of other +men; but they remain unacquainted to the last with real life achieved +in the open according to the law which bound the first man to the land +for his own good, where there are no fictitious values, but a fair +exchange of bread, poverty, and peace promised to those who do keep and +dress the garden which the earth is. + +One may write very convincingly, however, upon this theme without +making much more of a success than Adam did in the beginning when he +was ordained to keep and dress that first garden. The Scriptures are +not easy to fulfil. I have been tempted to doubt if the very apostles +who recorded the Gospels actually lived up to them. I have had a few +divine inspirations myself without feeling the least blasphemous; but +looking back now, I can see no more than the faintest gleam of them in +my deeds. What I mean is that it must be natural, after all, to come +short of the glory of God. This world would be a frightfully glaring +place if we did not. + +The queer thing is that we also miss happiness in the effort. The +satisfaction of saints in their piety has always seemed to me +despicable. It is a form of deceit never justified by the facts. And +the gratified airs they give themselves is not to be confounded with +simple honest human happiness. We are entitled to that whether we miss +the glory of God or not. Most of the time I am certain this is the +supreme gift of His love which still awaits us when we comply sensibly +with the conditions; but I have my dark moments when I am tempted to +suspect that this instinct for happiness may be a sort of clucking +encouragement devised by Providence to keep us up and going, as +romantic love is one of Nature’s enchantments to keep up the birth rate. + + + + +XXXVIII + +GARDEN HAPPINESS + + +Certainly the exercise of our virtues does not insure happiness. +My experience is according to the Scriptures at this point--your +virtues invite hardship and persecution. I have observed the very good +carefully. They are noble souls, totally defeated in this present world +by their conscience and their sacrifices. It takes a spunky spirit +to escape the Job Scriptures. This is my objection to the intimate +companionship of saints. The last one of them has a martyr tune in him +somewhere, and if you encourage him with either sympathy or admiration, +he will let go and sing it to you in sobbing praise of himself. I +am a trifle that way. More than once I have known myself to keen my +spiritual nose to a kind friend and chant the tale of some injustice +suffered in the exercise of my nobler qualities. It is puerile. No +matter how virtuous you are, virtue goes out of you then. + +I take involuntarily a sort of ignoble consolation in the fact that +the very bad are farther from happiness than the very good, because +they have destroyed the foundation upon which happiness must rest. It +is written that if we repent of our sins the Lord remembereth them no +more forever, which is something that cannot be said of any mortal man. +Even if he repents of his transgressions, the memory of them hangs like +a shadow in the light of his spirit forever. I have seen these swords +suspended over the head of a saint until finally he was slain by them. + +As for me, I have never been able to keep a record of my virtues, +though I have tried hard enough; but I have never been able to +forget one sin. Just let me get in a weaving way with so much as one +beam of holiness to light my dark places, and some niggardly little +transgression I committed years ago, or yesterday, lifts its head and +licks out a forked tongue in hissing comment. I defy anyone, however +worthy, to risk himself in the glow of holiness without having a +similar experience. + +This, I believe, is what is meant by the omniscience of the Almighty. +It is in us, a fearful faculty for seeing ourselves which we cannot +escape. And it reveals each man to himself as a spiritual bungler every +time he frisks within range of his own inner vision. The effect is +salutary, but very depressing. I am never peaceful, much less happy +afterwards. + +It all comes to this: We get wisdom of one sort and another with fatal +facility, because the world is full of it, a brilliant or dull sort of +ignorance deduced from observation, study, experience, and the prideful +exercise of our rational faculties; but we are perpetually short on +understanding until after it is too late. + +When I came back to these hills to dress my garden in the year 1913, +I know now that I missed happiness by the narrowest margin. I was on +the right track. I was at home again upon the earth. I felt that peace +and steadiness of mind we all feel in familiar surroundings among +companions who never change or move away. The same grass and the same +green boughs overhead, the same flowers I had known in earliest infancy +blooming like tiny remembered faces in every meadow and on the banks +of every stream. The same little footpaths of peace across every hill, +winding according to the minds of those happy travelers who made them. + +But the most enterprising business man was never more quickly involved +than I was in plans and preparations for happiness. The old cabin to be +restored and furnished, all about to be cleared and trimmed. I saw the +frost crystals blooming in the gray dawn of every morning that first +winter. The longest day was too short to accomplish what must be done +before the next day. I was in the woods choosing timber for more rooms +to be added to the cabin. I was something of a nautilus in those days, +without the sublime indifference of that little sailing mollusk to the +passage of time. I was in a hurry to finish my house. + +But, like the nautilus, I have gone on adding to it year by year +according to the widening chambers of my mind. There will be a wall, +a pillar unfinished somewhere when my own end comes. I shall probably +defer death by an effort of mortal will if I am having another window +cut in order to get one more entrancing view of this valley at the very +last. I do not know whether this is foolishness or not, but I have left +much copy of my mind and spirit written in stones that will last longer +than the monument Horace raised to himself, ‘more enduring than brass.’ + +I made a garden and planted it. I was in the fields from dawn until +dusk that first spring, watching the plows sink deep in the loam of the +land. To me, there is no fragrance comparable in sweetness to the scent +of freshly turned earth. Later I walked like an impudent little god of +a woman down the rows of young corn. I remember praying for the corn +that year during a long drought, not that I needed bread so fiercely +earned, but because to see it living and growing was like feeling the +green blades of my own vanity spreading and rustling in the sun. + +Somewhere in this house there is a snapshot made of me that summer +standing up on a load of wheat sheaves. I am wearing a stiff white +frock. I am bareheaded and the wind is blowing. I do seem to have a +high happy look. There streams across my face something of the light of +youth, keen and strong. Love alone can so transfigure us. I am in love, +you understand. My heart is embracing this sky, this meadow, these +overshadowing hills. I am feeling the wreaths of little blue flowers +that bloom beside the streams upon my brow. I am strong and well again, +cured of so many sorrows. My heel has touched the earth again. Auteas +was right about that--if you believe in your heel and the life of the +earth you can recover strength as he did for the next struggle. + +I was that child I used to be, let loose like a joyful energy. So this +is something I have discovered about happiness: It is not a product +of energy, but of chance, a free mind and deliverance from that +parsimonious sense of time which no child ever feels. This marked the +difference now between the woman I was and the child I had been. I took +every chance then with a free mind and no sense at all of time. I was +too young to make plans. I met the future as a lark meets the sky upon +the wings of a singing heart. I was nearer kin to God then and had a +wiser sense of life than I shall ever know again. + +The simpler creatures manage life more gracefully than we do. I have +often envied the birds, not because they can sing, but because they +can fly. They own everything from the tallest tree top to the farthest +meadow’s rim; but they have no sense of possession, no baggage to +carry. They endure more hardships than we do and have a better time. +The difference between them and, say, the communists, is that they are +not acquisitive. They do not want to own everything in common. They +are honest about that, and no man is. He must be either predatory or +competitive. He has an instinct for ownership which he is determined to +satisfy. + +This earth would be settled by squatters if a comparatively few people +did not hold titles to most of it. The latter are safer neighbors +than the migratory class to which the communists really belong. They +are a kind of human locust swarming over the earth now, never to be +confounded with the earlier pioneers. I suppose in time we shall get +rid of them. If we do not, they will destroy us. Then they will turn +upon themselves. They are by purpose destructive, according to some +rascally notion of gain. Their piety is a sort of missionary malice +couched in the noblest deceit of language. + +But with all the virtues and aspirations the best of us claim, it does +seem strange that we make such an awkward art of living. We are more +successful at increasing our capital and decorating ourselves with +worldly distinctions than we are at increasing our income in happiness. +This is essential. I have no patience with the piety of defeat which +yields the point and declares that happiness was never meant for us +in this present world, but reserved for us in paradise--a damnable +doctrine which reflects upon the goodness of God as they do who lay +their misfortunes to Providence when they alone are responsible for +them. + +It is we who miss our cue. We suffer from some blindness of the mind +which leads us to mistake the circumstances that produce happiness. +Nothing will satisfy us but riches, when we know that relative poverty +insures more peace and fewer responsibilities. We have built a social, +industrial and commercial civilization, so expensive that it cannot +be financed. And the more wealth we get the less capable we are of +achieving our own lives. + +It is the laborers, servants, and professional people whom we employ +that determine the conditions under which we exist, which is a form of +frightful tyranny. We get the idea or the ideal, then pay some one else +to achieve it. An architect draws the plans of our house. Carpenters +build it. A decorator chooses the furnishings, and servants keep it. A +landscape artist lays off the grounds and we employ someone to dress +the garden, because we lack the will and skill to do any of these +things. + +I do not think we should give ourselves such airs about art and culture +as we do, seeing that we buy most of the mere effects of these things +and that they are really produced by a class of people with whom we do +not associate. No man is really learned who speaks his wisdom instead +of practicing it. No woman is really cultured because she is up on +art and music and literature, or because she wears beautiful clothes +designed by a modiste, or because she lives in a splendid house, or +because she is surrounded by people who think and speak well about +what they know and see and exquisitely feel. She is merely the living +portrait of many arts accomplished by other people. I should call her +the decadent mollusk of refinement, never to be confounded with that +woman depicted a while ago in these pages as the more endearing type +of Southern woman. They have their occupations. They are amazingly +executive when it comes to ordering others to do it. They have taste +and piety and know how to exercise these virtues. + +The effects of the theories about the art of living which I have been +recording in these pages are plainly visible in this valley. The gaping +logs of the one-room cabin left by the Cherokee Indians have been +restored, and so many rooms added that it stretches a distance of one +hundred and thirty feet--pieced together with open entries, winged +with a long vine-covered court on one side and a living porch on the +other side. So you may see through this house to the valley below or +the hills beyond, as one should see through a good man’s heart to the +scenes and Scriptures which account for his existence. I doubt if an +architect could have drawn plans of a house so satisfying to the spirit. + +There is no color scheme inside. To my mind, a house furnished in a +strictly harmonious manner seems to be designed for publication and +read by guests, but not to be lived in at ease in your own private +everyday moods lest you break a note by moving something of a blue +shade to that place which calls for orange-yellow, or by dropping your +old green coat upon the divan covered with iridescent tapestry. Even +the company bedrooms in this house are so plain and comfortable that a +guest might feel at home in them, clean and fragrant, but faded; little +messy conveniences in every one of them to delude the occupant into +thinking he or she is not a transient there, but may stay a long time. +And the living-room is such a humanly gifted place that I may leave my +walking shoes on the hearth upon a winter evening and they will add a +note of peace to the firelit scene, as if they were warming and drying +and resting after a hard day’s walking out of doors in bad weather. + +Not one thing in this house is to be admired, but is to be appropriated +and used for your ease. You are to shine and talk, hold a book in your +hand to taste now and then, as in the old days a gentleman sipped his +wine. I have seen very dull people exhilarated before my fire on a +winter evening; I have also seen very bright ones let go their weary +wits and nod. These are triumphs which color-scheming hostesses rarely +enjoy, because you feel that you must sit up with their harmonies and +take note or be damned. + +Besides, these women are never contented for long with their furniture +or draperies. They must tear them up, send for the decorator and try +some other effect. I do not change my furniture or move it about. Let +the scenes of the world and all fashions change. I have laid my inside +scenes like one of those prayers for peace and honor to be found in +the Episcopal prayer book written and finished. All you have to do is +recite it. God has been familiar with it for a long time, and would +probably be astonished to hear a new word or phrase in it. + +There is an old-man chair here which, by all the canons of art, should +never be found in a cabin; mahogany, with hideously carved legs, toe +nails sticking out, the arms finished with two human heads, females, +but not goddesses--houris, I should say. The springs in the seat have +weakened in precisely the right place to make sitting in it more +restful. About as often as an old man is barbered, this chair is rubbed +up and the faces of the ladies polished; but it is never moved from +the corner beside the fireplace. I have observed that the elderly men +who come here invariably choose it as their resting place. There is a +huge couch beneath a long row of casement windows on the living porch +which has enticed some of the stiffest, most elegant people known to +modern society in this section to relax upon it and fall asleep, when +by all the rules of polite conversation they should have been erect and +vocative. + +This is boasting--I admit it--but not of my possessions. I am simply +showing the kind of mind I have toward a house, to fill it with snares +of peace and good will whatever happens to art. It is not a bad idea. +You excite less criticism and confer more happiness. It cannot be done +by an interior decorator. He has an expensive eye and a furniture +collector’s intellect. + +By the same token, I have declined the services of a landscape +gardener. My idea of a landscape is a good deal of it, preferably +green, and merely frilled with flowers, with the trees of an original +forest surrounding the whole thing. I planted my flowers years ago, +perennials, with much the same mind the Lord had when he said to the +original creatures and little leaves, ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ They +do. Poppies, peonies, gladioli, zinnias, marigolds, phlox, dianthus, +snapdragons, like good hardy people of the soil in bloom, making a +thousand wreaths of loveliness around this green hill in their seasons. +No wet-nursing to keep them alive during a drought, no coddling to +preserve them through the winter. They die down as we do, and come +again, as we shall do. + +During these first years here I was near the verge of happiness, at +least by anticipation. If my mind could have rested I might have made +it; but what with writing a book or two every year, conducting the farm +and building everything from barns to stone walls that popped into my +head, I lacked the leisure to be glad. + +It seems to me now that I indulged in too much self-expression without +looking for the reward of gratified vanity such persons usually crave. +Comparatively few people have ever seen this valley or know what has +been accomplished here. I have occupied it much as I shall presently +occupy my grave, alone, but doubtless with a great deal more activity +than the narrow confines of a grave with a tombstone over you can +possibly afford. + +I cannot think what made me so furiously industrious laying scenes +so rarely to be praised. As to that, we must always wonder why the +Lord required such limitless spaces for His creation and made so many +unintelligible stars. Fewer would have been rarer and shown to a better +advantage. And what measly sight-seers of the heavens we make, always +snooping and squinting at His handiwork without being able to find +out anything about it, with no mind to comprehend the glory of these +populous heavens. + +There must be another audience somewhere. Surely the Almighty has +had more encouragement than we could give Him, more inspiration +than our pathetically inadequate existence affords Him. I am so +religious at times that I can conceive of a great council chamber of +creators located upon one of the grander stars between burning suns. +Not that I crave more than one Lord to serve. When we consider the +Ten Commandments and the rules laid down for our obedience in the +Scriptures of our Jehovah, it is apparent that no man could serve more +than one God; but in certain moods one likes to speculate in gods by +way of the most gallant and adventurous spiritual exercise. + +The thing that confounds and depresses me is, Why are so many of us +born? Why is there so much of everything anyhow, when we can understand +and use so little of anything? And what strange madness is this in us +which perpetually compels us to add to the sum total of everything? I +have had fearful thoughts along this line--the dreadful fate we are +under to keep on thinking and doing, because if we stop something +happens to us, a slow and monstrous decay. And at the end of it all, +poor old Solomon--after he had been King of Jerusalem and ruled a long +time, after he had built his golden temple and won his reputation for +being the wisest man--sitting in his royal robes, tired of his crown, +tired of his wisdom, calling to us down the ages, ‘Vanity, vanity, all +is vanity and vexation of spirit.’ + +He gives this conclusion a note of authority by signing it, ‘Thus saith +the Preacher.’ But I have always felt that if Solomon had been a better +man he might have been a better preacher. Like father, like son. David +was a fine, true singer of the hearts of men; but I cannot think he +set a good example for Solomon in his youth, which accounts for the +depressing wisdom he acquired by living. + +I never take one of these headers in spiritual speculations, however, +without falling to pieces afterwards. I seem to suffer from some kind +of nervous prostration of the soul. In these ailing moods no wise +man or great divine could comfort me. I am longing to hear the Word +preached by a simple man who has lived a good little life and who can +pray like a child. It is like taking the shortest, narrowest path back +home by faith. + +I never have believed it is a far journey to the real kingdom of +Heaven. If you start off with great preparations for a long pilgrimage, +you may be sure you have missed your way. There is in the heart of +every man a fair and lovely land, never betrayed by his transgressions, +never sold to the world and never darkened by mortal wisdom. I have +been there sometimes, an ineffable place. As a child I lived there. + +These little old preachers mentioned a while ago are the only pastors +of the children we have been left among us. They do not know us now, +they are not acquainted with the world in which we have learned so +much; but they know where every man’s land of Canaan lies, and they +have only one Rock of Ages tune that leads to it. + +Looking back, we can see how smart we were when at the time we simply +followed some instinct in the right direction. + +For years I went on trying to create my own little kingdom of Heaven +here behind these hills. A place visible to the naked eye, very +deceptive in its loveliness and silence. I had sense enough to keep +the world out, which was not difficult, since I have never been one of +those popular writers whose doorsill the people seek. And I was rarely +tempted out into the world. + + + + +XXXIX + +WAR + + +During the spring and summer of 1914 I put seventy acres of the valley +under cultivation, added eight rooms to the old cabin, and wrote a +serial. The inspiration of love or of any consuming ambition greatly +augments the powers of even an ordinary person to achieve. This is the +reason why men in love frequently accomplish so much for a time, then +fall back into their former state of indolence. The illusion of love +has failed. It is by nature a brief enchantment. This is the reason why +the man fired by ambition frequently accomplishes prodigious tasks far +beyond his normal capacity to achieve. + +I was inspired at this time with the hope of winning a happy ending +to what had been a harsh sentence in living. I was creating a very +small world to fit me behind the world at large; and this period, I +should say, was about the morning and evening of the third day at the +business. Things were beginning to turn green. I could see my little +herbs of the field glistening in the early morning dew, and my sun was +shining. I remember a certain notion I had then, which has remained a +part of my personal definition of the Lord--that besides being almighty +and obviously beneficent He must be a happy God every time he created +another world, divided the light from the darkness in that place and +set up all the miracles of life there. + +This notion was not so blasphemous as it sounds written out in words. +One cannot copy His omniscience or His almightiness, but it does _not_ +seem to me nearly so profane to give one’s self a few airs about having +imitated Him in a small way that turns out green and triumphant like a +field of corn, as it does to dig down and snoop the heavens with the +idea of proving there is no God at all. + +I had only to take a whiff around the farm in those days, have an +altercation with the carpenters about another window needed to keep the +cabin from looking too much like a fortress, then retire to my study +upon the farther rim of the forest and copy the green leaves of my +thoughts for the next chapter of the serial. + +On the third day of August in that year the Great War began in Europe. +The editor of ‘The Saturday Evening Post’ sent his first batch of war +correspondents across the following week. I was to have been one of +them, but I had promised another serial for another magazine which +was still to be written. The editor would neither release me from the +contract nor risk me in the war zone until this copy was delivered. + +I suppose it would require one of those latest expositors of the +mysteries human beings are, an alienist, to explain why disappointment +over being detained brought on the first attack of hay fever I ever +had. There is more psychology than pathology in our diseases. + +But I was determined to go to France in 1914. I had been living at +such a high tension nervously for some time that nothing short of a +bloody war could have quieted me and reduced me to a normal condition. +The motive here confessed was overlaid with the usual noble emotions; +but this is a truthful record of my mind, which is sufficiently nearly +related to human minds in general for me to risk the assertion that +a great many other people did valiant service in France who were +attracted there by a similar motive. We seek reactions from what we are +in excitement. The use made of us under these circumstances proves the +shrewd economies of Providence by employing our lower instincts to trap +us into the performance of the greatest, most unselfish services, else +very few men would volunteer for military service, and very few women +would have volunteered for canteen service in France. + +I hurried off somewhere, wrote that serial, returned to New York and +sailed for Liverpool all within thirty days. + +I have written briefly of my impressions during this harrowing period +in ‘My Book and Heart.’ What we know now is that the most victorious +battles and the most disastrous defeats never settle the issues +involved. The Great War has increased our debts, doubled our problems +and added incredibly to the moral confusion of our times. Still, if +there should be a call to arms in this country to-morrow, I doubt if I +could bear the mortal ignominy of being a pacifist. + +There is no sense in war. It is the way we are made that brings on the +red fury of arms. Neither the ambition of politicians nor the greed +of financiers could draw a nation into war if the people were not so +easily moved by an invitation to shed blood. It seems invariably to +produce a state of terrific exaltation, similar to a religious revival. +I doubt if this is due so much to the survival of brutal instincts in +men as to some provision of Providence against the ultimate emergencies +of mankind. When law, civilization and the artificial restraints of +society fail him, he will still have his fists and a faculty for +believing in God. These two capacities alone should reproduce men of +better quality than the shrinking creeds of pacifism. Whatever we +believe theoretically about peace, we should always be ready by nature +to fight. + +But another set of youths must grow into the pugilistic period now +before we could actually stage another World War. My observation has +been that the soldiers who fought in the recent one are more or less +shell-shocked. I have employed more soldiers here than any other class +of men since the war, because they are more intelligent and better +trained; and no matter how brave the record is they have left behind +them in the Saint-Mihiel drive or the Argonne Forest, they are more +concerned than other men to avoid personal difficulties. One must +think it out to understand them; their reputation for courage has been +established beyond any shadow of a doubt so long as history lasts. +There is no reason why a battle-scarred man should prove his courage, +which is probably the chief reason why men fight. They are the only +admirable pacifists in the world; and if it comes to the test, they +will have more to do with keeping this nation out of war than a World +Court or any other talking method we can devise, however wise or +diplomatic. + +War, however victoriously ended, is not a profitable subject to discuss +in the retrospect. It dies down in the emotions of men and passes into +history. After that, the next generation reads history and discovers +what burdens and strange defeats were entailed upon their future by +these victories. But I am setting down one incident in connection with +my experiences in France by way of proving a theory I have--that merely +by living we fulfil more prophecies than the seers of the Old Testament +ever dreamed of. We are becoming terrible predicators of the future. + +It was in October of 1914. A clear starlit night. A battle was on. News +from the front ran through Paris in whispers all day. Now darkness and +silence. No one could sleep. I came down from my room in the old Saint +James Hotel and stood in the street, reaching a long look through this +tomb of terrors that had been the gayest city in Europe three months +ago. Not a soul in sight, not the sound of a voice or the rumble of a +wheel, peopled now only with the shadows of great shapes. Yet in this +fearful stillness these very palaces and spires seemed to listen, to be +waiting for something about to happen. + +Then from the high distances came a rhythmic sound, thunder throttled +down, stars purring, a pulse beating faster in the heavens. Now the +ominous roar of motors. Swift as swallows in flight, I saw them rise +above the horizon and flash by like great silver birds through the +searchlights above the city--German aeroplanes coming to drop bombs +on Paris! Red blasts, earth-rocking detonations! This tomb of terrors +gave up its dead, a frightful population of men and women rushed half +clad and disheveled from their hiding places into the open street. They +shrieked, babbled, waved their arms, milled and circled, frenzied with +fear and hate. + +I stood aside like a mere leaf of life not yet caught in this whirlwind +of dreadful passions. The scene was no longer linked in my mind with +war, but with something else far back in memory, associated with +quietness and peace. Then it came back to me, that night so many years +ago, the world not yet in sight, the quiet heavens, father thrusting +his arm out in a gesture like a scythe aimed at all the spaces +overhead; the child I was then, bare feet resting staunchly upon the +toes of his boots, clinging to him, face upturned to him, feeling +like any other young bird about to be borne aloft upon magnificently +gesticulating wings. + +Through all this uproar of a panic-stricken people, in a strange city +on the other side of the world, forty years later, I heard again the +very tones of father’s voice: ‘You will live to see airships up there +flying like a flock of birds.’ Then mother’s sharper tones breaking +in upon this rumbling prophecy: ‘Come in and go to bed,’ calling me +away from the temptation of so great an imagination, anxious lest I +should be birthmarked mentally with that mad passion to fly which had +frequently cropped out in father’s family. + +Well, I had lived to see his prophecy fulfilled. But what a +fulfillment! This happens frequently to the best efforts made by seers. +The world twists the tail of their prophecy and makes it come true like +a disaster. + +On the twenty-third day of December in this same year of 1914 I was at +home again in the valley, sitting beside my own log fire, very quiet, +but not serene. I was suffering from a curious pallor of the mind, +not due entirely to the dreadful scenes I had passed through in the +war zone. We were homeward bound from Liverpool when the boat struck +a mine off the coast of Ireland. This catastrophe happened in the +middle of the night, and I was still convalescing from the peculiarly +sickening sensation of suddenly standing on my head in the berth with +no such acrobatic intentions. I could not forget the tremors which +passed through that ship as if it had been a living body pierced to the +heart, the awful heaviness with which it settled back into the sea, +the moments like ages of dreadful silence that followed, then the roar +and confusion on deck, the sibilant sounds of many voices hushed to +whispers by fear, the rush of bare feet along the corridors inside as +the passengers fled for the lifeboats, which were not needed after all. +And I shall never entirely recover from the recollection of that jagged +hole in the side of the boat, so frailly mended, nor from the sound of +the water pouring in and the rhythmic strokes of the pumps upon which +our lives depended. + +I am wondering if the critics who found ‘My Book and Heart’ the record +of a narrow and monotonous existence can claim one year filled with so +many varied activities as the year 1914 was for me. And I am merely +offering it as a sample of my years in general. + + + + +XL + +WIDOWHOOD + + +The older you are the greater risk to your happiness, and even to your +peace, there is in marriage. I cannot conceive of a husband revolving +comfortably in the widow’s orbit I have measured off and made for +myself. Least of all can I conceive of his sitting still in it with any +peace of mind. I suppose many other women feel the same way, else there +would not be four times as many widows as widowers in this country, +according to the United States census. + +A widower is probably the most transient manifestation of man there is +among us. I have often wondered why this is so. I am no alienist, which +is now that supreme authority among us for determining our character +and conduct according to our glands; but my suspicion is that marriage +once contracted becomes a habit with a man, and that he is the most +invincible habit-forming creature on this earth. + +You may feed one only three articles of food for a year and he will +stick to them as long as he lives! I knew one who cured himself of +indigestion twenty years ago by taking a cup of tea and two pieces of +dried apricot for lunch. He has never varied his midday meal from that +day to this. If his wife died, I suppose he would marry again precisely +as he goes to his club and orders that cup of tea and the preserved +apricots for lunch. + +On the other hand, marriage is a state of love for women--barring +the alimony class, of course--and they are so narrow and personal in +their devotion that they do not so readily transfer their allegiance +to another husband. Apparently they are not so enterprising or +broad-minded in their romantic emotions as men are, though we seem +to be widening out considerably in these latter years. It would not +surprise me if the time comes when even widows may become obsolete, and +we shall have no such wisdom among us as a sad, sweet-faced elderly +woman wearing her widow’s weeds and sitting in the amen corner, or +ambling about doing good deeds in the neighborhood. She may have her +second or third husband and be engaged in a campaign for a better +sewerage system in the city where she lives. + +What I mean is that we seem to be growing more like men mentally and +morally every day and in every way. I reckon it is all for the best, +but it does feel queer if you are a woman and a widow who cannot keep +up with the quick step of your times and know yourself to be dwindling +away into the narrow, withered-faced relict of your former husband. + +I remember one day years ago, decorating myself with such ladylike +views as these in a conversation with Mark Sullivan, who had just +refused a story I offered for Collier’s Magazine. He listened kindly +and patiently until I had probably exhausted my repertoire of noble +sentiments for that day. Then he seized his hat and made for the door, +thought better of it, paused, looked back at me curiously and delivered +himself of this warning: + +‘You may be that good, but if you are, you are bound to be lonesome.’ + +For a moment I experienced some kind of faint alarm, as sinners must +when the preacher gives them one last chance at the end of a revival to +repent and be free men. It occurred to me that I had better hurry out +while the spirit moved me and do something rash. But I could think of +nothing sane, discreet, and becoming to do that would also be rash. I +am not so sure it is conscience that makes cowards of us all. It may be +the vanity of self-respect that holds us in check. + +After all, I have not been so very lonely, only slightly peeved as I +grow older at the implication of having lived a narrow, dreary life. + +Years ago, after the death of my husband, I adopted one of the milder +sins of our times, much as my mother, who was a very frugal woman, +used to be wasteful with pins because she insisted that a little +inexpensive extravagance was good for the soul. I do not know about +that; but I am still so ashamed of my transgression I will not confess +it, although with a discerning eye you may see it for yourself as one +of the complimentary details in the picture on the frontispiece page of +‘My Book and Heart.’ Otherwise I am far behind my times in yielding to +temptations. + +If you had only one lover when you were a girl, and married him, +and if you lived very quietly with him until death parted you, not +taking in more than the spiritual edges of the world, you do not know +men; you know only one man. As to the rest, you know some by their +reputations--some good, some not good; some who will lead in prayer. +The great majority are beyond your ken because they will not lead in +prayer, nor contribute to foreign missions, nor even to the pastor’s +salary. If you have been a preacher’s wife for nearly a quarter of a +century, you entertain a vague suspicion of such men without having any +information about their real characters. + +This is what happened to me as long as Lundy lived. A man was a sheep +or a goat, and that was the limit of my powers of classification; a +very remote way of thinking about them. + +I do not know how it may be with other widows. I suppose if they have +a competency, and can afford to employ an agent to look after their +affairs, they frequently retain their social and romantic ideals of +these wonderful beings and remain peacefully ignorant of their sterner +manifestations. But if you must earn your own livelihood and manage +your own affairs, you will discover that you come face to face and hand +to hand with men every day in every way upon a totally different basis. +You cannot practice the arts and policies which made you so successful +in managing your dear husband, not if you mean to be an honest, +upstanding widow. Your mourning veil may appeal to their compassion, +but it will have practically no effect upon loosening up their business +sense in your favor. What is more to the point, it is a sly, unfair way +of playing upon their sex or your sex to expect concessions in your +favor. + +My idea of a ‘widow indeed’ is somewhat broader and more practical +than Saint Paul’s. I am not objecting to his requirements--that she +shall have washed the saint’s feet, if her piety takes this form, and +if she can find the saint; but I do not see why she should be more +diligent than any other woman in ‘following every good work,’ unless, +as I suspect was the case with the widows in Timothy’s church at +Macedonia, she was a charge upon the charity of that church and repaid +in humble service to the brethren. The modern widow is not so reduced +in circumstances, even if she is left without means. She can usually +earn a living, though it may not be so good a living as her husband +provided. In any case, a self-respecting ‘widow indeed’ now is one who +takes a job instead of charity and performs it with valor instead of +tears. The pith of honor in such a woman is not to play the feminine +rôle to any man for largess or advantage in her affairs. Even on this +basis she is apt to get more than is coming to her if she deals with +the right man. The great majority of honest men actually shrink from +the responsibility of handling widows’ funds lest some unavoidable loss +occur. + +On the other hand, there is an average, I should say, of at least +ten mite collectors for every widow in existence. They are easily +recognized, however, by the noble and vicarious disposition they +show for being her financial savior or her Aladdin genius in a +get-rich-quick scheme. Not long ago I had a letter from such a victim. +She is a stranger to me in the flesh, but I should recognize her +in paradise--an elderly widow, religious, full of kindness, always +protected, whose creed is faith in the goodness, honesty, and kindness +of others. + +She wrote to tell me that she had just invested all she could spare +in an oil well. And she asked me to pray that this money might bring +her ten or even a hundred fold in return. Imagine the Lord babbling in +wildcat oil speculations to answer even two widows’ prayers! Teach us +some sense by not answering such prayers--which is a thing many people +wiser than widows do not know about the functioning of the Almighty +toward prayers. Maybe in time we shall learn that the Maker of all laws +will not break one natural or moral law to save us from either death or +bankruptcy. It is no use to call upon God like a fool to save you when +He has endowed you with the wit to save yourself if you will only use +it. + +The last I heard of this widow she was the poor dear shorn lamb of +those oil speculators. Where one wins her golden fleece, a thousand are +clipped clean of their honest wool. + +After the death of my husband I suffered for the first time in my +life from the inferiority complex. I was left not merely a widow but +strangely benighted, like a foreigner who is totally ignorant of the +manners and customs of the people with whom he is to deal. I suppose +many women have had this experience, and may think it is grief. It is +terror and uncertainty. If she survives it honorably, with her head +up and her banners flying, she will be obliged to shed her widow’s +veil and be born again mentally no matter how soundly she may have +been converted previously to the wisdom of spiritual things. She will +be obliged to study something besides the Scriptures, and get stout +secular doctrines for dealing with a vastly competitive and acquisitive +world. Clinging to the cross is nothing to the way she must cling to +her own good sense. The Lord encourages us to cling to that symbol of +faith, but it is no use clinging to the world that way. She must step +around in it with a firm tread and do business with her spectacles +properly adjusted. + +Therefore I am recording it as truth here, hardly earned, that an +up-and-doing widow’s mind is one of the most remarkable mental +phenomena in existence; and I defy the ablest metaphysician to analyze +the thing. It is made up of feminine faculties, stiffened, sharpened, +sweetened, soured and tempered to any emergency, and she has ten +emergencies where a man has one, because every one with whom she deals +perceives that she is a woman and proceeds upon that basis. She is +much more of one than the average woman ever learns to be, but, good +heavens, what a furtive, brave, serpentine, dove-good use she has got +of her little old knitting-needle faculties! + +I spent three years after the death of my husband walking softly +beneath my widow’s veil, studying the situation which the world was +to me. I worked hard, made no investments and suffered from one long +nightmare of terror and grief. I know exactly how it feels to have lost +my right hand for achieving life, to get up cured of the wound, but +with only my left hand to support me, when I had never been obliged to +support myself at all. + +Widows deal with men if they earn a living, or even if they do not. The +thing which alarmed me was the discovery that I knew nothing about men, +and that they are mysterious. Their mental processes are different from +those of women, although emotionally and every other way the family +resemblance between us is so strong as to be misleading. They have a +different way of planning and accomplishing their purposes. They have +a conscience, probably a better and more scrupulous conscience than we +have about a few things, but theirs has a wide-open loose end, through +which they can pass out to achieve without a qualm some great deed that +we would never pay the price in piety to accomplish. + +I perceived with a sort of terror how able and uncanny they are, due +chiefly to this circumstance. They have by nature more liberty of +action than we can afford to exercise. This is one reason why many +modern women look so queer and out of drawing. They are making the +experiment. The result is a parody. No originality, they are aping +men, as a feebler race imitates a stronger race. If I am any judge of +the real moral greatness of women, they will suffer a revulsion of +sensibility presently and take to their heels. It is safe and honorable +to associate intimately with one’s husbands, sons and father, and +discreetly with one’s Christian brethren in the Church, though I am +wary about that; but my notion is that it is dangerous, indelicate, +frequently degrading to what we are, to associate too intimately with +men in their political, professional, and other manifestations. + +I may be wrong about this. My opinion may spring like hypocrisy from +cowardice, because I have not the courage to risk the losses these +women sustain. My only excuse is that I came up in a different age and +had my morals and sense of womanhood formed under different influences. +If the modern woman does hold fast, and win and prove herself an asset +instead of a liability in this civilization, I hope to bow my old gray +head to her and take off my shoes before her in reverent recognition of +the fact that she will have become the greatest pioneer of the ages, +against the greatest odds, with the noblest courage. + +In the meantime I am wearing my shoes, holding my neck stiff and +regarding her over the top of my spectacles like a harsh, narrow-minded +old mother who would like to snatch her daughters from a dangerous +maelstrom and set them to the tasks at home that would make men instead +of bandits of their sons, and proper maidens instead of adventurous +flappers of their daughters. The best mother I ever knew never cast a +ballot, but she established her sons in the way they should go. She +has been dead for years, but she is still voting these men in every +election. + +Maybe I should have omitted these reflections. When you have survived +your own world, and are now merely the spectator of another world in +the making, you cannot be qualified to pass judgment upon it. I let +that go with this polite apology and return to the problems which faced +me so many years ago when I became a widow. + + + + +XLI + +ALL SORTS OF MEN + + +At safe distance I have spent much time observing men and the world +they are making through the field glasses of my mind. I still prefer it +to any world women can make. This is not an indication of turpitude, +but due, no doubt, to my gender and the association of ideas. We know +that men are strong by the deeds they have performed, the cities +they have built and the cities they have taken; by the courage they +have shown in war and in the face of wildernesses to be conquered, +and by every hardship which women endure but cannot overcome. So I +instinctively look up to men. + +I am not defending myself, although women have made great strides +recently in discovering how weak and unworthy men have always been of +the confidence we reposed in them. I am not reposing much confidence in +them, but I am simply admitting that the tilt of my gaze toward them is +instinctive and prayerful, not rational, any more than personal faith +in God would be regarded as reasonable by a materialist. But observe +the advantage I have of the rationalist, who is reduced to the dirt +dauber’s creed of worshiping his own intellect, while I enjoy the more +becoming distinction of spreading wider wings upward. + +My ideas about men spring from the same shrewd source of financing my +future by faith--that evidence of things hoped for but not seen. I am +determined to remain the weaker vessel and to hold them to the higher +altitude of superior beings. It is more profitable and the surest way +of forcing them to make good. They are only too willing to part with +their responsibilities to these valiant modern women who are so anxious +to prove their own ability to assume these burdens and bear them. + +I have no doubt there is a smile up the sleeve of every man in this +country as he watches the return of his women to servitude, not the old +domestic bondage, but every other kind. Millions of them bread winners, +filling positions at half the price these positions paid when men +filled them. No wonder men can afford an eight-hour working day. Enough +women are working longer hours to more than make up the difference in +the common-to-all income. No wonder there are so many strikes. They can +afford the luxury and disturbance on the sweat of the women. + +In the same way they are serving men in politics, because they can +reach a class of constituents the male candidate cannot reach, and +because they can practice arts he never had to get him elected. I am +wondering what will happen when these women discover that they cannot +make this a good little world to live in by amendments, and that +all their labor and devotions have been spent for the promotion and +gratification of men, as usual. My prediction is that there will be +such a shrieking strike as the whole National Guard cannot put down, +because every striker will rush home, and fling herself upon the bed +to do her shrieking. + +I hope I shall live to see that holy day. It will mark the defeat of +men and their return to duty in a strangely diminished frame of mind. +But I shall never see it. The thing will come to pass so gradually, one +woman at a time coming to her senses, and then taking refuge in nervous +prostration or some other condition obviously and naturally beyond the +power of men to reach or control her. + +The only man I had ever known was, as it happened, different from other +men. He desired above all things to be meekly and truly blameless +before the Lord. God was his public opinion. I was amazed, you may say, +to the point of fainting spiritually to discover that men in general +have no such instinct for piety. In his heart I do believe the veriest +saint among them would shrink from a too notorious reputation for being +merely good and entirely virtuous, although the least and meanest one +of them wishes to appear great, if it is only to one woman, no matter +how short he is in personal virtues. + +I believe they are all more spiritually inclined than we are; but +heavens, what unscrupulous spirituality! It is a sort of noble side +line they carry. They crave as we never do the sensations of power, +exaltation. This, I believe, is the psychological explanation of why +many men take to intoxicants before they feel the need of artificial +stimulants which the hard pressure of this swiftly moving age now +brings. They want to feel like gods, they wish to enjoy the sensations +of being hard-boiled, when by nature they are polite, timid little +fellows. They wish to feel for a moment the power in their heel to kick +the world around, though as a rule they remain sufficiently sober not +to lift a foot in the actual experiment. + +The fool wants to be witty. The Smart Aleck wishes to light all his +candles at once and watch himself shine. The man with a bad conscience +longs for the false courage to swank about like a supervillain and +rejoice in his iniquities. And there are those who drink to drown their +sorrows, although my observation is that they will do it before they +have any griefs or legitimate depressions from weariness or hardship to +overcome. They are really suffering from that masculine embarrassment +in sobriety of knowing how limited they are in power and other +godlikenesses which all men perpetually crave. If even all the women +in the world would concede these qualities, humor them with sufficient +admiration and reverence, we should have no need for the Eighteenth +Amendment, seeing that these several classes of men would be already +sublimely intoxicated. + +They have not made good as gods in spite of these divine retchings, +but they have built a magnificent world. I will warrant there is +nothing comparable to their achievements on any of the other planets +of our solar system. But you will not find the mark of one feminine +finger upon the architecture of this one and very few traces of the +feminine imagination in these great accomplishments. We have our good +points, but they are not architecturally or literally constructive. +We are, I should say, at best the patient conservators of what men +make, win, and produce. This is the reason why dissipation is far less +excusable in women than men. They have their vanities and virtues, but +no such boundless egotism to keep up and satisfy. When we are forever +physically incapable of being the builders and achievers that men are, +I do think it is regrettable that we should imitate that vice in them +which is merely the mortal weakness of a sublime quality. + +We have our feminine deceits, ten thousand, but obvious and appealing. +Men have another kind, which also spring from their passion for +augmenting themselves, not endearing themselves. The vainest woman +who ever lived does not crave the admiration of men as men crave that +of women. They want it whether they want her or her love or even her +property, whether she is young, old or blind. This is the reason why +they cannot be truthful or quite honest in their relation to us. It is +not the desire to deceive, but to shine, to rule and overcome us with +their minds and their wills. + +I do not think any exercise of our recent rights as citizens will ever +overcome this handicap. The fact is it is fatal to do so. The moment a +man perceives himself diminished to his true proportions in a woman’s +eyes, she becomes offensive and repugnant to him, and he is right about +that. She was originally designed by her Maker to be the complimentary +mirror in which Adam might gaze to spoof himself to greater endeavors. + +When I found out all these things about men it had a queer effect +upon me. I distinctly recall facing about, thinking Lundy up out of +his dust and reviewing him in the light of this new information. Had +I ever really understood my husband? I never shall know. That perfect +illusion which love is still clothed him, and I could make nothing of +all my remembered evidence beyond the kindness and patience and prayers +of our life together. I remember still with pleasure how grand and +superior he used to look when he flared into flames of fine eloquence +that put my light out. But just let any man try that now! I can see the +difference every time between the mere man of him and his eloquence. +I am not moved. I simply regard him with a listening eye while I +divide the light of his words from his own darkness, whether real or +potential. If I should be won by his eloquence or his arguments, he has +the advantage. Presently I shall be taking his advice or adopting his +opinions against my own woman’s judgment, which is bad business, if you +know what I mean. + +As near as I can tell the truth from memory, it was this instinct +of inferiority which led me to earn my life and my living in strict +retirement after my husband’s death. I perceived that the training +I had had with him in the scriptural simplicities of living was no +adequate preparation for competing with men in any way. I might hold a +candle to them, but I’d never hold my own with them. And trying to get +a working knowledge of them at the age I was then would have been like +trying to learn a foreign language after you are forty when you were +born with a lisping, stammering tongue. + +There was another consideration that influenced me. As a wife I had +practiced the habits of obedience. My husband laid the scenes of our +life and controlled our destiny. I simply helped him do that. I had +been confirmed in the womanly attribute of being guided by his stronger +will. What I discovered at the end of these three years’ thoughtfulness +is that every man’s will is stronger than any woman’s. She may outwit +him, but she cannot outwill him. It was not my idea to dizzy around as +a widow, being guided by this man or that one in my affairs. The best +thing I could do was to break the entail of that beautiful attribute +of obedience I had as a wife, tear it up like a scrap of paper, and +retreat to a safe distance. I meant to lay a few scenes of my own +devising and to become the captain of my own fate, let the Lord do as +he saw fit about my soul. + +I was near to being tired of my soul by this time from worrying with +it and straining spiritually for so many years to the exclusion of +all earthly profits. Later, I did resume intimate relations with +it, because once you have adopted the ideals of a spiritual life +you are meanly impoverished without them. You are degraded in your +own consciousness as bitter, worm-eaten dust without this sublime +reservation held by faith, that there is eternal life no matter what +griefs you have had or what happiness you have missed or what an +ordinary person you have been all your life. + +I feel these limitations keenly, and have always been extremely +anxious to find out for sure that I really am extraordinary and +immortal and worthy of my own admiration at the very last. I wish to +die proud. + +This is something that can only happen to us in the next world, where I +hope to forget my mortal limitations and some of the ridiculous as well +as tragic mistakes I have made here that caricature me now to myself. +For the same reason I am not inclined to interpret too literally and +painfully those Scriptures which intimate that our memories will be +resuscitated with us. I do hope this is not obligatory. For I should +need no memory to recognize Lundy or Faith. I should know them as one +comes again in full possession of his mind and heart after a long +sleep. My idea of a happy resurrection would be to rise from my dust +cleansed from every embarrassing and diminishing recollection, because +this is the only way to be as prideful as one expects to be in Heaven. + +Grief, however poignant, is like a wound, if you are not by nature +infirm, but a normal person with a strong mental constitution, you +recover from it as you would from any other wound or sickness. So +I recovered from the death of my husband. The health of my spirit +returned, and with it the idea of happiness began to freshen in my mind. + +Faith was married by this time. I was alone and free to live that life +of mine which I had wished for as saints long for immortality. My +feeling has always been that happiness lies somewhere in Genesis, in +those first scenes of man. For this reason I set out for the hills +behind the world in Georgia, where the days come and go much as they +did in the beginning, where human speech is such a rare sound that +the dogs bark when they hear it in this valley, and where the song of +birds is the real language one hears. It is a place where there is no +wealth, no learning, and much natural wisdom of the woods, the hills +and streams. There are a few people, but I know them only as one knows +a little prose, a little poetry and a few Scriptures, not personally +nor intimately. + +I have written at some length in ‘My Book and Heart’ of this old +cabin and the surroundings, but I am setting down now the real reason +for coming here. It was to escape the mind and will of the world, to +practice my own will and mind in living and so find happiness--that +animation of the mortal spirit which is far more refreshing than peace. + +It was my way of laying claim to my own life. I am now in a position +to say that I very much doubt whether there is such a thing as a human +life which belongs exclusively to one person. It is something we borrow +from other men, from books, from a thousand sources, and something +we spend or lend likewise; but life does not belong to us as it does +to other living creatures, nor even to the grass. We are the most +dependent of all God’s creatures, not only upon one another, but upon +the beasts of the fields and upon everything that lives. And nothing we +win, even if it is everything, can possibly satisfy us. I suppose this +is one of those terrific provisions of Providence to keep us doing and +moving toward some far-off divine event. + +What follows is the record of my adventures in this business. Launcelot +looking for the Holy Grail never traveled farther or endured greater +hardships than I have in this narrow valley looking for happiness. I +have worn all my virtues to a frazzle and I am about to grow old in +sorrowful defeats without attaining even the bright rim of the cup of +happiness. And now, when maybe it is too late, I have discovered the +mistake I made. This is scarcely reason enough to go on with these +annals, because when at the end I prove it and set it down in plain +words, not one who reads this tale can avoid making it. We are the +perpetual victims of an illusion. We may as well take what comes, +whether it is happiness or not, and avoid the struggle. + + + + +XLII + +VARIOUS TYPES OF WOMEN + + +I suppose women are one of the essential provisions of Nature, but in +our minds we have never been satisfied with the arrangement. We feel +that there is some kind of imposition connected with it. We were simply +thought of afterwards; we were not an inspiration of creation, but we +were created to meet a necessity afterwards. This makes a difference. +We are not quite normal as men are. We still have a futile instinct to +escape from what we are. Thousands and thousands of years have not made +us contented and at home in ourselves. No man ever wished himself a +woman, but ask any one of us and if she is in a truthful mood she will +admit that she wishes she were a man. I have no doubt Eve regretted she +was not Adam. + +Circumstances have favored us. From winning privileges, protections and +perquisites as we came up through the ages, we are at last getting some +queer advantages of the situation one way or another. But this makes no +difference. If we obtain the balance of power we seek, live the lives +men live and do the things they do, we shall still be women, subject as +usual to fits of nerves and tears on account of the long strain of not +being quite normal and at home in ourselves. + +But when you have been a woman a long time, and have grown accustomed, +you may say by defeat, to the sensations of being one, you may look +back through your mind, which is quite different from looking back +through your history, and pick up much strange information about +yourself which you would never discover except in the retrospect. + +For example, seeing the woman I used to be more clearly than I could +possibly have seen and measured her then, it occurs to me that I +may have been a kind of idiot, femininely speaking. What I mean is +that I seem to have been almost totally devoid of that engaging +self-consciousness which makes women noticeable and attractive to +men. I am embarrassed lest my husband may have found me delinquent in +the mere airs of femininity. I do not recall ever being coquettish +or feeling attractive; merely honest, kind, devoted, and at times +freakishly witty or gravely intelligent. + +Maybe this was due to the fact that I was not pretty as men see +prettiness, and knew it, although I always felt beautiful, and must +have been absurdly contented with this inward conviction. Still I +have known many a homely woman who was amazingly attractive, like +that heroine in one of Madame de Staël’s novels to whose ‘bright dark +homeliness’ she refers so flatteringly. That is the point--if you must +be homely it is better to be dark about it. With black hair, black +eyes and even a swarthy skin you have only to turn on your light from +within to glow. I am too fair, not enough contrast between my blondness +and any brightness of expression I could turn on. Besides, I have what +would be called a lofty brow in a man, which gives me a damnably noble +look so far as beauty is concerned. During the thin years of my earlier +womanhood it was out of all sweetly feminine proportion to the lower +part of my face. + +I am only suggesting a probable explanation, you understand; not that I +believe it myself, but hope some one else will. The feeling I have now +is that I missed part of my conduct as a woman at a time when it might +have contributed some to that happiness which I have also missed. What +I should like to know is whether women who have flown their banners in +many men’s hearts during their youth have memories of happiness that I +have not got. Do they recall those episodes with pleasure? Or do they +recall them at all? I have a queer, ruthless feeling that I could have +forgotten many men, and remembered forever only one. I wish I knew what +so many other women know about this. Maybe it is idle curiosity, but it +feels like lines I failed to recite in living. + +At this late day I wonder what Lundy really thought of me. I have +observed this--that very few wives know what their husbands think of +them. I even wonder sometimes with the gravest trepidations what he +would think of me now. I have grown so sensible. I have almost lost the +gift of doing anything foolish and sweetly feminine, if I ever had it. +And yet the woman I never have been sits and looks through this bright +veil of mysteries, as we sometimes gaze reverently at the masterpiece +we never could have painted. + +The only consolation I get in such a mood is a mean one. The women I +have known who enjoyed all these benefits do not impress me as being +eased by their experiences. I can think of a dozen who were belles in +their youth, who were happily married, who enjoyed all the distinctions +society and wealth can confer upon charming women. And now, at my age, +they have a curious, beautifully painted, bankrupt expression, as if +they had lost several fortunes and were facing the direst poverty in +their old age. I may be mistaken about this. They may have acquired +that restless, frantic look characteristic of them from habit on +account of doing things instead of sitting for years thinking things as +I have done. + +Still, I feel like a stranger among them, as if they had practiced +some kind of feminine wit and dexterity in living that I do not know. +I believe it is something they learned of themselves which I cannot +learn. They know how to make an attraction of their modesty. + +Now I have often wondered whether modesty is a cultivated virtue or +a quality of femininity. If it is a virtue to be attained by taking +thought, I have lacked it through the whole of my life. For I have +never been consciously modest, nor even felt the need of protecting +myself anywhere, nor the least anxiety about remaining neatly folded +and decent to the last. + +One of the mysteries of feminine consciousness which I have never +fathomed is why so many women feel in some vague danger from men. +Why do they look under the bed to make sure no man is there? Years +ago I was going to prayer meeting one evening in a city accompanied +by a spinster. She was a dear good soul, but you may say almost +conscientiously homely. This was during that period when we wore broad +black leather belts to gear in our shirt waists and skirts. We were +stepping primly around the corner to the church when my companion +leaped into the air and screamed. Clinging to me in the wildest terror, +she vowed that a man had seized her by the belt from behind. It was no +use to ask her if she was sure it was a man: they always know it is a +man if anything happens to them. He alone is the plausible explanation. +It was a fact that she had lost her belt. The buckle had slipped and it +lay directly behind us on the pavement. Now why did she do that? One +might be tempted to suspect some indelicate lesion of the imagination +if it were not for the fact that good women, pure enough in heart to +see God, are subject to these vagaries. + +When I had lived alone in this old cabin for ten years, without ever +suspecting it of having a man concealed in it, a friend came to spend +a month with me. She was seven years my senior, and you may say the +very pincushion of every feminine virtue, very modest. Nevertheless, +every evening before she retired she would take her candle and go +man-hunting through the house, upstairs, downstairs, and even into both +basements--just to make sure no man was in it. + +Sometimes in the deeper, darker hours of the night she would appear +like a ghost in my room to whisper excitedly that she was sure she +had heard a man in the house. Then we would start forth to find this +wraith of her imagination, two elderly women buttoned to the chin in +our plain middle-aged nighties, her gray hair and my thin hair skewed +so tightly that it left nothing to be revealed concerning our faded +faces--terrible looking, but harmless creatures, bearing our quaking +candles, thrusting them into such corners and places as burglars only +inhabit in the feminine imagination. If we had actually discovered one +it would not have been we but the burglar who must have fainted at the +sight of us. + +She could never realize the absurdity of these fruitless adventures, +but I always felt embarrassed and apologetic to mankind in general. +A woman must have more presumption than I have ever felt to imagine +herself in any kind of danger from men. + +But that is my point. They are the more womanly women, and the dearer +kind to men. The telepathy of terror they experience toward this +imaginary man is none the less telepathy when they are not alarmed if +they are in social sight and distance of men. I suppose in the dark or +when they are alone and unprotected their fears are due to the survival +of a primitive instinct, out of date now, like the appendix in the +human body, but brought up with them from that far time when women were +in real danger of being seized and borne off by some marauding knight +on his saddlebow. + +I suppose in the daytime, in the parlor or on the street, when these +same women are armed to the teeth with every charm, it is the same +instinct of self-consciousness in a victorious mood. They are on the +offensive then and more or less irresistible. For men certainly are +more easily attracted by the self-conscious woman, whether she is +shrinkingly or boldly so, than they are by one who sleeps soundly +unmindful of them and who goes about her business the next day with no +animated sense of them. + +What I mean is that modesty of this kind is the fine art of +self-consciousness, and to be without it is to be femininely stupid, +no matter how much other sense you have. At my age, I suppose no woman +with a proper sense of dignity would want romantic attention. It would +come to the same thing as being caricatured. Even at that, I do get +tired sometimes of seeing in every man’s eye with whom I deal that I +have come to do business with him or that he has come to do business +with me. I feel the need of a little more versatility of manners +between us. I should like to take a pleasant feminine shot at him as I +see other women do, but so far as I know I have never capered one such +glancing remark at a man, even if I met him upon my own copygrounds, +much less in a business way. And I have wished for compliments, not +aimed at my brains or my diligence, as other women wish much more +fortunately, but no man ever lies in that beautiful way to me. + +I am not regretting the dignity of my conduct, nor the awful dignity +with which I am treated; but I am merely intimating that it is dry +stuff being a woman when some dull wisdom in you keeps you from acting +altogether like one. It is a tearful thing to know that you will go +down to your grave loved and honored for the good you have done and not +for the sweetness and loveliness of the woman you were or might, could +or would have been if you had used your mind less and your talents more. + +It would be interesting to know how the modern woman is coming out at +this point. They are bolder than we were. I read of one lately who left +her husband listening on the front porch while she went back in the +dark house and shot the burglar whom he was too sensible to face. And +it is absolutely amazing to me how many of them kill their own husbands +upon provocations that formerly drew only a few tears from a wife. To +slay your husband, no matter what kind of husband he is, seems to me a +frightful kind of suicide. Formerly only men killed their wives. Now +they flunk and desert them. They have lost some power of endurance they +used to have with all their faults in the married relation. As near as +I can make out, two people who marry now are not one in the sense we +used to be, because from the start they contemplate no such involving +unity. We are founding a precarious domestic life upon the grounds of +mutual intolerance. + +I do not know how they have managed it, but it is perfectly clear to +an observing person that modern men are shy of modern women not as +fellow sports but as prospective husbands. Maybe it is because so many +women sue for alimony, when they used to give up and do the best they +could according to their marriage vows. Maybe it is because so many +young women now will bring suit for damages on account of a breach of +promise and prove the latter by the signature of a love letter. + +In my day, if a girl was jilted she died of a broken heart, or became +an old maid, or married better, and nothing was said of that earlier +affair. Getting damages evens matters up, but it does seem strangely +gross and unwomanly to do such a thing, as if the victoress sold her +self-respect in the open court for so many thousand dollars. Can the +definition of self-respect change with the changing times with a woman? +I have often wondered how they feel when they win such a suit. + +The effect of all this courage in women is to develop the bump of +matrimonial caution in the best men to the point of absurdity. I +remember very well the first hero we had in American fiction who dared +not write letters like Saint Paul, with his own hand, to his lady love, +lest these should be used as evidence against him. This was Annixter +in Frank Norris’s novel, ‘The Octopus.’ We thought at the time that +this was a false note in the story. Now the world is teeming with these +discreet young bachelors. + +The fashion of what we are is changing. Women do seem to have a better +working knowledge of men than they had even a dozen years ago. But I am +wondering how it will turn out. If you are by nature the weaker vessel, +it is a dangerous thing to break too many of the stronger vessels. We +need them. The safest and wisest way of getting the better of a man if +you are a woman is by sticking to him. + + + + +XLIII + +MERE MIND + + +The trouble is that I have been too much concerned in writing the +scriptures of human hearts according to the light of my own heart. +One cannot be such an interpreter and figure at the same time as the +sophisticated heroine of an adventurous and highly colored existence. +Will no one appreciate the delicacy and courtesy I have shown in +failing to reveal his sins by not recording mine? Then, indeed, I +should deserve the charge of having lived a particularly narrow and +uninteresting life. + +No one will bury me on top of a high mountain in honor of my brilliant +transgressions or make a pilgrimage to lay wreaths upon my tomb later. +Any respectable person could commit them and get away with it. I have +a temper which perpetually glows like a coal of fire on my altar. The +lies I tell as a rule are good little lies offered to comfort somebody, +or to shield myself from the snooping eye of the uncharitable. I have +no more conscience about that than softly closing the door of my +chamber when the devil passes by. + +I am an ungodly, intemperate and uncharitable woman when it comes +to bearing with laziness and shiftlessness. I still believe an idle +brain is the devil’s workshop. If I exposed some of the convictions +I entertain along this line, they would forever bar me from polite +society. I am so profoundly conscious of my own sex that I cannot +endure the license of modern conversation on this subject. Not only +that, but I am so mean-minded that I cannot believe the people who +indulge in it have decent minds, no matter how high and noble they look +at the time or what excellent diction they use. + +I believe firmly in the fig leaves of language and that God still walks +in the garden in the cool of the evening, looking for that damned Adam +of us all. I believe the mere minds we have lead to mischief. They are +roguish and unscrupulous. I believe that we are in touch with something +else, spirit, which leads to righteousness, honor, and things of good +report. I am not pretending, however, to keep up this connection. + +Just let me make a good resolution, especially to the effect that I +will exercise charity toward all and malice toward none, and I am sure +to fly off the handle before that day is done to administer mortal +justice merely, you may say, as a public service against a neighbor who +has cheated, or beaten his horse unmercifully, or started a scandal, or +gone a-fishing while his wife and children remain at home to work in +the fields--none of which is my business. Still, I will attend to it as +if it was. + +I have long since made up my mind that there is more mortal relief in +judging people and taking the consequences of having the same judgment +meted to me again than sitting like an innocuous saint with my mouth +shut. If that scripture should be literally and universally obeyed, how +could we develop public opinion? And after all is said and done in +the name of the law and religion, does not public opinion remain the +strongest moral force we have for controlling the conduct of men? + +I may be a trifle short now and then in my contributions to charity, +but no one can accuse me of not being liberal and constant in my +contributions to public opinion. The result is that, so far as I know, +I have one of the worst-weathered reputations in this section. I am +coming to that presently. In the meantime, if you take my word for it, +there is nothing novel or inflammable in the sins I have committed. + +I am not excusing myself for the lack of valor I have shown along this +line, you understand; but I am offering an explanation, which relieves +me in a large measure both from blame or praise in this matter. When +you have had the Ten Commandments striped upon your conscience with +a switch at a tender age, when you have spent nearly a quarter of a +century practicing the beatitudes in spite of your own carnal desire to +raise the dust occasionally with an instinct more effective in mortal +affairs than a beatitude, and when you have spent the remaining years +of your life serving a sentence to hard labor, a flirtation seems +a frivolous waste of time, even if such an affair affords you the +gratification of being a worldly wise and tragically experienced woman. + +I have contemplated this kind of diversion much as one considers a wild +speculation; but after mature reflection I have always decided not to +invest, because it seems to me the man gets the diversion and the +woman gets the black eye, no matter how sweetly and beautifully and +modestly she conducts her romance, especially if it ends in marriage. + +What I mean is that it is useless to pretend to be very good or very +wise. We cannot be, and overcome one another as frequently as we do +in the long competition of living. I suppose this is one reason why +righteousness and wisdom make such slow progress in this world and have +had so many backsets. The sensible thing to do is to choose a life +within your capacity to achieve and do most of your thinking along the +line you have chosen. + +So I have gone on, writing a few books on the side, but laying the +scenes of my mind in the valley. I can go out any day and trace my +real thoughts for the last ten years. By the looks of them it is easy +to infer that I have no great mind and not much money to spend. But it +is also clear that I was thinking and planning for happiness, not for +riches. The forests still stand taller and greener than when I came, +though the timber in them is worth three times as much as my whole +estate here. The red hillsides have been changed into green pastures. +It has been like taking over the care and maintenance of an old, sick, +and impoverished relative to restore the land to health and vitality. +But it is fertile and willing now. I make no apologies for what it has +cost. I have been too wise to keep books with Nature and the weather. +But I doubt if what I have spent in buildings, dams and breaks in all +this time equals what the average woman with the same income would have +spent on clothes, operas, motors and journeys from her favorite summer +resorts to her favorite winter resorts in half as many years. And I +still have my investments, while she must repeat her expenses each +season if she keeps up her indulgences. It all depends upon your taste +in living and your idea of pleasure whether you spend lavishly for the +splendors and gayeties of the fashionable world, or moderately for the +long peace of a quiet place, round quiet days and starlit nights. + +I do not appear to have been brilliant or very extravagant anywhere; +but the only place where I fail to show at a modest advantage is on the +banks of the creek which flows through this valley, gory with mud in +the spring and winter floods, clear and sparkling as a happy woman’s +eye at other seasons. Twice every year I contend with this treacherous +watercourse, twice every year it rises and sweeps over the land. +Afterwards there remains not a vestige of my works along the banks to +restrain it. + +Still, this valorous worm of a creek is near to being my dearest +possession. The time was when my heart was filled with anxieties +and fears for those whom I loved. Now there is no one to love and +nothing to fear. The time was when I was at grips with poverty and +every vicissitude. Now I am no longer very poor, and I do miss my +vicissitudes as a demoted soldier misses his decorations for gallant +service. And there was a time when the world inside the Church was +fiercely critical of me and my works. Now the weather has changed and +I miss the lash of the harsher saints. But I have a happy presentiment +that when all my works are finished, and I am a memory grown faint +in the minds of men, I shall still be an aged willful woman in this +valley, prancing majestically back and forth along the banks of this +creek, ordering fortifications raised against its violence. The world +will have passed and I shall have been reduced to littleness of +consequences there; but I shall have something to do, one last fight to +win. This is something to which to look forward when you have nothing +else to win. + +This record, as truthful as I can make it, must read like a very +well-constructed plan for a kind of happiness suitable for a person +of my age and gender. But looking back through these years, I cannot +recall any such experiences. It seems to me that I have always been +in an anguish of labor or in a state of suspense, always looking for +more burdens to bear, giving more bonds for title to my own life and +liberties. It may be that happiness is a state of unconsciousness, and +that I have been too consciously looking for it; but I am beginning to +have a faint spiritual intimation that I have practiced my Scriptures +to the wrong tune. I am not so sure now that the key-note of a good +life should be self-sacrifice. + +I am finally beginning to believe that the Scriptures were meant to +preserve us from too many awful sacrifices, and that I may have used +them too much like the shroud of my mortal mind. I am ready to concede +that Nature is full of tricks to serve its own ends; but it does seem +beneath the dignity of the good God to have persuaded the simple +minority to sacrifice themselves for the profit and comfort of the +indifferent and unrighteous majority, which is precisely what happens. +It is really written that we shall present ourselves living sacrifices +wholly acceptable to God. + +I wish I had remembered and understood the meaning of that passage +sooner. It would have saved me much hardship and left more space for +human happiness. It comes to me now that it is less exhausting to make +one’s self wholly acceptable to the Lord than to those of our fellow +men who can fish for our services with these Scriptures. For they want +as many sacrifices as you can make, and will give you as many of their +burdens to bear as you will carry; but our heavenly Father only demands +a right spirit toward Him to make us reasonably safe in our relations +to our fellow men--which would by no means cover the terrific labors +and sacrifices some of us have made along this line. + +I am coming now to the closing scenes of my life as I have lived it in +the past, because I mean to close these scenes. As a Christian, I have +had the wrong training; as a middle-aged woman, it will be difficult +to go against this training; but I do hope to have time to make the +experiment. + + + + +XLIV + +ISN’T LIFE EXCITING ENOUGH? + + +Why should one take to strong drink because this is now a fashionable +perversity practiced against the prohibition amendment, as ill-bred +people disregard other people’s respect for law and decency? We +depend too much upon artificial stimulation. There used to be a +home-brew known as fine conversation which was much more delightfully +intoxicating than any brand of bootleg liquor now known to polite +society. Lacking conversation here, I have frequently risen to a state +of happy inebriation by following a particularly entrancing train of +thought. + +This is one thing I have observed about gambling--it renders a man +or a woman sinister and silent when other people present are obvious +and vocative. They are mortgaged mentally by a fixed idea. In this +connection I recall a visit made years ago to Monte Carlo. I missed the +thrill. All my life I have been such a desperate gambler against fate, +adversity, and the weather that the games I saw played there seemed +childishly inadequate so far as gratifying an adventurous spirit is +concerned. Men and women simply pawned themselves for a little gold, +lost it or doubled it in a moment, and then repeated the experiment +indefinitely. My notion about such people is that they lack the courage +to sit in the long game of life and play it according to the rules. + +I am something of a piker, financially speaking; but I have always +entertained the conceit that I might have done very well in Wall Street +if I had not been more profitably engaged. My dealings have been +chiefly with the earth and editors. Both are frightful risks. A flood +or a drought may destroy your harvest. The forensic mind of the editor +may have changed while you are writing the thing he thought he wanted, +or you may have missed your cue and produced something he never dreamed +of. My rule is never to kick against the pricks. What is the use of +adding wounds to your misfortune, because if you push one of them he +can give you reasons frightfully diminishing to your vanity for turning +down your copy. They are the most convincing men on earth at that +business. + +I recall only one triumphant exception in my twenty-five years’ +experience with them. In 1915 I had a contract to deliver three +short stories to be published in a New York magazine. When they were +delivered, the editor wired me that he would take them, since he was +obliged to do so under the terms of the contract, but that he did not +want them. The implication was not complimentary. Two days later I +arrived in New York, called the editor of another magazine and offered +him the same stories at an advance of two hundred dollars each on the +original price. He agreed to take them sight unseen. I hurried off to +call on the other editor who held the manuscripts. + +He was astonished, and obviously not glad to see me. But my manner +was so regretful and apologetic that he recovered his more vehement +faculties at once. Never have I heard such a scathing criticism of +literary composition. But I let him do his worst; I urged him on to +speak yet more contemptuously of the things until words failed him. + +I do not remember ever feeling meek in the presence of mere man, but +any woman can look meek. I folded my hands and regarded him like a +shorn lamb in a cold wind. + +He accepted the compliment and relaxed. He said he regretted the +necessity of being perfectly frank, but he thought under the +circumstances it was his privilege to tell the truth about those +stories. He was willing to keep the things, but they were not worth +the price he had promised to pay for them, and so on and so forth. Oh, +certainly not, I agreed; they were not worth anything to him, but to +me, everything. My honor was involved; I could not think of allowing +him to keep them, and so on and so forth, in a sad, low tone. + +This contest lasted an hour before I was at last obliged to fling off +my sheep’s clothing, give him a glint of my real mind and demand them. +He yielded then only on condition that I send him another story within +the year. I agreed on condition that he should pay for it at once in +advance, for no other reason that I can think of than to see how far I +could go, seeing that I had started so glibly on this adventure. + +I delivered the three condemned stories to the other editor, having +told him the scandal connected with them, and returned to my hotel with +checks amounting to nearly four thousand dollars. + +This indicates that I have some natural talent for speculating, but I +am thinking my career as a writer has lasted longer because I have had +the shrewdness not to develop the gift. + +There is a wideness of the mind not dependent upon the experience of +a broad manner of living, if you know what I mean. But let that go; +I suppose after all is said that can be said one way or the other, a +man’s point of view about such matters depends upon his quality and +his taste. Many people mistake jazz for joy, a loose life for a full +life, successful selfishness for the survival of the fittest and the +rationalism of a dirt dauber’s intellect for wisdom. Mine tend toward +the great simplicities, whether they are actually to be attained or +not. I prefer to clothe my egotism according to the nobler scriptures +defining immortality rather than in the less expensive worldly vanities. + +This is a mean advantage to take of those critics who lack the spunk of +such divine egotism without ever being able to prove immortality is an +illusion of the mortal mind inspired by the fear of death. I have my +anxieties about the traveling passports of saints in the next world; +but if it is possible to obtain a furlough from paradise, I shall apply +for one as soon as I am incorruptible and spirit-proved, return to this +world and pinch a few friends and critics who now look askance upon my +professions of faith. If I shall have developed no more than one wing, +I mean to spread it in a smile, rustle it triumphantly in their ears by +way of whispering, ‘Thou fool!’ But I do not suppose this will make any +difference. It has already been written and proved that ‘even if one +rose from the dead’ they will not believe. + +So my years have gone by. If you have read this record so far you will +have perceived that these last ones lack the glory and loveliness +of those earlier years. I am better known in the world and not so +dependent in spirit as I used to be upon the angels in Heaven. I have +not outgrown their ministrations; I seem to have lost them. Sometimes +at night in this lonely house, lying awake, I remember the child I used +to be in the little room at home, when I literally believed in my own +guardian angels, one at the head and one at the foot of my bed. + +What sublime experiences children have, and how serenely they accept +them! I used to fall asleep nonchalantly conscious of these angels and +their protection. Now if for one fleeting moment I could be aware of +such hallowed companionship, I am certain my corruption would put on +incorruption and I should rise from that bed a spiritual body. I should +be young and lovely; and the next morning, though I might look the +same, I should be changed. I should have the heart of a child, know no +evil, believe everything and draw all men to me. + +Very few people enjoy the privilege of laying the scenes of their own +minds. They are controlled by circumstances, conventions, and that +windy weather of other people’s minds known as the spirit of the times. +If a man conceives the ambition to do such a thing, the easiest way is +to climb into an attic, close the door and write out the scenes of his +mind on paper. And this is pure fiction so far as he is concerned, +even if he produces a volume of the profoundest philosophy. He has not +lived it; he has merely thought it. + +This is the reason why I have never bowed my dizzy old head to the +greatest thinker of them all. I have done too much active living +between the devil and the deep blue sea to be petrified into a state of +admiration by a mere system of thought. Let him try out his theories +on the land, in the street, in the commercial or industrial world, in +society, even in the Church, and find out how long they will last. + +But watch the philosopher! He keeps out of the ructions of real life, +which is the only personal evidence he shows of being one. All that +stuff he has written is for you to practice. I never heard of an +up-and-doing ubiquitous philosopher. He may lecture, but he does not +live; he only exists. His books are popular or unpopular, but the man +as a man would prove ineffective if he should be put to the tests +the simplest of us must pass in order to matriculate as serviceable +scholars in the real arts of living. I should be willing to match one +of my narrow circuit rider’s days in living, or a half of one of my +own days spent in this green attic of the hills, with one of Herbert +Spencer’s days anytime; not that I know his private life, but I have +my suspicions that there was not much of it. He was too entirely +absorbed in recording his ideas to have had the energy and initiative +to dramatize his thinking into deeds. + +The more one reflects upon the business rather than the theories of +living, the more do creeds and philosophies shrink in importance. It +is like starting on a long and arduous journey burdened with luggage. +You are handicapped by too many doctrines and complicated systems of +thinking, which interferes with that moral elasticity so essential to +courage and a good conscience. You may become famous for your piety +or your wisdom, but you do not arrive. Respect for a doctrine or +for logic trips you at the very moment when you might have made the +grade. You may found a transient school of thought, obtain the flighty +tail of a following; but there is no profit beyond that of gratified +vanity in such an adventure. The world will presently swing through +the lightening dust of your great mind and go on its way as if you had +never happened--as this earth would scarcely be spattered by radiance +if it passed through the flame tail of the brightest comet. + + + + +XLV + +AS WE SEEM TO OTHERS + + +It is a queer experience to gaze into the crystal ball that your mind +really is and behold there the image of the woman you were and are +and ever shall be, in spite of everything you have done and can do to +glorify her. + +The life you live never reveals the person you are by nature; only the +kind of person you have drifted into being or have been constrained +to become. So your autobiography, however intimately written, is not +the record of you, but of your feelings and performances under the +circumstances, what happened to you by the day or by the year; what +you lost and what you won. All of it is history manufactured by you in +living, but not you. Some luminous dust of your trials and triumphs +obscures your vision and makes the record shine at a time when no one +who knew you then noticed the faintest rim of a halo above you. + +It is your nature to put your best foot foremost if you can get so much +as the toe of it in print, so you instinctively drop the curtain on +this scene or that one in your life because one hint of it would give +the reader a glimpse of you, not garnished for the moment by your good +deeds or extolled by your rhetoric of these performances. + +I do not suppose any one who reads ‘My Book and Heart’ will ever +suspect what a commonplace person the author of that record really is. +I was frequently moved to tears and laughter while I was writing the +thing. Sometimes for whole days I felt translated into the good words +and the noble ones I used to set down merely the things I had suffered +and achieved. + +But you have only to observe the impression you are making upon the +people who see you every day and know your literal expression, your +disposition, the cut of your eye, to have the soaring wings of your +vanity as an autobiographer clipped. Very few of us would recognize one +another by our scriptures, but we do it by the personal impression we +make. For example, I have never felt that I should have been personally +attracted to George Washington, although I respect and admire him as +the Father of his Country. I do not think I would have invited him to +a dinner party at my house even if I had been in a position to do so, +because I have a very strong feeling that he would have been a short +circuit socially. The conversation would have had to be adjusted to +him. Our minds would have had to be the obsequious footmen to his +outrageously noble soul. I do not believe tradition is responsible for +this notion I have of him, but some intuition of the man which not even +history can obscure. + +On the other hand, I have a vaguely regretful feeling that I might have +enjoyed dining with Abraham Lincoln. And I am certain that I should +have felt comfortable and blessed on merely the rim of the presence of +Robert E. Lee. He would not have missed me even if I had been a very +plain and undistinguished person in the darkest corner of the room. He +would have contributed a glance of simple human recognition. I have +the feeling that if I looked very insignificant he might have made the +space between us with a fine complimentary air of having just seen some +one with whom he particularly wished to pass a few pleasant words. I +have had that happen to me more than once in the course of my life. + +When you have never learned to sit gracefully like a lady lyre in your +chair with your draperies drawn close at exactly the right place; when +you have a motionless countenance socially and a blunder-buss mind, and +you are kept busy putting out the fuse of it lest the thing should go +off with the explosion of an idea too loud for such an occasion--I do +not know of any more gratifying experience than to be suddenly soothed +by the recognition of a truly great man or woman who apparently does +not suspect what an awkward person you are in that company. Such people +are never moved by mere manners; they perform an act of social piety to +you which springs from the gallantry of a kind heart. + +I remember once, before I ever dreamed of such an extravagance as an +afternoon frock, I received an invitation to a very fashionable garden +party. I wore a shirt waist and skirt. The latter was long and trailed, +I hoped, elegantly behind me. But getting my foot caught in it as I +descended caused me actually to tumble from the hack in which I arrived +directly upon the fluttering edge of that garden party. + +This was an abrupt way of entering the social life of a large town +where I had been a stranger for seven years. But I made it, due +entirely to one circumstance. A lovely woman, distinguished for her +social graces, caught sight of me sitting upon a bench pathetically +removed from the gayety of the occasion. She said she had been looking +for me. Had I had any punch? Innocent stuff, a kind of sublimated +lemonade. Did I know many of these people? + +I had had no refreshment, and I did not know any of these people. I +might have added that my knees were still trembling from having fallen +out of the hack, but I made out to accompany her. It was like walking +in a rainbow of smiles and good will. Presently I came to my other +self, a woman I had never been before, a social creature at ease. I had +liberty, and remembered making several bright remarks, not droll, but +neatly and prettily funny, at which every one laughed and looked at me +as if I were a pleasant surprise. + +I caught the tune, even the step, of that occasion. I remember mincing +from one group to another, holding up my skirt with an air, as +conscious of the lace in the frill of my petticoat as any other woman +present was of her rustling silk petticoats, accompanied through the +whole afternoon by that gracious woman who anchored me with a look or +a smile until my poor tight-fitting lid as a preacher’s wife came off +and I was near to being a song which was not a hymn. I may have been +ridiculous for all I know, but I felt very light in my heart. Maybe +this was happiness. If so, it was a long time ago, and I am by social +functions now as literary critics are by a new novel. I am too learned +in the things; I know too much about how they are made and what they +cost in jealousies and competitions to enjoy them as I did that first +garden party I attended in Nashville so many years ago. + +But what I started out to prove was that as one person to another +person we are not the same character as we seem to be in history or +even a conscientiously written autobiography. + +After the publication of ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife,’ my attributes as a +good Christian woman were severely damaged by some of the whispering +brethren. Quite inadvertently, the records of that book reflected +upon a few of the inside workings of the Church; and Lundy being +so tragically dead, these brethren dared not defend themselves by +attacking his memory. The only thing left to do was to discredit the +witness who had given damaging testimony concerning these matters. + +This was how I lost my reputation the first time--an entirely +satisfactory item of expense to me so long as the crown I had written +above Lundy’s head had remained untarnished. + +I kept silence, not by way of turning the other cheek, which is a form +of piety unsuited to my disposition; but looking back now, I believe I +was thinking out a few Scriptures. When you have nothing to lose you +have everything to gain. I was in this grand state of destitution at +that time. I had lost my husband; I had also lost my reputation under +the same frightful circumstances. But the moment I began to revolve +that excellent Scripture in my mind which says, ‘Judge not ... for +with what judgment ye judge ... it shall be measured to you again,’ I +began to perk up. I had been most unmercifully judged, and here was the +Lord’s own permission to return the compliment. + +I had several million readers by this time, which was considerable +advantage to have gained in the scrimmage. I wrote three more +circuit-rider stories. Besides having struck a rich vein of the finest +human nature, I may have been inspired by some retributive sense of +justice, according to the Scripture quoted above. Certainly my motive +was not without mortal guile to guide it. But I have known very few +effective people who stuck themselves up with a noble motive under +fire. My idea is to whip, even if you perish in the fight. I am always +willing to perish, knowing well that I shall rise again every time, +everywhere according to the Word; but I am teetotally opposed to being +defeated. If you do not take too many of the meeker Scriptures without +balancing them with the fiercer elder Scriptures, it will be perfectly +apparent to any sensible person that the Lord does not sanction +submission to any unfriendly fate. + +I stuck to my text honorably, however, and confined my revealing wit to +certain regrettable methods in the government of our church, and I may +have touched lightly upon one or two doctrines which I believed to have +been doubtfully derived from the Word. But no man’s reputation suffered +in these stories as mine had suffered at the hands of some of the +brethren. + +Strange as it may seem, my reputation began to improve in the churchly +silence which followed the publication of these later stories. I do +not know whether I have reëstablished some kind of pop-eyed confidence +in my own piety and character, or if I have been merely forgiven. I +remain warily and politely on the outside, not knowing what service I +yet may be inspired to render this church, which is infinitely dear +to me. But I have been comforted with the hope that it has grown more +tolerant of me, as I have become less intolerant of its shortcomings. I +am beginning to realize how difficult it is to maintain any Christian +organization in a world which specializes in worldly values without +using secular methods. More courage and more faith are needed than +modern Christians seem to have in order to comprehend that the glory of +a church does not consist in its wealth and earthly power, but that God +alone is the glory of the Church. I have a feeling that if Jesus should +suddenly appear among us, clothed once more in our minds with divine +authority, He would say to all these churches of whatever denomination, +‘Sell all thou hast and follow me.’ + +It depends upon where you lay your scenes in living what kind of +reputation you get, and how you lose it, in case that happens. If +you lay them like a good little Dorcas, in the church, somebody will +defeat you for the presidency of the missionary society because you +are the most efficient woman for that place. If you stretch them like +a climbing Jacobess in women’s clubs, a certain clique in that club +will pull the social ladder from under your aspiring feet and elect +you to the office of kitchen manager for the afternoon refreshments. +If you move a trifle briskly in smart society, you are in danger of +losing your reputation on the front page of the daily paper on account +of having done something newsy the night before the morning after. I +know a splendid old gray-haired widow who will not dim the snap in her +fine eyes, nor break her habit of having small feet beautifully shod, +nor even change the contours of a figure outrageously youthful for her +years. One morning this summer she appeared in the striding togs of a +smart lady pedestrian and stepped vigorously past a dear friend on her +way out. + +‘Where are you going?’ the dear friend called out. + +‘For my morning walk,’ she returned, swinging youthfully down the steps +into the street. + +‘She is doing nothing of the kind. She is going to meet a man!’ the +friend informed me. + +‘At her age?’ I protested. + +‘Age has nothing to do with her. She has resigned from her last ten +years,’ was the indignant retort. + +‘Still, at this innocent and halcyon hour of a summer morning, a man +cannot be such a doubtful person to meet,’ I suggested. + +The sense of sex has changed its location. It no longer exists merely +as a sacred natural instinct, but it has become a conversational +feature of the modern mind, leading to the wildest social and +intellectual speculations. And there is literally no way of escaping +its damaging enterprises. + +In any case, if you retain the delicacy of your sensibilities, it is +difficult to determine which is the more embarrassing--to have lost the +reputation you were so careful to make for yourself or to endure the +one imposed upon you by others. + +This is precisely what has happened to me. Somewhere along the way +during these last ten years I have lost my reputation again. A second +growth, to be sure, but one which I fondly believed to be normal and +more becoming to me than the one I lost to the brethren. And not enough +time left to build up another one before I pass forever out of the zone +where all earthly reputations are made! + +Imagine the situation--an elderly woman who discreetly retired from the +world years ago to spend the remainder of her days in a remote place, +basking in the grace of God without making a fuss about it; showing +her head once in so often above the horizon with a few neat laurels +on her brow; doing a little good here and there, giving herself the +airs of a beloved woman--only suddenly to awaken to the realization +that she is a terrible old woman, autocratic, overbearing, who has +set up a very small but clearly visible empire over which she reigns +regardless of the manners, customs, and convictions of her friends and +neighbors--when all this time I thought I was minding my own business +and dressing my own garden to the profit and delectation of everybody +who passed by! + +These dear good people have been speculating in my attributes, revising +them privately according to their amazingly vigorous but uncouth +imaginations. They have not left one pretty soft feminine sin sticking +to me. If I had entered one of the modern professions of banditry or +bootlegging, I should have needed less courage than would be required +to play the rôle assigned to me. It calls for buckram breeches, two +guns, a club and the vocabulary of a sailor on shore leave. The news of +my deeds in this amazing disguise have percolated far and near. + +We are hard to please. I have frequently pitied women who were +criticized for the way they dressed, rouged, or smiled, not knowing how +vulnerable many people are to vivid coloring and a Mona Lisa sweetness +of expression. Now I could find it in my heart to envy them. It is less +embarrassing to be so suspected than to be shorn of one’s dearer charms +and vanities as a woman, and to be accused instead of setting upon +strong men with sticks. You wonder painfully if you actually have faded +and toughened so much in the estimation of your neighbors that you have +passed beyond the pink and glorified pale of a more delicate feminine +transgression. + +Mrs. Virginia Woolf, novelist and critic, recently made this statement +in an article published in the ‘Criterion’: ‘On or about December, +1910, human character changed.’ One must envy her perspicuity, +even if she does not mention the exact day of the month when this +transformation took place; but I cannot imitate it about so intimate +a thing as my own reputation. I do not know how long this primitive +artistry in changing it has been going on; but my suspicion is that it +began the day I set foot in this valley and started spinning literary +rainbows above the heads of these simple folk who share the attic life +of these simple hills with me. + +Six busy years passed in love and charity with them before I had the +least hint of what was going on. When at last I came face to face with +my local likeness I was confounded. Long afterward the explanation +occurred to me--in dealing with other people it is a mistake not to +take into account the furtiveness of human nature and the guarded +indirectness of the mortal mind. Wearing creeds and civilization like +garments, we still practice within many of the traits of our primitive +ancestors. A man is frequently on guard or on the offensive when we +approach him in a friendly tail-wagging spirit, all unconscious of his +bristling attitude, due to some weakness in himself of which you are +not aware, or to a competitive animosity which you do not feel. + +I have learned this too late in life to practice a corresponding +discretion in my association with other people. I seem to have an +infernal gift for telling what is going on in my mind or feelings. This +is the quickest way possible to kick the skylights out of your own +reputation. But I do not regret it, having had a grander time telling +on myself than most people ever have concealing themselves. I have told +the truth too much. It makes you free, but you pay for it. I remember +hoping at the time that the scandalous caricature of my virtues might +be a compliment inadvertently implied. One must protect himself before +his immediate public either with conceit or with resignation. I use +both as the occasion demands. + +After this experience, I resolved to have done with my various +reputations. They are nowhere required of us in the Scriptures. On the +contrary, in the second chapter of Philippians, it is recorded that +he ‘made himself of no reputation.’ I have willed mine to the world, +which makes them and takes them away. They are too ephemeral and too +expensive to keep up. If you have caught the wind of the world in your +sails, you have only to do your work to insure your fame--a drastic +business, but not nearly so difficult as maintaining your own personal +reputation if you have become one of the assets of the public mind. + +Besides, the older you grow the less comfortably does any reputation +fit you. It is like a garment you used to wear, now out of style with +your thoughts and your aspirations, which are stretching away like +dreams beyond the mind of this world. There was a time, for example, +when it troubled me to be regarded as a tightwad, because instead of +contributing in the conventional public-spirited manner to movements, +memorials, monuments and notorious charities, I have done my alms in +secret. And though my heavenly Father who seeth in secret has not +yet seen fit to reward me openly as they are praised who do good +accompanied by a press agent, I am beginning to feel more solvent +morally and independent spiritually by disregarding these character +prints, good or bad, left in passing upon the minds of other people. +The image depends too much upon the quality of the mind that receives +it to be always reputable or veracious. + +But whenever you become truly philosophical, you never are quite +truthful toward your own humanness. I may write convincingly concerning +this noble ideal of myself. It is held, you may say, on principle; I +have never been able to live up to it except by fits and starts. The +fact remains that I frequently suffer like a sinner under conviction +over the impression made upon a friend, knowing how I have touched up +the crooked lines of his character so that it will shine in a sentence +more becoming to him. When he reads this sentence later in the book, +he never seems to recognize himself. He never comes to clasp me by the +hand and regard me with tear-dimmed eyes of appreciation. But just let +me write out a fault, and forty men and women of my acquaintance will +take offense, when my innocent purpose had been to dramatize one of my +own secret shortcomings! + +The greatest inconvenience I experience comes from the constant effort +to repress my friendly instincts. I have a talent for loving people +and would like to use it, but my flare of affection is put out when +I perceive myself mirrored in the eye of that man or this woman as a +fearsome person, liable to explode an opinion which will reflect upon +his dearest prejudice or outrage her most sacred fallacy. + +I am not complaining, you understand; I am simply indicating how much +worm-and-dust wisdom of this world is required to finance a reputation +even for sweetness and light, and that it does not pay if you have any +safer way of employing your talents. + +We permit conscience to make cowards of us all. Then by instinct we +turn upon the highest everywhere to reduce it to the level of our own +conduct. We cannot even get far enough away from our own transgressions +to believe in the Almighty. We condemn ourselves to dust and despair, +and we cover the whole ignoble performance with flubdub philosophy and +think we get away with it. But we do not. We live best by faith, not +by what we know or the uttermost that we can think; and certainly not +according to our reputations, because very few people know what kind of +reputations they have. + + + + +XLVI + +FITTING INTO LIFE + + +Growing up year after year in a place like this requires more studious +application than taking a master’s degree in a university, where +you attend lectures and have a course of reading to defend you from +thinking your own thoughts on that subject. It is a fact which you +discover for yourself under the circumstances that ‘knowledge comes, +but wisdom lingers.’ We are at best no more than the imitators of +wisdom. We borrow it, show off in it; but I have yet to see the +faintest trace of natural wisdom in man, though the lower animals +seem gifted with enough of it not to worry about their fate, whatever +fate it is. I reckon this is the reason they remain lower, the damned +harnessed victims of their content, as we are the more aspiring victims +of our discontent, doubts and anxieties. + +I do not think, for example, that a man ever lived who could have +conceived the idea of peace. That is something handed down to us by +inspiration and tradition from the great beginning. The Lord alone +knows what peace is, and He declared it--‘On earth peace, good will +toward men.’ We have been repeating that Scripture for ages as children +recite verses without the mind to comprehend the meaning. This is not +hypocrisy on our part; it is our very nature to be incapable of peace. + +After a while you get to the clear place in mind where you can see +through so many theories and philosophies, even professions of faith, +you know that they are no more than the defenses we throw up against +our own weaknesses and fears. One of the touching revelations of this +kind to me has been the shrewd way we shift for ourselves at the very +last. We get a marvelous confidence in the goodness of God then. We +come clean and do see Him, whether we were ever before pure in heart or +not. + +The last deathbed I attended was that of a notoriously wicked man. No +saint could have been more serenely at peace so far as his immortal +future was concerned. He had worked hard and sinned fiercely. No man, +it seemed, was his brother; but he lay there upon his dingy pillows +beneath his ragged quilt with the innocent eyes of a child. He had done +with guilt. He was out of pain so far as the Lord was concerned. Lying +so wanly weak, never again to move hand or foot, he assured me that +he was ready to go. The idea that he would be off presently upon an +immeasurable journey was fixed in his mind, accompanied by no fears. + +They who stick to their creeds and the meaner mortal facts we all +produce in living cannot comprehend the courage of a man like this. In +considering his case they remember their favorite damnation doctrines, +but never their own transgressions. Nothing will convince them that the +Lord is not a theologian, but a Creator; and that a history of His will +would be a history of the one fundamental law, not as we understand +law, but what He has made it, followed whether you keep it or break it +by inevitable consequences. + +This man had broken it in his flesh, and was dying for that reason as +surely as if he had cut himself down. But now he was forced at last to +keep that last most important part of it. With the vision of a child +he had learned the meaning of God. He rested serenely upon what we +preach and so rarely have the courage to achieve--real faith in God, +and it had turned out precisely as the Scriptures promise--eased him of +every fear. His sins had been removed as far from his consciousness as +presently his body would be. I felt very close and soothingly kin to +him, and reverently amazed at this perfect miracle of faith; also glad +that he would die and escape that pit of himself into which he surely +would have fallen if he had survived. + +When you get far down your slope of time, however, and care less than +you used to care about being the heroine of your life dolled up in your +best deeds, then you can take a look at yourself according to the mind +you have now calmed and cooled by the years, and you may come into that +last and greatest of all vanities--the boldness to portray the person +you really are. + +Most people think they do that when they confess their sins; the worse +they are the better they are for this purpose. My notion about that is +if you must boast, it is more polite to proclaim your virtues. I have +always been very courteous to others about that. But the queer thing +is that I have never felt that my virtues really belong to me. Lecky’s +‘History of European Morals’ knocked the last ray of conceit out of +me about being even a chaste woman. First one virtue and then another +seems to have been thrust upon us according to the self-protecting +instinct of men against frauds in paternity or some other economy for +their comfort and peace of mind. + +I am not complaining, you understand. It has all turned out for the +best long ago; but I am just saying how queer I feel about having had +decency and honor thrust upon us like foreordination by men, instead +of choosing these distinctions for ourselves according to the word and +will of God as we think we do. I have wondered if other women feel +the same way about this. But I have never had the courage to ask the +question point-blank. I have a sort of premonition that most of us are +so ignorant of the processes by which we become virtue-bearing in an +unvirtuous world that almost any woman might resent the question. + +But I suppose our sins do actually belong to us. However, there is +practically no originality about them. We can only commit two or three, +the others are mere variation of the same perversities. My notion is +that there is not much satisfaction to be had from exposing them. If +you make an art, a literature, or a science of your vices, the result +is some kind of puerile decadence, not entertaining to normal people. + +In any case, I have been a very dull person along this line. To the +best of my knowledge I have never committed an interesting sin, nor one +that even held my own attention for longer than the moment it took to +get rid of it by prayer and repentance. For this reason I am obliged to +confine myself to the moderate activities of that narrow and monotonous +existence already mentioned with becoming heat in these pages. + +Looking back now through the mirror of my mind, the thing that +astonishes me most is that nothing seems to have changed me. I made +my little history of courage, honor and sacrifices, and from start to +finish I can trace the silent, invincible child I was through all the +women I have become in various periods of my life. I lived the whole +of it with a curious mental reservation which was myself. I still +love with a stronger passion the things that child loved--the earth, +the sky, the living things that do not speak, but know and mean so +much more than we can think or even tell with all our living or dead +languages. + +There is a speech in the wind that we do not know, a heroism in Nature +that we do not comprehend, some wisdom of beauty in the grass and +the faintest flowers that bloom which we shall never achieve, a kind +of fearless liberty to live to which we shall never attain with all +our ideals and declarations of independence. We only believe that +all men are created free and equal and entitled to the pursuit of +happiness, but it is something we have never experienced because our +minds constrain us. These verdant boughs have no mind, so they live +in perfect liberty without our poor fears and transient knowledges. +The seeds of the grass that is cut down and withers to-day will spring +green above our graves to-morrow with not one memory of pain or death. +As a child, I could not have said what drew me to the earth, but it +was this feeling of being closer there to life that neither fears nor +perishes. + +I am poorer in faith than that child was, but I still believe wearily +in the same Providence in which she rejoiced. As she went silently +about her affairs regardless, so have I gone on doing the thing I +meant to do with a determination that will not be defeated. I made no +appearance at this business, and do not now attract the least attention +at working my will; only the thing accomplished is seen and read, not +me. What I mean is that I am literally an unobtrusive person by nature. +No one would recognize me except by name. I remember the same shyness +as a child at being noticed. I have played my little tunes on the heart +of the world, but I never craved to be identified by my strut with my +works. + + + + +XLVII + +FACTS AND TRUTHS + + +I love truth, although I shall die hating mere facts, because they are +misleading. They are the weapons and defense of literalists, strangely +mean-minded people in my opinion who have caused much trouble and +strife in the world. But I have the same happy talent the child I was +had for prevaricating. Let me have some wisdom of the truth even if +it is no larger than a mustard seed and the sensation inflates me. I +cannot set it down in the little raw words of mere veracity. I must +garnish it and spread it like a rainbow above my mind. + +Some people would call this lying. I think they have done it, but I am +not embarrassed or convinced. My notion is that it is a very precious +kind of inebriation of the spirit. I remember lying myself into a state +of happy intoxication as a child, even if I had to go out behind the +house to do it where no one could hear me. I think this is one reason +I live concealed behind so many hills now. The occasional excursions I +make into the world bring me face to face with so many confusing and +depressing facts which I cannot endure and cannot deny. Here, there is +nothing to deny. All is an affirmation of the old order of things as in +the beginning. It is only my mind that travels. Sometimes then I see +visions of the future like Cassandra. But I try to be sensible about +this and remember that it is the weariness of the years which darkens +the glass. + +The world is not really whirling to destruction. It is we who are old +and no longer able to keep pace with the times and who must pass away. +Everything will go on as usual when we are out of it. And I shall not +be scared up out of my grave, disheveled and demented by the din of +some fearful battle going on above me. Such thoughts I do have for +the moment, and am mastered by them as I used to be enchanted when I +was young by a star-blossoming night. But presently I take a sort of +recumbent comfort in the situation; nothing is really changed that +should remain fixed by His almighty will--the same bright days, the +same kind nights, the same seasons; only I have grown older. + +As to facts, I have always been a faithful interpreter of the truth +as my mind finds it; but I never have been able to stick to facts. +In my opinion they are among the most misleading things we have to +contend with in this present world. A fact is something somebody finds +out about you that is not true, one of those capital-letter deeds you +performed in a high mood or a low mood which is not characteristic of +the man you really are. Personally, I had much rather be judged by the +life I have lived than by the books I have written. In both places I +have said things or done things that outrage the fact-tacking genius of +critics. But on the whole I have come out very well. + +My idea of Heaven is a place where there are no hard and fast facts of +mortality sticking to us, but we shall be what we really are, true +hearts at last, easy to know and easier to believe, no reasons left to +envy one another or to suspect one another. I have a faint impression +that this may reduce mental activity among us beyond endurance, but I +am willing to try it for a while. + +I am not opposed to facts, you understand; but my point is that we +attach too much importance to them as evidence. Facts make war; they +are used by ambitious men and greedy men to sway the minds of people. +Does any one believe now that there would have been any Great War if +the common people who furnished the cannon fodder for it had known the +real truth underlying the conflict? I doubt it. + +I should like to get back to that honest feline normalcy of being just +a woman with the ordinary exercise of my give-and-take disposition. +I would spare more time for living instead of working. I wish above +everything else to indulge more in inconsequential conversation about +just pleasant things. What has become of all the natural, cheerful +little topics we used to discuss? I rarely ever hear a conversation now +that does not turn out for the worst instead of ending in a gale of +laughter. + +Am I wrong, or is there a note of sinister wisdom in laughter these +days? Is there some dreadful quality in the knowledge we are getting +which changes innocent merriment to cynical hysteria? I must be wrong +about this; but when you live alone most of the time, and only go +abroad occasionally in the world, you do notice things like that--the +eyes of people not so trustful of one another as I remember them long +ago, a fearful wit, and that queer triumphant note in laughter like a +comment indulged at the world’s expense. + +I am merely setting down my thoughts about all this as one thrusts out +his hands in the dark and feels his way toward the door. What actually +happens is that I spend most of my days alone here in this cabin with a +companionable fire upon the hearth. Usually I get away with it; but if +I am in a particularly keen mood, the illusion fails. I know it is only +a bright combustion of heat and wood in the fireplace. No real sense +to the crackling of these blazing logs. I read some, walk abroad with +the dogs, and I have my usual look at the stars, as a poor lonesome +shepherd may watch his flock a long way off and beyond his reach, but +his sheep still. So are these stars mine. The heavens above this cabin +are familiar to me like a garment I have worn a long time upon my heart. + +But I have never seen an angel ascending or descending! That keeps one +strained up too much--no respite from this business of believing what +you cannot see with the naked eye. I am not denying that it is good for +the soul, but sometimes I have wished for something that was just good +for me. + + + + +XLVIII + +BOOKS: MY OWN AND OTHERS + + +When the harvests are in and all the summertime guests are gone and a +crisper, cooler silence begins to blow through this valley, I settle +down to a nine months’ stretch of living alone here in the best company +to be had. What I mean is that you can lay the book you are reading +on the shelf without being obliged to think about what you will serve +to the hero and heroine for dinner that evening. But after dinner you +can take it up again and resume your companionship with the author +and these characters which are frequently more interesting than real +people, because they are derived from human nature at large and are the +composites of many men and women. Also, there is the country in which +they live, which may be on the other side of the world from where you +live. So, sitting in your chair before your own fire, you enjoy all the +benefits of travel without the inconvenience and confusion. + +To read any one of Balzac’s stories is like spending an evening in +France, even if you have never been in France and cannot pronounce one +single fluted word of that language. And to read Victor Hugo is like +spending one half the evening among the sobbing stars and the other +half of it amid scenes of the direst poverty made by the meanest minds. + +Hugo was the dramatist of human emotions at their highest pitch +and lowest ebb. He had the gift of being vicariously sublime in +a character like that of the old communist or Jean Valjean, but I +doubt if he himself possessed the attributes of any kind of permanent +character. I have the feeling that he was an irresponsible person with +a histrionic conscience and practically no modesty of morals. Otherwise +it is not clear to me how we can account for the serial romances of his +own life, or his description of the Battle of Waterloo, or the fact +that he took his morning ablutions in a glass bathroom on top of his +house. The sun was, indeed, above him, but the populace was also in +attendance in the streets below. + +As for Balzac, he was a literary comedian who handled the tragedies of +the human heart with a wit kin to the irony of fate. He could never +have interpreted any other people but the French. He is peculiar to +them, a medium through which the France of his day still lives, loves, +sins, and suffers with a charm and a talent for indecency which it +probably never had in reality. The art of a master is required to lift +the squalor of the lowest lives and the grandeur of the noblest lives +into imperishable scenes on paper, because in life they do change and +fade into forgetfulness. + +I recall one of his heroines, a stupid moron who could impart no +animation to her immorality. He finds her reclining on a couch and +spends ten thousand words describing her figure. I can spend a +fascinating hour under that splendid spray of language, reading the +mind and nature of the author. There is something idiotic in French +genius of the first water like the artless simplicity of a defective +person going about with his clothing disarranged. + +Before he has done making images of this woman she has ceased to exist +except as a feminine mollusk of beauty. Then I am invariably moved +to mirth by his efforts to get her off the couch and induce her to +say something or do something bad enough or sufficiently entrancing +to justify his description. Only an author who has struggled with a +stubborn or stupid character in a story can appreciate his dilemma, +and the fiasco when she finally sits up and sobs, with no visible +explanation of the sob. The reader is left in suspense until the next +chapter reveals the cause of her grief, which is not grief at all, but +the French hysteria of passion. It is clear to the envious like me that +he cannot bear to sacrifice one sentence of the marvelous description +he has written of her and that she can never measure up to it in actual +performance. + +I remember having a similar experience years ago with one of my own +heroines who turned out to be another kind of fool. Nothing was further +from my expectations when I introduced her with a few complimentary +sentences. I must have got the idea from an old valentine card. Anyway, +she was standing beautifully gowned beside a tall fluted column on the +veranda of a magnificent old Southern mansion. I managed to give the +reader the impression that she was rich, handsome, thirty, not married +and vaguely unhappy. + +She stood regarding the gently rolling landscape with this expression, +which was as far as my talents as a struggling literary genius could +carry her. I knew what would happen to her next day, but by no flight +of my imagination could I fathom the thoughts that should be passing +through her sad spinster mind at that moment. Neither could I move +her from her gracefully leaning pose against the column. She became +cataleptic. I labored with her frantically through three blistering hot +summer days without ever persuading her to so much as turn her head. + +Finally, in desperation, I sent her an anonymous note by a messenger +couched in the language of a bold lover, saying that he would see +her presently and settle a few old scores. She had run through with +many lovers in her earlier youth, and could only perceive that the +chirography of this note was vaguely familiar. It was a disgraceful +thing to do, but the effect was electrical. From that time to the end +of the story I have never had a more elastic heroine. Every author +must have similar experiences, but very few of us would dare Balzac’s +insolence to the reader’s intelligence and get by with the performance. + +Certain books are more interesting to read than others in a place +like this. There is nothing in the sublime propriety of these trees, +the wide skies above and this earth so innocently green below to +finance the erotic in fiction. It gives the impression of decadence +artificially conceived in circumstances so old and decent. + +Scott’s novels go like a singing charm. So do Stevenson’s stories. And +it is the most pleasant place imaginable to read Addison’s papers. But +not Christopher North’s ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’; too much scholarly wit +flashing between North and his brilliant companions in these ambrosial +nights. My own experience is that, living alone with the stars by +night and with the hills by day, the mind of the heavens and the earth +overcome you and you cannot think of anything very smart or funny to +say to yourself. I have never understood that great man who went off +one summer, settled himself like a hermit in the midst of an immense +landscape and wrote an essay on the ‘Sense of Humor in Jesus.’ That +which always impressed me more about Jesus was his sense of man, who is +the tragic figure in all creation. + +The one book stimulating beyond all others in a place like this is the +Bible. No matter how great a theologian a man may be, I doubt if he +could come anywhere near comprehending the wisdom and the majesty of +the thirty-eighth chapter of Job unless he has spent years in the wind +and weather of a quiet place. + +‘Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, Who is this +that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? + +‘Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and +answer thou me. + +‘Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if +thou have understanding.’ + +Job makes no reply. + +‘Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath +stretched the line upon it? + +‘Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the +cornerstone thereof; + +‘When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted +for joy?’ + +Job remains silent. + +‘Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had +issued out of the womb? + +‘When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a +swaddling-band for it, + +‘And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, + +‘And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy +proud waves be stayed?’ + +Job hangs his old gray head. + +‘Hast thou commanded the morning since thy day; and caused the +dayspring to know his place; + +‘That it might take hold of the ends of the earth--’ + +When you consider that these are the unthinkable thoughts of the +Almighty which must be delivered by the tongue of a mortal man and +that the trace of his emotion and simplicity run through them like a +weakness, it is amazing how near he caught the majesty and meaning of +what he had to tell. Nothing ever written compares with the last five +chapters of the Book of Job and the first five chapters of Genesis, +and the authors of these books were the popular writers of their day. +Compare their works with the works of modern poets, novelists, or +historians. Let any modern scientist answer the questions the Lord put +to Job, and observe how reduced in manner and substance his answers +are. He gets the stuff out of his mind, but these Scriptures were +blown across creation to the minds of the men who recorded them. They +have a roll and a rumble mortal intelligence can never impart, and they +contain more hints of scientific truth than the wisest among us have +found out, though they labor in that direction. + +We are still wrinkling our noses and squinting through a telescope at +Mars, disputing about that one little bright speck in the heavens. If +this planet had been mentioned by a single prophet in the Bible, we +should know more about it than the astronomers will ever find out, just +as there is more information about creation as applied to this earth in +Genesis than has ever been translated into the terms of science. + +I have long since accepted the heavens and the earth as a part of my +future scriptures and let it all go at that. + +But what I am trying to do now is to indicate the way I have passed the +time for so many years in this quiet place. One cannot work all the +time, and I was never one of those worms that inhabit books written by +others. If it is a particularly entrancing tale, I close the book and +envy the author. I pace the floor and wring the neck of my spirit in +grief because I shall never write anything as good. There are stacks of +little ragged notebooks scattered in the dusty corners of this study +which carry the record of these idle hours. Rarely ever a diary note in +them of my own performances, but they contain studies of men and women. + +At that hour of the evening when mother used to pick up her knitting +and pass into a peaceful trance of industry, I reach for one of these +headless blank books and write characters from memory. Maybe of one +dead long since, but I recall her with a comprehension I never had +when she was in the flesh. The copy she has left behind her is cleared +of the fog which living casts over us. Or it is of one whom I never +knew, but I have heard or read a news item concerning him which omits +every personal detail. I piece him together as you construct a mastodon +from the bones he left behind him. I have some grand portraits of the +prophets made this way, intimate and terrible like the Scriptures they +left behind them. Sometimes I get the whiff of a man’s reputation, +compare it with his deeds and deduce a character which is finer or +worse than either the one or the other. After this it is easy to draw +the features of his face, the length of his legs, the cut or sag of his +eye. Presently I have a hero or a knave put together, respiration as +good as Adam’s, who may come in handy for copy. + +There is one whom I always wanted to put into a tale, but could never +set up a situation sufficiently noble and stupid to contain him. He +is old now and coming to his end; but in the days when I knew him +he was a great man who had no manner or sensibility about achieving +greatness--homely, with what you might call a country-town smile, +which is an expression of facial simplicity. He had a splendid figure +and wore his clothes as if he hated clothes. He walked as if he were +stepping over dead bodies. I do not know why, because he was by nature +singularly merciful. He worked indefatigably and rose to the top of his +profession without distinction. + +This vicious stride he had was an offense his fellow men would not +forgive. His unpopularity was cumulative. He did not need to boast to +get it; he had only to be seen striding along the street to his office, +down the aisle of a church, or even as a pall-bearer at a funeral, to +add fury to these flames that never consumed him. He loved music and +had no talent for it, but he always kept mute musical instruments in +his house, as some people keep a Bible on the center table which they +do not read. He loved learning and had no learning, but he had the +finest private library in the city; not to show his friends, because he +had no friends, but probably by way of brushing shoulders with poets, +philosophers, and historians. + +The queer thing was that he read these books, as you perform a wearying +task. Every evening for twenty years he would sit down in this library, +cross his legs, lean back like a tired man and get through as many +pages of a volume as he could endure before bedtime. He never referred +to this prodigious labor, and no one ever heard him quote an opinion +or passage from one of these books. He made his own opinions and +maintained them without citing authorities to uphold them. + +I seem to have filled a notebook with speculations half touching, half +humorous, on the character of this man; but it appears from the record +that I could not determine whether he formed this habit of reading as a +lonely person sometimes plays solitaire to pass the time, or whether +it was a terrific duty he performed toward himself. In any case, I +record the sequel. He finally simmered down to silence and fishing. His +conscience was clear. He had read every volume in that populous library +and now reads no more. + +Follows a very good paragraph on the quality of valor peculiar to noble +stupidity. It shows up cleaner than the makeshift courage of smarter +people. But I must have been by this man as Lundy used to be by the +great textbook he would write for teaching Greek. He had the idea, as +entrancing as any fiction could be, but he did not write the book. Such +a romance of the rudiments of a language was really beyond any man to +achieve. Just so, you will not find a trace of this valorous dunce so +carefully thought out in any story I have written. Evidently I could +not find the deeds to dramatize him. + +Many writers probably practice their art in this manner, as those of +us who are not writers practice the oral art of gossiping. I have +sometimes wondered if an author’s sketchbook might not read better +than an artist’s sketchbook looks. But it is unusual to be reduced to +talking to yourself with a pen about people whom you have actually +known or suspected by way of entertainment. + + + + +XLIX + +CHANGE AND CONFUSION + + +I suppose the shortening of human life is really a blessing. This may +be why so many men and women look forward to immortal life. That would +not only involve an incredible change of scenes but of conditions. We +should be relieved of both our virtues and vices, and that wearing +monitor inside, conscience; of appetites, indigestion and every other +vicissitude of the mortal mind and the mortal body. Certainly we do +tire of any existence we work out for ourselves if we keep an active +mind, because the mind no less than the spirit of man is migratory. So +he migrates, or endures all the hardships of a sabbatical year, or he +changes his business, or he retires from business. The point is that +we are made so that we cannot stay put, as the saying goes, without +disintegrating. + +Lately I have contemplated the adventure of sailing forth into the +world as one goes to meet a good old comrade. But the more I think +about it, the more it seems to me that I might meet a stranger not +suitable to my years or habits of thought. The mind and character of +the world I knew has changed. + +When I left it in 1912 to take up my residence in this valley, nearly +as many people in Nashville attended prayer meeting on Wednesday night +as went to the theater on other evenings. Now prayer meetings are about +to become obsolete. A popular preacher was a good pastor, but never the +sensational feature of the Sunday morning paper. The Methodist Church +had not lifted the ban on worldly amusements, and we had only a few +earthly amusements, like playing flinch and croquet. As a Church, it +was lenient toward penitents on principle, but not nearly so lenient +as it is now toward the world. Nobody would have dreamed of putting +on a drive for seventy-five million dollars for Christian education. +The price of salvation and education have advanced more than worldly +luxuries since then. + +Women were still in hot pursuit of culture if they were particularly +worldly minded. Otherwise they were the handmaidens of the Lord as +usual. Polite social gambling was limited to a very small set, and was +not recognized as a respectable diversion. Now these same women are +citizens, politicians, and reformers. They have the same brains, the +same natures, the same nervous systems they have always had, which are +differently tempered from those of men; but they are running neck and +neck now with men in civic virtue and public service. Even more of them +are testing out these vices which formerly were supposed to be peculiar +to men. They are much more easily deceived by their own emotions and by +the flattery of politicians than the simplest maidens ever were by the +eloquence of false lovers. I suppose when they realize that they have +caught the bull by the horns they will retire from public life, go home +and pay more attention to their yearling sons and daughters. Right now +it seems to me that there are too many delinquent mothers broadcasting +noble thoughts as mere citizens. + +I shrink like a criminal from a nearer approach to these women. I +have neither the rostrum mind nor the qualities of courage suitable +for bearing banners in a parade. I must vote because it is my duty +now to do so, but this is taxing to my moral nature on account of +the character of the candidates put up. When it comes to choosing +a politician for office I am a conscientious objector. I am an +impractical Democrat who would prefer to vote for a Republican if +he proved more nearly competent. I have barely sense enough not to +follow my conscience in this matter and must always keep out of the +way or stand among more valiant women a cubit short of the correct +political stature. This keeps me silent when I should like to write a +few pertinent political paragraphs for publication, especially before +elections. + +Crime has become an intellectual pursuit and a profitable profession +these latter years. Formerly only rascals and defectives became +criminals; now learned men and youngsters choose criminal careers. +The youths are criminally insane because they have not received the +training and discipline necessary to insure moral sanity. The passing +of parents is a tragic circumstance. Formerly they exercised control +and commanded obedience of their children. Now they do not. I know +many families where the elder sons and daughters were brought up, you +may say, under the old dispensation of parental authority, while the +younger ones have grown up under the new order since the spirit of the +times has changed. They matriculate into the streets, then into an +adventurous school life, and finally into the universities, where they +are provided with funds and speed facilities that would turn the head +of a wise man, besides being made subjects for intellectual experiments +by professors who have theories to prove. + +The contrast between the characters of the older and younger sons and +daughters in these families is frightfully significant. The first +are morally sane, the others are not. Even if they commit no crimes, +they practice a license in conduct and thinking which leads to the +disruption of society. + +This is the reason why the defense of these young criminals depends +upon the testimony of alienists rather than upon the evidence of +witnesses to their crime. They have managed in this sentimental age to +struggle beyond the control of parents and beyond the reach of judges +and juries. They are voluntary moral idiots with intellectual leanings +toward every vice. My feeling is that we wait too long to send for the +alienist. One should be employed to visit these boys and girls like any +other health officer, so that we may be warned in time of sprouting +criminals. + +Somewhere in this confusion men and women are passing out into the +light of great achievements. Maybe the time will come when the science +of medicine will have advanced so far inoculation will take the place +of morals in eradicating the physical effects of vice. But to what +end? Nature is a better economist. She condemns the depraved to death. +Disease is her quarantine method against every excess. Maybe in time +we shall have more and more machinery to do the work of the world. +Machines will not strike or join a labor union, but neither will they +work without a man’s brain and aid to guide them. In any case, what is +to become of the surplus man power? + +This is not a happy moment in the world’s history. Never was there +such a smoke screen between us and the future. I have a great wish to +travel out there, at least to the edge of it, not as a tourist, but as +a tired pilgrim who has come a long way in bad weather lifts his eyes +and sees through the darkness a light shining, the open door of a house +warm with peace and kindness. I want again at the very last the faith +and hopes with which I started life. I remember that feeling, a sort of +winged lightness of the heart. But I may never find the way. Something +seems to be turning to ashes on my lips; not this valley or the scenes +I have laid in it for happiness, but it is because I have no power of +happiness now in me. + + + + +L + +CAN WE BE HAPPY? + + +At the risk of offending many people, but with the hope of helping a +few who are making the same mistake, I am venturing at the very end +of the record to set down the only explanation that occurs to me: I +believe I have totally misunderstood the Scriptures by which I was +guided during the formative years of my life. I had in the beginning +a natural gift for the simplest, most innocent happiness. I needed no +more than a bright day and a long path winding across the hills and +through the fields. I had a mind which retained the lacy shadows leaves +made upon the ground. Now I seem to have lost the will to take these +little idle paths to peace and happiness. I could weep sometimes when +at this season of the year the wind blows a shower of yellow elm leaves +twinkling like gold high in the sunlight because I can only see them. I +do not feel the loveliness of the sight. + +The reason is that I have spent my life and strength in service and +sacrifice according to the way the Scriptures have been heaped upon me +by preachers and my own dear saint who died a martyr’s death to such +teachings. If I had had the courage to interpret them according to my +own good senses, provided especially by the Lord for that purpose, I +should have known the doctrines precisely as He promises. + +How many sermons I have heard from this text, ‘Bear ye one another’s +burdens,’ but not one preacher ever interpreted them to mean, ‘Do not +bear the other fellow’s burden unless he will bear one of yours.’ +Therefore this bearing of other people’s burdens has contributed more +to damnable selfishness in this world than any other Christian virtue. +Here is another one, ‘Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be +opened unto you.’ + +I got the right cue on that one long ago. When Lundy was in mortal +need of some earthly blessing, I used to go out and seek it with +both hands and knock on every door until the right one opened to +him. But I lacked the time and sense to practice the same wisdom for +myself. I have earned more than I deserve, Heaven knows, but I have +not sought sensibly the little things I needed for happiness. I have +wasted too much of my time for others, without having the spiritual +gumption to ask them to pay it back. There is no telling how much +moral damage I have done in this world practicing the religion I have +been taught, which I now know was a puerile and spiritually illiterate +interpretation of the Scriptures. I have had my share of blame in +making whimpering parasites of honest people in the name of the Lord. +It was blasphemous, and my hope for forgiveness is repentance and a +determination to reform. + +I shall never be able to face what remains of the future properly +without weaning myself of this inglorious and sentimentally spiritual +past. Therefore I must change my scenes, as a bad man sometimes goes +off to escape the temptation of evil companions. At the present +moment I am in bondage to all manner of charitable habits and false +obligations which would read like the calendar of a saint’s deeds if +I should set them down here, but they are really the tax I pay upon a +wrong interpretation of the Christian life. + +This is what I have discovered--that there is no way to satisfy a +sentimental conscience. It is the thief in your breast. The more you +give, the more will it urge you to give; the more you sacrifice, the +greater sacrifices will it demand of you. I am determined to stop +gratifying my conscience. I am far more honorable and sensible than it +is. I shall be guided by my sense. And that points directly to casting +off every weight that besets me and looking about for the fair weather +of happier days. + +My idea is to prove the Scriptures by seeking and finding happiness. +I am late starting off on this adventure, and I have no very definite +idea about the direction in which happiness lies, but that very +uncertainty has a sort of sparkle in it. My feeling now is that I +shall need only to get away from my dreadful past to find it changing +me to some easier goodness of mind, a place where I can sit down and +not be responsible for anything or anybody, where I shall feel light +on my feet and ready to travel a long way in bright silence to another +country. Sometimes it seems to me that I may be thinking of the kingdom +of Heaven. + +We do grow up at last somewhere, but not in this present world. We +invariably pass out of it trying to add another cubit to our stature, +topping it off with a poor little deed of no importance to any one but +ourselves. I doubt if any man or woman, however old, is really ready +to give up his ghost. There is something he had not time to say or to +finish before this chill came on and this shortening of the breath. +Maybe it is a blessed illusion with which we instinctively finance our +feeling of worth and importance when we are no longer of any worth or +importance, but I do not think so. My idea is that it may be a sort +of a dull intimation of immortality, a feeling of incompleteness, as +if there must be much more life in which to finish up things; not the +things we started here, but other cubits to be added later. I have +always thought of saints as being exceedingly tall spirits, probably a +trifle top-heavy as to their countenances. + +As I have grown older I am more and more convinced that I have not +grown up, that my powers have not come to me, not my real wisdom to do +and achieve the right thoughts. I lack some dear grace. I cannot seem +to steady down and get the single eye. There is a curriculum in living +which I have not studied. This may be happiness. I want to know it; I +should feel better prepared for immortality. I do not wish to arrive +fagged at last and a bit slipshod in the spirit, as if I had a hard +time all my mortal life. It is not complimentary to God. I wish to come +up before His face in a high mood as if I had tasted all His benefits. +I wish to be clothed in the bright garments of my human happiness, more +colorful than the glistening white robes of the merely redeemed. + +I have an intimate feeling of God that this is a bright idea, and that +at least it is permitted one may seek happiness even if at last he must +sink into the defeat of mere peace. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +Italics have been represented by _underlines_. Small caps have been +represented by CAPITALS. + +A few inconsistencies in hyphenation have been reconciled, and minor +printing errors in punctuation have been silently corrected. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78847 *** diff --git a/78847-h/78847-h.htm b/78847-h/78847-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f340b52 --- /dev/null +++ b/78847-h/78847-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11270 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + As a woman thinks | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.mt3 {margin-top: 3em;} +.mtextra {margin-top: 1.5em;} + +.padright {padding-right: .5em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter-head {page-break-before: always;} +div.chapter-text {text-indent: 1.2em;} + +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td {padding: .5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.small {font-size: small;} +.large {font-size: large;} +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp60 {width: 60%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;} +.illowp59 {width: 59%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp59 {width: 100%;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78847 ***</div> + + + +<h1> +AS A WOMAN THINKS +</h1> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a><a id="Page_ii"></a>[Pg ii]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="frontis" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="Drawing of a woman leaning +against a large tree. She looks into the distance, with a book open +in her lap."> + <figcaption> + <p>THERE IS A SPEECH IN THE WIND THAT WE DO NOT KNOW, A + HEROISM IN NATURE THAT WE DO NOT COMPREHEND</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p> + + <h2>AS A WOMAN THINKS + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center mt3">BY<br> +<span class="large">CORRA HARRIS</span><br> +<i>Author of “My Book and Heart”</i></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp59" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 8em;"> + <img class="w100 mt3" src="images/colophon.png" alt="Colophon——Tout bien ou rien"> +</figure> + +<p class="center mt3"><span class="small">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> +The Riverside Press Cambridge<br> +1925</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p class="center mt3 small">COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY<br> +COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY CORRA HARRIS</p> + +<p class="center mtextra small">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> + + +<p class="center mt3">The Riverside Press<br> +<span class="small">CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br> +PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</span></p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<table> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">I.</td> + <td class="smcap">Introductory</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">II.</td> + <td class="smcap">When I Was a Child</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">III.</td> + <td class="smcap">Children from the Cabin</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">IV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Fearsome Thoughts</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">V.</td> + <td class="smcap">Green-Growing Scriptures</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">VI.</td> + <td class="smcap">Father and Mother</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">VII.</td> + <td class="smcap">My Mother’s God</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">VIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Book Learning</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">IX.</td> + <td class="smcap">School Days</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">X.</td> + <td class="smcap">What I Read</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XI.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Teacher I Had</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XII.</td> + <td class="smcap">The ‘Rebel’s’ Child</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">New England and the South</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XIV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Certain Lies</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Reputation</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XVI.</td> + <td class="smcap">‘Beautiful and Precious’</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XVII.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Working of Love</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XVIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Ventures in Scriptures</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XIX.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Wisdom of the Word</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XX.</td> + <td class="smcap">Confession and the Church</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXI.</td> + <td class="smcap">Lundy and I Walk and Talk</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXII.</td> + <td class="smcap">We Consider Greek Culture</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Year in Oxford</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXIV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Homely Pleasure</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> + </tr> + + + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXV.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</span></td> + <td class="smcap">Love and Authorship</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXVI.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Mind of the Writer</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXVII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Do You Want to Write?</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Expressing One’s Self</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXIX.</td> + <td class="smcap">Sitting in the Public Eye</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXX.</td> + <td class="smcap">On Laying Down Your Life</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXI.</td> + <td class="smcap">You Make Yourself</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXII.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Lady Politician</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Living in a Book</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXIV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Happiness</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXV.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Latter Days</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXVI.</td> + <td class="smcap">Why Worship Europe?</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXVII.</td> + <td class="smcap">The Country and the Town</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXVIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Garden Happiness</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XXXIX.</td> + <td class="smcap">War</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XL.</td> + <td class="smcap">Widowhood</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLI.</td> + <td class="smcap">All Sorts of Men</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Various Types of Women</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Mere Mind</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLIV.</td> + <td class="smcap">Isn’t Life Exciting Enough?</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLV.</td> + <td class="smcap">As We Seem to Others</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLVI.</td> + <td class="smcap">Fitting into Life</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLVII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Facts and Truths</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLVIII.</td> + <td class="smcap">Books: My Own and Others</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">XLIX.</td> + <td class="smcap">Change and Confusion</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr padright">L.</td> + <td class="smcap">Can We be Happy?</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="AS_A_WOMAN_THINKS"> + AS A WOMAN THINKS + </h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="I"> + I + <br> + <span>INTRODUCTORY</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">This</span> is not a mystical tale, nor a literary interpretation +of addled-egg metaphysics. The mind I have +has always been laid off sensibly according to the latitudes +and longitudes of actual experiences in this +present world. I never had an aura, nor the least +confidence in the existence of an oversoul. This +phrase is the name of a subliminal hysteria, pardonable +in poets, but not in prose people with ordinary +midget souls. The one I have is no part of the common +spiritual vestment. On the contrary, it is an +astounding fact too intimately connected with my +private consciousness to be exploited in a book, or a +street car, or any other public conveyance. I may +draw rings around it at a respectful distance before +this record ends; I may speculate prudently on souls +in general, as one does in futures sometimes; but I +shall not risk the presumption of phonographing our +immortal part. It is offensive.</p> + +<p>The mind is different. This is something no man +will deny having, although he may deny his soul. +Even if he is pathetically limited mentally, he is the +enthusiastic autobiographer of what he thinks. If +he has no character, and no energy to achieve, he is +the more likely to be the historian, the dramatist, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>poet and prophet of his mind. He cannot retain it. +I have sometimes thought this explains how we came +by that safety valve called language. If we should +suffer a total aphasia of words, I suppose the human +species would explode. The mind develops so much +more power in thinking than we can possibly +achieve in action.</p> + +<p>And to the last, the minds of other men, their secret +thoughts, the motives from which their actions +spring remain the most interesting things we can +find out.</p> + +<p>What follows is such a biography; not an analysis, +nor a confession, but the drama I have lived in thinking +and believing; how the mind I have, determined +my conduct, courage, cowardice, and literally created +the life I have lived in spite of everything.</p> + +<p>This is no vast undertaking like following the trail +of a great intellect. I am incapable of measuring the +convolutions of such a brain, say, as Herbert Spencer’s. +In any case the record would be scientific, not +interesting. These people are born bright, but drab, +humanly speaking. I am not opposed to them, you +understand; they have their place somewhere over +our heads, but not in the common life we lead. My +justification in choosing a simpler mind to exploit is +that most of us have this kind. We have actual experience +in living our thoughts; and the way we do it +tears mere philosophy to shreds, no matter how well +and logically it has been thought out.</p> + +<p>If you are writing the life of a prime minister, you +begin by laying the scenes in the times in which he +lived. You must set down the kind of king he served, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>discuss the people and problems that engaged his attention +and made him a great man. I am recording +the history of a mind as far removed as possible from +the grandeur of kings and the policies of prime ministers. +But like these more pretentious biographers, +I am drawing my scenes in the right place, giving +you a glimpse of the summer-minded, slipshod gentlemen +who traveled this road, mismanaged their +bankrupt fortunes with such humor and courage, +because these are my people. There is a fine rich +pigment in the quality of these people which imparts +that first clear color to the mind, and may account +for the bright loom of thought upon which +I spun the days of my life with some wit, a certain +dexterous sweetness and an awful strength of hope +never justified by the facts.</p> + +<p>I do not know how it may be with others who have +outgrown themselves and become merely the residents +of culture and learning, but I experience a sensation +of uneasiness when conversing with a man +who evades his own personal pronoun. I always +change my seat as soon as possible, because he is +concealing some one who should be present and apparent +if he is talking.</p> + +<p>He will never say ‘I think,’ ‘I believe,’ or ‘I know,’ +but he will begin with ‘It is said.’ This may be a +scholarly affectation of self-effacement, for all I +know, but it is neither natural nor sincere.</p> + +<p>We are every one born in the first person singular. +We live and die feeling that way. Therefore the pronoun +‘I’ is the most honest and revealing word in +the English language. It is our obligatory oral signature. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>It is not an egotistical part of speech, unless +you are an egotist, but the born-and-bred name by +which every man calls himself. Without this provision, +you may say, of nature in him, we should never +be able to identify him or know whether he is talking +his own truth or his own lies or quoting them +from some one else.</p> + +<p>This is the reason why certain of my books are +written in the first person. They must be. It is my +way of writing as other people feel, interpretative. +I am being confidential, not boastful, except possibly +where we may boast together. I am telling experience +common to us as human beings and giving +the reader the advantage of keeping his own silence.</p> + +<p>The method works. It encourages many to give +tongue to their lives and feelings, which is a relief if +they have held them in for a long time and never expected +to see them said anywhere. Just write the +truth of your own heart and you will find out how +many men and women have lived that same truth +more valiantly than you have without emitting it +into copy! I have had to make that humbling revision +of my attributes since the publication of ‘My +Book and Heart.’ These silent ones who write letters +not for publication have found in this volume +the witness of their own hearts, a record more intimate +and personal to them than if it had been written +in the third person, or of one already dead and +subject in the very nature of the case to biographical +speculations.</p> + +<p>The record I am now writing will have no such effect, +though it may be equally veracious, because we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>are further apart in our thoughts than we ever are +in our feelings. We may talk much or little, but +most of our thinking is done and kept in silence. +The human mind is a queer thing. It has more +ways of the wild creatures than we have. It never +ceases to circle either upon the wing or to prowl in +that secret darkness which conceals every man’s +mind. It goes off and comes back laden with strange +thoughts while you sit gazing with candid eyes into +the candid eyes of your companion, whose mind has +also been out scouting around and has returned without +ever meeting your mind on the way.</p> + +<p>I suppose many a man, seated in the possessive +case beside some woman, who has a Spencerian countenance +and speaks to him in pale blue language of +sweetness, would leap for his life if he could see so +much as the flash of the thought she is whetting in +her neat little head against his peace and happiness. +And sometimes if a woman had a look into the mind +of her hero she might become an idol breaker in the +twinkling of an eye.</p> + +<p>But we are not to be judged by what goes on in +our minds. One never gets cut in a word or a deed. +If all the tools of vengeance forged there were used, +this world would be a terrible place. If all the dark +thoughts we have were spoken, no man or woman +would trust us. But these are the mental vaporings +of our lower and meaner natures, conquered in most +of us by the moral sense we have acquired which has +established better standards.</p> + +<p>A wise man can record all he knows of life in one +book; but the scriptures of the common man require +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>two books, and maybe a few gospels, as a sort of +quotient in the long division of living. For us there +would be the book of the heart, where we keep memories, +the hopes that failed, our loves and hates, and +whatever Beatitude we needed to comfort or praise +us, whether it is a friend, a woman, or a bit of the +Word. Your wise man takes no account of this copy. +In his analysis of the phenomenon of man, the heart +is a figure of speech which refers to the reflex action +of the emotions. Then there is for us the other record +of the mind, quite distinct. It is the place where +we keep the law, or break it; the motives which +stimulate and control us, and determine our relations +to other men—and to God, who we think +made us.</p> + +<p>This last notion, in my opinion, is a gross exaggeration +of the functions of the Almighty. He made +what we call mind and we use it to create ourselves. +It works one way in this generation and another way +in the next generation. Sometimes it is war; then it +is religion, art, one kind of science or another; or it +may be a magnificent covetousness, practiced under +such terms as industrialism, commercialism, or even +the League of Nations—always filled with eleemosynary +impulses, for conscience’ sake, according to +that very shrewd mind he is developing. It is really +the sand-pile where the ostrich of him hides its head. +It is at last that thing in us which is as easily degraded +by a false belief as by the meanest vice. It +can exalt a heathen and trap a Christian saint. It is +the way of life we choose, right or wrong.</p> + +<p>If some one laid his mind on the table, so to speak, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>not as a confession, nor even as a defense, but as a +certified human document, it might cast a flicker of +light upon dark corners to be turned in the lives of +other people. So if I show what a dim thing it was in +the beginning, how a child divines peace and happiness +without thinking, what a terror thinking became +afterwards, how bravely and adventurously +my mind guided me, how cunningly it misguided me, +what burdensome rewards it earned for me, and what +dividends in peace I have lost by following the best +Scriptures according to my mind—some of you who +read this record may get a hint to watch the thing +and control it more wisely than I have controlled +mine.</p> + +<p>What I shall write will be sown with errors from +the point of view of a psychologist, which will be +proof to you that it is a veracious record. There may +be laws governing mind; but if so, they are like so +many other laws we cannot keep and survive. A +logical sentence in thinking according to the exigencies +of living is bound to be a very short sentence. +The longer ones that last through the days of our +years contradict much wisdom and a good many +Scriptures. But we do get through, and looking back +we do see the Word still standing, not changed.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="II"> + II + <br> + WHEN I WAS A CHILD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">In</span> the year 1874 there was a road which crossed the +State of Georgia. It has disappeared long since, +changed by the will of some memory in the hearts of +the people. But you may trace it still when the daisies +bloom in May. These flowers are not indigenous +to this section. Their first seed fell here from the +provender fed to Sherman’s cavalry. So, in May, +that month of Decoration Days, they bloom again +like a long, narrow memorial wreath laid upon the +grave of a dead and glorious past. They wind and +turn and tumble down many a steep hillside in North +Georgia, as this road made its tortuous way among +these hills. But when it slipped into the lower, +smoother land, it straightened out and lay like +a broad red-and-golden ribbon between the great +plantations. Farther and farther it stretched until +it slid into the city of Augusta and became Green +Street—so named, I suppose, because the road +that made it came down into the white old town +through such a fair and verdant country.</p> + +<p>Other roads entered this highway, as smaller +streams flow into a broader, swifter river. There +were signposts to guide the traveler. I remember +one in particular at the entrance of the old Petersburg +road, because as a child it seemed to me like a +very old man who had been pointing the way a long +time and now leaned wearily in the direction indicated. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>Above a huge fist, rudely drawn, with the +forefinger raised, appeared the legend:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘This is the way to Mill or Ferry,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go, it, Traveler, Sad or Merry.’</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>We had sentiment in those days with a lilt to it, +and a signpost was as good a place as any to publish +it. We were not seeking fame. We were famous +enough already. We were surfeited with the terrible +distinction of having just concluded a cruel war in +glorious defeat. We were some kind of magnificently +irresponsible truth but lately crushed to earth, and +we were rising again after the grandiloquent manner +of our kind, with a beam in our eye and a song on our +lips—but not prosperous! It requires more than a +century for the phœnix of man to rise above the +ashes of war in material things. We arose by a sort +of rhythm of the spirit, unencumbered by wealth. +The ascent is quicker and less expensive.</p> + +<p>Gentlemen in rags traveled this road upon their old +raw-boned horses—Don Quixotes, every one, still +tilting against the windmills of a graver, saner civilization +that had been thrust upon them. They were +rumpled, ruddy men who bore themselves with an +air and never complained of their poverty after the +manner of ignoble men when misfortune overtakes +them. They held onto their leisure for a long time as +the last asset of a lost fortune, and visited a great +deal from one old ramshackle mansion to another. +Their laughter was a joyous eruption. They were +pedantic with a flourish. They could drop you a long +quotation from Faust or Shakespeare without seeming +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>absurd or causing their victims the least embarrassment, +such as we feel when a meaner man +quotes a Promethean passage. They required these +luminous vestments woven by great poets to adorn +the qualities they had. Any one of them would have +been admired as a character in a book or as the subject +of a funeral oration.</p> + +<p>The women of this period were strangely lyrical. +Never again shall we see so many fine ladies rise with +such grace above the inconvenience of poverty. +Dressed in a chignon, a curl, and a cotton frock, they +ignored all styles and remained the last word in the +poetry of fashion. They had swishing silken virtues +and conducted themselves after the manner of the +heroine in the last chapter of Proverbs.</p> + +<p>Eighty miles above Augusta there stood two huge +gate-posts, topped with roughly hewed balls. Between +them hung the old gray gate of a famous plantation. +When the sun was low in the west it shone +through these palings like bars of gold as if there +might be nothing beyond but space and silence and +brightness. Inside, there was a long avenue stretching +away through the trees. Far down, there was a +high green terrace; above the terrace, an ancient +flower garden, bordered with boxwood and spired +with the tops of juniper trees. Blossoming boughs +waved like flags in the summer wind. All the spaces +inside were filled with humbler flowers; phlox and +lilies, violets and hyacinths made misty blue veils in +the shadows. Long-soled cactus spread like green +footprints upon the dark earth—the whole lonely +place a wilderness of bloom left to govern itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<p>Somewhere behind this garden in those days stood +a little house, left over like a poor relation in adversity.</p> + +<p>I was born there.</p> + +<p>My recollection now is that it was a good little +house, with a busy mind and a kind heart inside, +where a female child would be taught the Lord’s +Prayer at an early age, and how to sew and knit; but +it was not, you would have concluded at a glance, +the cradle of genius. Very few people make provision +beforehand for geniuses in their families. They +are like the seed that birds scatter—liable to spring +up anywhere, but never to be anticipated. For my +part, I doubt if they are born at all, but produce +themselves by some chance of circumstances; almost +any man or woman is remotely liable to become +one.</p> + +<p>But my first memories are not of this house, nor +even of my father and mother. I had that faint impression +of them which grown people have of Providence, +to be depended upon, but too far off in consciousness +to be cultivated. My measure of relationship +at this time was that father was very tall, and +mother was much shorter and very slender. I was +some kind of a little pinwheel of life revolving away +from them.</p> + +<p>In these earliest years I must have belonged more +particularly to the vegetable kingdom. My first +vivid impressions are of being in the open, not doing +anything, certainly not thinking. I seem to have +grown like the grass on the rim of the green terrace +beyond the flower garden for a long time. Father +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>and mother are very sketchy. They appear now in +my memory of this period at rare intervals.</p> + +<p>I was not sufficiently acquainted with them then +to be aware of their anxieties. They belonged to another +world. I can barely remember father’s blue +gaze following me about, usually with the light of +laughter in it. Mother was always busy. She had +large gray eyes that caught me up with a glance, +washed me like a saucer, set me down again and +went on to her next deed with the swiftness of one +who wore wings on her feet. This excessive energy +may account for the fact that I formed no apron-string +attachment to her.</p> + +<p>The reputation I had, however, was that of being +an extremely affectionate child. This only proves +that any record written from memory must be incomplete. +I suppose Homer omitted many important +historical facts which did not rhyme with those +he sang so lustily in his Iliad. Love anchored me so +completely later in life, I am rather glad to think +that in these first years my affections must have +been like those of a busy man for his family, usually +latent, but practiced with convincing charm at odd +moments. I do not remember ever crying for my +mother as other young children do, because I so +completely believed in her. She could not forget me +or forsake me. So far as I knew then, she would last +forever. There was nothing, literally nothing, in my +world to worry about. I was already living by faith.</p> + +<p>This is the earliest faculty we develop. It is an enduring +illusion at which the world and all the vicissitudes +of life tear in vain. We replace every hope +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>that fails with another one. We change our standards +and our creeds, but we live and die believing in +something. It is a medicine we use to ease the mind. +I have had so many letters lately from men and +women who no longer believe in God. They have +fallen over the precipice of rationalism into an awful +pit of darkness. But it is perfectly apparent that any +one of them would be quick to believe in a man or +woman. They are the same old barnacles of faith we +all are, who have lost their hold upon the good bottom, +raked off by the lives they have lived or the +thinking they have practiced. They are the most +credulous people in the world. I never knew one +who would not trust a convincing rascal. Or he will +take to occultism, some spiritual nostrum, as a certain +class of people prefer patent medicine for their +physical ailments. What I mean is that the power to +believe is born in us, and we must exercise it one +way or the other, as we breathe to live.</p> + +<p>I have a vivid recollection of the child I was then, +as one might remember the person he used to be in +another life, sitting on the green crown of my world, +very pudgy, back hunched, fingers curled in the +grass, the hair on my head sticking up like a fine +bright fringe, eyes wide and quiet, fixed upon nothing +in particular, the groggy little somnambulist +of a bright dream.</p> + +<p>I remember one of the illusions I had. The big +gate at the end of the avenue was the end of my +world. I accompanied father and mother through it +at rare intervals, but my understanding was that we +passed immediately into another world. I shall experience +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>no more tremendous anticipations rising +from my dust in the last day than I did then, seated +in the bottom of the rickety old buggy, being drawn +through the black weather-beaten portals of that +gate.</p> + +<p>Once in so often I made the journey up there alone +to peep through the palings at this neighboring +world. My fear was that it might have fallen off or +been blown away in a high wind. Being very young +and unacquainted with the other stars, I dreaded +the possibility of being stuck up against one just +outside our big gate; or worse still, finding nothing +at all beyond it but emptiness.</p> + +<p>There is a grandeur about total ignorance, winged +with imagination. Children alone have it. They endure +terrors and visions that would drive a sane person +mad. They are little Saturns revolving in the incandescent +rings of fancy, no substance to their +thoughts, no realities in the secret world where they +move and believe everything.</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="III"> + III + <br> + CHILDREN FROM THE CABIN + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> activities of a great plantation went on about +me, but I recall none of the clamor of this business; +only the ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer on the +anvil in the shop under the mulberry trees. The +long procession of negroes sitting sidewise on their +mules coming up from the fields through the deepening +dusk of the evening were a part of the day I +lived, like the lengthening shadows of the trees on the +grass. The thin curls of smoke that began to hurry +out of the tops of the chimneys from the cabins below +the avenue used to hang like long lavender +scarfs in the air. I remember that from the top of +the terrace I could see the negro children milling and +playing before these cabin doors. But I never joined +them.</p> + +<p>There was an invisible mark between me and +these little black ones that must not be crossed. The +intimate association between white children and +negro children has been greatly exaggerated by the +sentimental literature of the South written since the +Civil War, to appeal, I have always thought, to the +imagination of the North, where most of the reading +in this country was done after that period. Southern +white children of the stock from which I sprang +sustained a passionately devoted relation to the old +negroes, men and women, who remained attached to +our families. This attachment remains unbroken +to this day.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<p>But no such ties ever existed between us and the +young ones. The basis of mutual affection and confidence +had been destroyed before I was born and +the doom of the negro sealed, not by the Civil War, +but by propaganda that followed it for fifty years. +Where enmity is created, justice will never be done. +But hate and distrust beget the sense of injustice, +which produces every abomination possible between +a strong race and a weaker one.</p> + +<p>I have not one recollection of having played with +a negro child. My only memory lasts because it was +striped in with a switch. Susan, a little negro girl, +came to the house one day for a pitcher of milk. I +took her aside and examined her black kinky wool +wrapped in white cotton thread. I did not think +much of it and said so.</p> + +<p>Mother punished me severely for this. I do not +recall the words she used. They were undoubtedly +stern and simple, for she had that kind of a vocabulary; +but the gist of it was that the quality of a superior +was that he never took advantage of an inferior, +and that it was ignoble to humiliate one by referring +to his natural defects, whether of hair or color. This +doctrine steadfastly kept also by my father, in the +end cost him a two-thousand-acre cotton plantation. +For there were a hundred negroes on the place, and +they took every advantage that inferiors can take of +a generous superior. The only reason why it has not +been equally expensive to me is that I never had so +much as a plantation to lose and have dealt with +fewer people of this class.</p> + +<p>But the impression I received that day concerning +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>my obligations to those less fortunate by nature, as +I stood tearfully diminished before mother and still +stinging from the duty of her switch, has never left +me. And it is now a fact, which I have proved by experience, +that it is more enhancing to keep one’s self-respect +than to get the advantage of an inferior person +in any kind of transaction. After so many years +of this kind of noble prancing morally, it produces a +certain insolent sense of quality, not justified, of +course, by the person you really are, all told. Still, +it is a grand feeling and a part of the mind I have +finally rounded up out of life.</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV"> + IV + <br> + FEARSOME THOUGHTS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Poetry</span> and superstition were atmospheric conditions +of the mind. As a child, I believed in ghosts, +spirits, and signs. Knowledge has delivered me, but +my instincts never will. I can think of no other +reason why I still pass the seventh day of March +warily and more innocently than I do my other +days. This has been regarded as an ominous day +in my family for generations, although I do not recall +a single disaster that overtook any of us on +this day. I am also at some pains not to see a new +moon for the first time through the branches of +trees, because mammy often warned me when I was +a child that such an indiscretion would be followed +by bad luck.</p> + +<p>I received constant instructions from the negro +servants in the primitive occult sciences, duly +proved and illustrated.</p> + +<p>There was a tiny sunken grave outlined with +white flint stones on the edge of the forest behind +the house. Aunt Parthenia, the old black woman +who milked the cows, told me that a child had been +murdered and buried there. She said the face was +very pale, the hair white like wool. It was a small +child about my age, and wore a long white gown. +Just at dark she said it often climbed a tree and +wailed piteously on account of having been murdered. +Hidden in the plum bushes near the house, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>I used to see this thing clinging and swinging in the +top of a poplar tree that grew beside the grave. I +cannot recall the features of any living person +I knew then so vividly as I do the pale, pinched +face of that forlorn little ghost. The hair on its +head did stand out and glisten in the darkness. And +my own hair stood up in delicious fright, listening +to its shuddering cries. Years passed before I could +believe this was a screech owl screaming.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in this same period I met a ghost in +the flower garden when I was expecting no such encounter—a +crooked woman wrapped in a black +shawl. I remember how stiff and ghostly white her +hands were. She looked at me and I could not move. +After a while mother came and led me back to the +house. My legs were trembling with excitement, +but I did not tell her what I had seen. I never confided +any of my experiences with ghosts to her, +feeling somehow that she might disapprove of them. +She was particular about the company I kept.</p> + +<p>Mother belonged to the old order of saints. She +was the kind of Christian who would have died at +the stake for a doctrine. She believed in infant baptism +because this was one of the doctrines of her +church, and made haste to have me baptized before +I could hold up my head. She not only believed you +must be born again, spiritually speaking, but she +had her doubts about your conversion if you did +not suffer the birth pangs of repentance at least +with groanings and tears. I was too young to think +a doubt when she instructed me in the doctrine of +damnation. Hell was a very literal pit of fire and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>brimstone, where the wicked burned forever and the +worm never dieth. If she had not included the worm +in this picture, I might not have received the reptilian +idea of the place, which was particularly abhorrent. +One day I met a turtle in the flower garden. +The eyes were red. There were red gills under its +neck. I fled shrieking, believing it to be some kind +of infernal insect that had crawled out of the pit, +still hot and malevolent.</p> + +<p>At this age I must have been like those birds in +the far places that do not fear or fly at the sight of +man. I was never afraid of the dark, nor of the considerable +number of ghosts I collected under the +guidance of Aunt Parthenia.</p> + +<p>I also believed in certain animals. The marvelous +things I heard about the doings of rabbits, cats, and +foxes surpass anything recorded in Æsop’s Fables. +There was a donkey on the plantation. I was shy +of this beast, not because I was afraid of him, but +because he might speak to me. Some native delicacy +I had, forbade conversation with an ass. But if our +old dog wagged his tail, I understood him. I have +always been able to interpret dogs. They have no +souls, no minds of their own; but if they associate +intimately with human beings, and not with other +dogs, they develop a telepathic relation to us that +amounts to divination. They understand us and act +according to our will and mood, however secret, because +they worship us.</p> + +<p>I have had fearful thoughts along this line. What +if we sustain a similar relation to the Almighty? +What if we are simply the tail-wagging medium of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>infinite mind? Such speculations are no doubt of +the devil, but if you have a mind you cannot resist +now and then taking an intellectual whiff at your +powers and principalities of darkness.</p> + +<p>Negroes do not include fairies among their superstitions; +so I was deprived of the lighter, happier +comradeship of these gossamer-winged beings. My +impression is that they do not last so long, nor are +they so sternly stimulating to the imagination as +the illusions we have of spirits and ghosts. Even a +child discards his fairies at an early age, but mankind +never quite escapes the prescience of the supernatural. +Wise men as well as fools have been haunted +by these uneasy figments. All literature from beginning +to end is populated with ghosts and apparitions +of the dead. This is testimony accumulated, +not about the supernatural, but about what we are. +The Lord knew us. This is the reason why heavenly +messengers were seen by the naked eye in the Scriptures. +Something imprisoned in us responds to that +‘cloud of witnesses,’ and to the Holy Ghost of +Jesus Christ. We require such symbolism because +we are forever and inalienably kin to spirits. But +we never see them.</p> + +<p>During the whole of my life I have been subject to +these visions. I have had a curious consciousness of +not being alone when I was really alone. I have seen +a whiteness take shape in impenetrable darkness, +heard sounds, had a sense of wings and motion about +me in silence and stillness. Maybe this is merely the +blind stirring of immortal instinct; but my suspicion +is that these ‘presences’ we feel, or think we see, are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>freaks of memory, subconsciously aroused by the +loves or hates we used to have, and that any one +with a lively imagination can get himself haunted or +blessed by these illusions. I think it is an exercise in +supernatural lying which never fully convinces a +rational person; therefore, a dangerous diversion to +indulge, and bad for the soul. The practice of spiritualism +seems to me gross and strangely repulsive, +like some kind of abnormal vulgarity. Compare the +noble significance of that ‘cloud of witnesses’ mentioned +in the Scriptures with the ‘spirit’ conjured up +at a psychic séance. The first is designed to inspire +faith and courage; the latter merely gratifies your +human anxiety or curiosity by informing you that +your maiden aunt who died last spring is well and +happy!</p> + +<p>We must learn; it is inevitable. The time comes +when we can no longer avoid the facts accumulated +by human experience. I would not go so far as to +call this wisdom; much of it is based upon errors of +judgment, weakness, and prejudice, but we must +master as much of it as possible in order to live +sensibly in an erroneous world.</p> + +<p>I come now to this momentous period in my own +life when the amorphous but still entrancingly immortal +faculties I had must be adjusted, according +to the mortal mind, to God and man. This is a +flighty business when you consider the strange +contradictions involved.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="V"> + V + <br> + GREEN-GROWING SCRIPTURES + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Father</span> was sensitive to the sublime. The calm +mind of the heavens on a clear starlit night could +move him to the noblest flights of imagination. He +must stretch himself mentally and let out a spark of +eloquence or prophecy; it made no difference so +long as he relieved the pressure of infinities upon his +strident soul.</p> + +<p>He had a habit, when I was this very small child, +of pacing back and forth in the warm moonlit darkness +of summer evenings. I recall myself like a caterpillar +sticking to him there. With one bare foot +placed upon the toe of each of his dusty boots and +my arms clasped about his long legs, I rode backwards; +still, the stride was exciting.</p> + +<p>One night when we were traveling in this fashion +beneath a particularly clear starlit sky, he halted, +swung a grand gesture, peered down at me as from a +great height.</p> + +<p>‘You will live to see airships up there flying like a +flock of birds!’ he said.</p> + +<p>‘Corra,’ mother interrupted hastily from the +porch, ‘come in, wash your feet and go to bed!’</p> + +<p>I obeyed, too young to suspect that she was +guarding me from what was supposed to be a streak +of insanity in father’s family.</p> + +<p>It seems that one of his remote ancestors had conceived +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>this same idea of flying through the heavens +on his own wing power. He was humored in this +hobby until the day he ascended to the roof of his +mansion geared up in two huge wings of his own devising +and hopped off. He survived only because +they did break the force of his fall, but he spent the +remaining years of his life in close confinement.</p> + +<p>From this time forth some one in each succeeding +generation of father’s people had been born with +this predilection for flying. Mother was determined +it should not be her child in this generation. She +was a sensible woman, who had a legitimate imagination +and conceived only of incandescent angels +being properly endowed with wings.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, father had his anxieties. +Mother’s Uncle John was an intensely religious man +in an age when only preachers were distinguished +for their piety in this section, and he was not a +preacher. His mind was fixed on the Bible and he +read no other book. Father believed he was quite +mad on this subject.</p> + +<p>I had a rather unusual memory long before I had +any of the other intellectual ingredients that go to +the making of a mind. When mother began to read +Genesis aloud to me, my ear caught the tune of that +genealogical chapter which records the generations +of Adam with so many repetitions of the word begat.</p> + +<p>One day I climbed upon father’s knee and recited +too many verses from this chapter to him. I should +have let him have them all but for the fact that he +interrupted. He exchanged a look with mother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<p>‘Stop reading that book aloud to her. Remember +your Uncle John!’ he said.</p> + +<p>Parents are strangely suspicious of what Nature +may have done to their children. The first thing +they do when one is born is to look him over to be +sure he is made up properly, not too long or too +short anywhere, and not one-sided. The mother’s +travail is never over until she calls out faintly, +‘Doctor, is my child all right?’ and receives the +assurance that he is. Then she lets go and fades +away into the bliss of motherhood. My parents received +the best assurances about me then. Still, as +I grew, strangeness of one sort and another showed +up in me; then they would hark back, each behind +the other, to account for it. It was not the child I +was; it was what they knew about themselves which +might crop out in me that disturbed them. I suppose +all parents suffer from this same sense of ancestral +guilt toward their offsprings.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in another book I have set down at +length the impression made upon me by the story of +creation as related in Genesis. Here, following the +trail of my mind rather than the emotional effects +created upon the life of a child, I pass on with the +bare statement that it fitted the mind I had then. +And I venture to add that it still spreads amazing +and veracious before the mind I have now. It is +that book in the Bible most like God. In the others +the record is diminished to His dealings with us. +There is more room in this first one for seeing just +God, is what I mean. The more you live in the open, +in remote and quiet places where the evidences still +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>show like green-growing scriptures, the easier it is to +believe. For me it will remain to the last my favorite +gospel of the goodness and wonders of the Almighty. +I do not know why, unless, as life, duty, and conscience +pressed hard upon me, these first chapters +turned out to be less obligatory than, say, the Ten +Commandments. Many a time they have been like +great visions in a dark place. It was like seeing +original things take shape. I suppose other people +have had the same experience; but in this mood the +first herbs of the field have been almost visible, in +their fresh greenness, through the mists of the first +morning of time.</p> + +<p>Long afterwards, when I began to write a few +scriptures of my own, and must accomplish some +feat of imagination to reach what I know, I used to +read the first chapter of Genesis as devout Episcopalians +read prayers to God from a book. I never +caught the rhythm of that great moment when the +light was divided from the darkness and the waters +from the lands, but hearing the roll and rumble of +it has certainly lengthened the stride of my mind.</p> + +<p>I had a good deal of the Old Testament imparted +to me before I received my other mental training. +As far down as I can reach now into the mind I had +then, I am a very small human, traveling by speculations +through Deuteronomy, Judges, and believing +that Second Samuel was Samuel’s son. I am keeping +company with the major and minor prophets. I am +the little girl who knew Ruth and could see her in the +wheat fields, gathering the scattered heads that fell +behind the reapers. I was very much attached to her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>and to David in his youth. But never to the Song of +Solomon. Mother always skipped it as ‘unsuitable’ +when she read from the Bible. She had a certain +look on her face when she would be turning the +leaves and came upon this Song, as if she had seen +something indelicate, and invariably flirted the +page over it hastily as you would cover such a thing. +My impression is that she did not think very well of +Solomon. To this day I share her prejudices. Too +much of his wisdom is derived from the bad end of +experience.</p> + +<p>But imagine a child’s mind taking shape under +these influences. I was haunted by ghosts and fed on +the stately Scriptures of the Old Testament. Jerusalem +and Nineveh are the first cities I remember +hearing about. I was particularly interested in the +latter because of the deep-sea disaster which overtook +Jonah on his way there. I believed everything, +but not with the literal humble mind of the obedient +spirit. I have always reserved the right to believe +in the Scriptures intelligently. So far as I am able +to judge, stupid faith is as dangerous and belittling +to the soul as a false doctrine.</p> + +<p>This story of Jonah gagged me even at that early +age. And to this day I am still wondering if any one +saw the whale swallow him, or if it was a mere wave +that vomited him upon the shore. Not that I doubt +the Scriptures, you understand, but Jonah. What I +mean is that in the horror of being cast overboard +and drowned, he may honestly have believed he was +being swallowed by a great fish, when he was really +descending into the bowels of the sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> + +<p>The instruction I had from the Old Testament +marked my first definite formations mentally. They +seemed, as I look back now, to have opened the casements +of my mind to more gallant illusions, verified +by the angels and prophets who appeared so constantly +in these Scriptures. I used to strain myself +to see Elijah rising in a chariot of fire. A red cloud +in the sunset sky might have convinced me of the +repetition of this miracle. I was a small human drop +in the eternity of summer days. I had no sense of +time. I felt very near the beginning of things. But I +was unaffected morally. I went about my business +as usual, without a scruple as to what was right or +wrong.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI"> + VI + <br> + FATHER AND MOTHER + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I felt</span> a certain silent intimacy with my father. This +was due to the fact that we were both highly sensitized +emotionally, but not morally. I received the +impression that there was more space in father for +the practices of a free spirit. It seems to me that +we both avoided the house because it was such +a good place, ruled by order and righteousness. +Nothing could be changed in it, least of all mother, +who loved us with a consuming affection. I did not +know the name of the sensation at the time, but +I always came into it feeling like a prodigal son. I +remember some such expression on father’s face +shot with humor. I cannot think what we had been +doing; probably nothing reprehensible; but I was +full of secret stuff not to be exposed to her, because +I never could tell what she would approve. Father +knew and was silent for the same reason.</p> + +<p>She was literally a religious woman. She believed +in the Christian religion without tears. She could +perform her spiritual duties on a cold collar and keep +the Commandments without praying or fasting. I +have always thought she might have been a trifle +short on the Beatitudes, because she practiced them +with less emotion than any other person I have ever +known. She had resignation and endurance to a +remarkable degree, but she was sublimely deficient +in humility. My memory of her, revived by the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>wit of a mature mind, is that she was admirably +conscious of her own worth and standing before the +Lord, though I never heard her testify in an experience +meeting, which was one of the pious diversions +of saints in those days.</p> + +<p>Father was spiritually minded, but only intermittently +religious, during which periods he far outstripped +mother in the bloom and beauty of his +virtues. But he frequently fell back into original +sin, where he seemed to belong; but was never comfortable, +poor soul. He would invariably rise by the +means of the most spectacular repentance. I have +observed that these acrobatic souls belong to men +with more histrionic talent than ordinary saints +have. This is the reason why they are more beloved +even if they are less dependable. I am certain +mother loved father more than she could have loved +a better man. It is the quality of goodness in women, +not a weakness.</p> + +<p>Mother used to pass into silence sometimes. She +became inaccessible. No tears, going about her +duties with a certain sweet quietness as if she was +walking more softly before the Lord than usual and +hoped this would do some good.</p> + +<p>I still think I was right in my impressions of these +periods. My feeling was that something grand was +going on. I distinctly felt the presence of God +everywhere. My lid came off in this mysteriously +electric atmosphere. I suppose it is the same sensation +formerly enjoyed by emotional people when +they shouted during divine services. I hoped for +some change in the methodical routine of things, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>did not get it. When the hero of the house fell from +grace he disappeared. He was not. But I was quarantined +by the tightening of the ligaments of all +mother’s virtues and obliged to practice my rectitudes +more scrupulously than usual. No escape to +the terrace outside. And the house felt like a church—terribly +hallowed.</p> + +<p>But when father emerged from the dark pit of his +transgression, haggard with that look of noble repentance +remorse imparts to the male countenance, +I beheld him with awe and speechless admiration, +having no knowledge of the cause of this moral +grandeur or that so much eloquence covered delinquency.</p> + +<p>I have a dim candle-lit memory of one of these +scenes which took place in mother’s room when I +was a very small child. Glowing logs upon the +hearth that cast a red radiance over the bare white +boards of the floor. A candle lighted upon the +candle-stand like the faintest flickering flame in this +darkness. Stiff blue calico curtains drawn back from +the windows and primly tied. A clear cold night +outside and stars shining through the symmetrical +angle of these curtains. Mother sitting in her corner, +pale as peace and righteousness, hair black and +smoothly coiled, skirts arranged just so. Hands +folded, her large gray eyes slightly raised, very +peaceful, as if she gazed upon her cross and knew +she could bear it. I sat in my small split-bottomed +chair, hands clasped around the arms of this chair, +elbows sticking out, fair hair glowing like the fringe +of innocence in this rich darkness, copper-toed shoes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>shining, head barely high enough above the window-sill +to see the stars.</p> + +<p>But I was not looking at the stars. I was wearing +my church manners and watching mother’s face as +one consults the clock when it is time for services to +begin. I had been in these family altar services before +and knew that one was at hand now because the +big Bible lay upon the candle-stand. This Book was +never opened except upon great spiritual occasions +or when the pastor called. Mother dispensed her +daily Scriptures from a smaller, well-worn volume.</p> + +<p>There was a step outside, coming with a long +crunching stride. The stars twinkled with that +giggling sense of humor they may have acquired +from watching the doings of men for so many ages. +The door was thrust open. A blast of icy wind +entered. The flame of the candle flickered, as if this +was no place for a good little candle. I vibrated. +My dear father, whom I had not seen for days, +strode in, you may say, upon this blast. But I +restrained my natural affections, as one does when +a solemn ceremony is about to begin. Why this +ceremony I did not know, but once in so often it had +to be performed, because it seemed to greatly enhance +father and to refresh and gladden mother.</p> + +<p>Father was a pallid and noble figure, somewhat +disheveled, like a long-legged eagle that has recently +weathered a high wind. He took one sweeping +glance around, caught my adoring eyes upturned, +and discarded them as a bagatelle in this momentous +situation. Mother merely ceased to bat her eyes, +gaze still fixed upon her cross. Let the mountains +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>fall upon her, let the waters of all the seas roll over +her, she would not be moved except by decent repentance!</p> + +<p>Well, he must go through with it as usual, is what +I know now father decided after that momentary +survey, and kept his pace to the big rickety chair +beside the candle-stand. He let himself down into +it like a god overtaken in a fault, glanced distastefully +at the Bible and emitted the sigh of a bellows. +My breast heaved in suspense. I knew that my +father would presently become a man of the Lord +and open the Book. These were the only occasions +when he was associated in my mind with our God. +I coveted the experience. What I did not know was +that he dreaded the blasphemy demanded of him. +He had his feelings and Adam’s modesty when his +sin would be dying hard in him. Then some emotion +would overcome him; maybe a man’s grateful memories +of this invincibly good woman who could not +be made to forsake him. What was God’s opinion of +him compared to her dear wishes? Such a foolish +little she demanded in exchange for all she gave. +Something like this I know passed through his mind. +Then he would open the Book, turn to the Psalms, +taste a few until he struck one with the right note, +not too revealing, something vague and nobly sung. +That night he read this one:</p> + +<p>‘Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications: +in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy +righteousness. And enter not into judgment with +thy servant.’</p> + +<p>He was ever a man quickly moved to the left or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>right in the moral world. Give him a full glass, a +roistering companion, and he could race with the +devil himself. Give him the noblest words of penitence +and he could produce the accompanying remorseful +emotions. He could shrive himself with +the dignity and majesty of a saint. So now for the +moment he was every whit David broken by his +transgression. Grief descended upon him and shook +him like a blessing:</p> + +<p>‘Hear me speedily, O Lord: my spirit faileth,’ he +read on woefully. ‘Hide not thy face from me, lest +I be like unto them that go down into the pit.’ And +so on until he came to the end.</p> + +<p>I did not understand, but I felt the wind of sorrow +blowing from the eloquent lips of my father. I was +bursting with emotion, my lips primped, my eyes +fixed upon him full of tears. The one thing that restrained +me was mother’s inscrutable face. She not +only understood the Psalm but the man who was +reading it. She simply used this method to change +the scenes of his singularly adaptable spirit.</p> + +<p>‘Let us pray,’ he rumbled in a choked voice.</p> + +<p>I have a lively recollection of this prayer. It was +a good one. Very few people have the real gift of +prayer, and then only under the emotional pressure +of remorse. I have heard the ring of platform oratory +many a time in the prayer of a saint who had +nothing but his congregation’s sins of which to repent. +Father, splendidly poised on one knee, recited +a psalm of his own to the Lord, not so good as David’s +but along the same line. He cast his iniquities from +him in sentences that clashed like bright swords. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>Sobs shook him. I was also deeply moved, as I am +to this day by great music of powerful prayers. +Kneeling like a little rag doll, very low before my +chair, I accompanied him with sounds of grief, +meows of a kitten saint, decently repressed until, +casting a watery glance through my fingers, I saw +father wiping his face on the blue window curtains. +This was too much. I keened my nose and let out a +wail that steadied the great mourner and ended his +petition.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII"> + VII + <br> + MY MOTHER’S GOD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I suppose</span> there are still such husbands in the world, +but I am wondering if there are any more women +like mother. Maybe she would be called a pill now. +Looking back, the methods she used to restore +father’s soul do seem drastic. She loved him with a +shrewd tenderness; but let him break his traveling +gait toward Heaven and she was the most adroit +persecutor of the damned and fallen I have ever +known. She kept a good little house not more than +one short prayer path from the gates of Heaven. +Everything in it was clean, white where it should be +white, glistening where it should shine. If by chance +an unworthy person crossed her threshold, he +brought his former virtues with him and practiced +them. She demanded at least a noble deceit of goodness.</p> + +<p>This was the kind of father I had, and this was +my mother. I was a sort of human hybrid composed +of these two natures. Nothing could cure me of a +dangerous likeness to father. I was closer kin to him +in mind and spirit. I may have inherited some invincible +stamina from mother, a capacity for standards +and principles. My notion is that father +merely begot me, and that mother continued to +exercise the same functions to me morally that she +did physically before I was born. She produced +qualities of character in me which went far toward +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>determining my woman’s life afterwards. She had +Moses’ gift for guiding me and controlling the +rabble in me.</p> + +<p>But I have never reached the promised land. +Neither did the children of Israel under Moses. No +one does. Your Moses is too much of a disciplinarian. +Looking back now at my wilderness, it seems to me +if I make the last stretch it will be upon the wings +of a spirit inherited from father. But I shall never +make it now. I shall pass like other people who have +been anxious to be good all their lives—barely in +sight of that fair and happy land. I have been encompassed +about by too great a cloud of witnesses +to just righteousness. The burden of being obedient +to mother’s God, and later on to the God of a still +more drastic saint, has wearied me. I am too tired +now to shout and be happy. I shall probably die +up here in a high place, barely in sight of the promised +land as usual.</p> + +<p>I have often wondered how real saints feel about +this. I know how they talk, but do they in their +secret hearts as humans sometimes regret the hard +and narrow way? Isn’t there something unsatisfied +in them to the last? Have they been entirely gratified? +Can one ever have in this world the peace +promised? Maybe we do at the last moment. I am +expecting it then. But one moment, with your +breath already leaving you, is a short time to enjoy +what you have spent a lifetime to win.</p> + +<p>As near as I can make out, we cannot obey the +Scriptures and be as much like the Lord as we claim +to be. There is too much submission, too much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>bondage to sacrifice. We do not seem to have arrived +yet at that almighty mental poise where we +can punish as He does. Vengeance is still His. Our +minds have dropped a stitch somewhere between the +Ten Commandments and that beatitude which +reads: ‘Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, +and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil +against you, for my sake, ... for great is your +reward in heaven.’</p> + +<p>We are short on giving out these rewards. Maybe +we are still so vicious it would not be safe to trust +us with administering justice one to another according +to the Lord’s way. We must go to a court and +get balled up with an attorney to obtain our rights, +and maybe have the decision go against us. Or we +must go to a church conference and get balled up +with the presiding elder and get very little satisfaction +there for our wrongs compared to the way we +could satisfy ourselves if it were not for sitting +down dutifully and being persecuted for righteousness’ +sake. Maybe we should go on turning the other +cheek a while longer; but my experience has been +that there is very little gratification of the vanity of +the human soul in turning the other cheek, or giving +a man your coat also because he took your cloak. It +leaves you naked, cold, and bruised in the face, and +the other fellow strutting around bragging at your +expense. Compare that with the way the Lord punishes +evildoers and you get an inkling of what I mean—and +the chief reason why I am writing this history. +My mind has misled me frequently through +the Scriptures.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII"> + VIII + <br> + BOOK LEARNING + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Ignorance</span> is a curse, but it depends upon what +kind of knowledge you get whether that is not even +more of a curse. For this reason I have become a bit +squeamish about education. Occasionally, when I +am suffering from the effects of some regrettable +wisdom I have acquired, the very sight or sound of +the word gives me a sinking sensation, as one feels +when reminded of fate. It smacks too much of +Calvinism, a willful, worldly form of predestination +by which the mind, morals, and future of a youth +are determined. We can teach him a lie by concealing +part of the truth, knob him like a hydra-horned +monster with false ideals and he has no defense. +We can substitute a code of ethics for religion +without letting him know that ethics is a variable +and frequently very free translation we make of the +will of God in the minds of men.</p> + +<p>The product of such a system of education we +have in the present generation of young people. +They are being deprived of their legal relations to +the Almighty. They are running true to form, predestined +to their courses by what they have not been +taught, obedience to that law which we older people +call God. To be brought up illiterate in the spirit +seems to me a frightful state of ignorance and very +dangerous. I prefer real Calvinism, though I was +born and bred a Methodist, because according to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>that old doctrine some of us at least were elected to +salvation.</p> + +<p>Methods of education were much more primitive +when I was a child. You learned your Catechism +and the Ten Commandments first; then your alphabet. +I knew who made the heavens and the +earth, that Adam was the first man and Eve the +first woman, before I was five years old; but I must +have been nearly six before I could distinguish between +the little <i>b</i> and the little <i>d</i> of the alphabet. +They seemed very small and negligible compared +with the hills and skies and trees to which I had been +accustomed. I was frightfully lonely with my a, b, +abs. What I spelled out by the hardest was not interesting. +I had the prescience of all things and must +now be turned back to learn little words in a book +that I had always used in speaking. I could not be +impressed when w-h-a-t turned out to be ‘what.’ I +lacked the erudite instinct which makes scholars.</p> + +<p>My only interest in words to-day is to find the one +needed, preferably a small one; young, active, and +properly colored to use for expressing that feeling +which became a thought, if you can say it or write +it down. I have never had the least cultural curiosity +about the ancestry of a word, whether Greek or +Latin or even older, though I have sometimes had +the feeling that I might be using a smooth, wise word +which had formerly been in the employ of Socrates. +But never one accustomed to Marcus Aurelius’s +way of thinking—a good man as pagans go, but reduced +to a negative state by the quality of his spirit.</p> + +<p>I have often wondered if literary people as a class +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>show any aptitude for grammar in their youth. My +suspicion is that it is chiefly those who speak correctly—you +may say, from a sense of duty; not +naturally, nor with any charm—who take to the +drudgery of studying English composition. They +are of that class who read your book, not for the +taste or flavor of the story you tell, but to find a misplaced +adverb or the tail of a participle sticking out +in the wrong place. Meanness of mind can sink no +lower than this, because it is clothed in such outrageous +respectability. You cannot call him a hypocrite +for directing your attention to a grammatical +error on the one hundred and twenty-fifth page of +your narrative; yet he is one, plucking at the mote of +an outlawed word with a beam in his own eye. I +never knew one who could write an interesting sentence, +though a child could parse it.</p> + +<p>The only indication I showed of literary sense +from the beginning was a distaste for the study of +grammar. I remember how small I was, and how +desolate, being obliged to sit in the house and learn +a lesson in Smith’s English Grammar. And it is still +a queer thing from my point of view that men have +been burned at the stake for choosing their own +doctrines from the Scriptures; but so far as I know, +the author of a textbook designed to cower the mind +of a child has never suffered martyrdom. I am not +implying a disposition to thrust a blazing fagot into +the beard of a professional grammarian; but it does +seem strange when you think about it that no +man has ever been punished for devising textbook +tortures for children.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>My only recollections of this book were the punishments +I received because it remained a mystery to +me, and the number of hard and fast rules in it that +I learned but could not apply. When it was done +and over with, the residuum of information left in +my mind never to be forgotten was that ‘Active +verbs govern the objective case.’ I have noticed +that they do in every walk of life. In those days I +developed a personal sympathy for the noun in the +objective case. It was frequently knocked down and +trampled upon by the noun in the nominative case. +It was the victim of an active verb.</p> + +<p>By this time I have my own ideas about the virtue +and value of words. Their worth depends entirely +upon the person who uses them. They betray more +than the mind; they betray the man. The somnambulant +charm of De Quincey’s writings was due to +his constant use of the passive verb. They are +nearly all drugged and recumbent. There are peaks +of the purest inspiration in Whitman’s poetry, rough +tablelands that stretch away into light and darkness, +written with a rhythm of words so harsh and strong +that one hears the hoarse shouts of a man with a +great and joyful heart. But the lowlands of his +thoughts are covered with a growth of monstrous +words. My belief is that those who revere him as a +poet quote him less often on this account than his +ostentatious disciples who camp most frequently +in the lower regions of his genius.</p> + +<p>And there are the decadent writers who use words +frequently that bloom like fair frail blossoms on a +dung heap—but always a line somewhere which +betrays the odor of the soil.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + +<p>The reason why the minor poets are minor is +because the thoughts they have can only be sung in +slender, pale, poignant words. It is not beauty they +express so much as frailty. Poe’s tales and poetry +always fascinated me, but they reveal the dipsomaniacal +genius of the man.</p> + +<p>David was shrewder than a psalmist is supposed +to be when he cried out, ‘Oh ... that mine enemy +had written a book!’ I do not know how the theologians +interpret this passage, but it is perfectly +clear to me that David was no mean psychologist. +No man ever wrote a book that did not betray him +if you know how to read it. If he has an illiterate +nature and all the words at a scholar’s command, the +thing he writes may be useful like a record; but it +will not have the convincing charm of life. He sustains +the same relation to literature that a ploughman +does to a painter, an artisan to an architect—useful, +but not nearly so interesting to know.</p> + +<p>As for the mere grammar of language, it is essential +if you have no ear for composing a sentence, as +notes are for one who has no ear for music and must +strum it as it is written for him. I am deficient there, +having no skill in the harmonies of singing sounds; +but I came out of ten generations of men who used +words as the winds use the clouds, roughly or gently, +according to the velocity of their moods. And I contend +that there are some things to be said so +quickly by way of interpreting a man or a meaning +that if you stop long enough to reduce it to a parsing +symmetry you have lost the breath of life in the +truth you meant to convey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>Compared with the modern child, I was stupid. +I did not know anything. I was simply a medium +of sensations, experiencing joy in the sun, living +confidentially with the grass, moved to this or that +adventure as the wind blows. I was without self-consciousness, +that first symptom of vanity in a mind +beginning to be, so attractive in young children, +so offensive in men and women. I was strangely +lacking in the monkey curiosity peculiar to the +bright child. I came silently by my own knowledge +without asking questions. There was no sense in +what I learned, but much enchantment. I was +closer kin to the earth than mere mind ever makes +us. I knew the leaves on the trees as you hear conversation, +and the sky was very near, like a roof +over my head.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX"> + IX + <br> + SCHOOL DAYS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I attended</span> the old field school at broken intervals +in these days. What I remember about that is the +path across the hills to this school, the scent of ripe +maypops in the long grass, the passion flowers +blooming like lace among the corn, dew on everything; +the way the gray gables of the schoolhouse +showed against the sky, the little winds that accompanied +me on summer days fragrant as the breath +of the fields. They are like verses I learned long ago. +If I need one in a cheerful tale now I always go back +and copy the little a-b-c breeze that used to blow +the grass into billows and turn the leaves on a +certain poplar tree like a thousand tiny silver fans +as we went by together.</p> + +<p>Once when I was very young I was sent to the +village school and came for the first time in contact +with the bold alacrity of the children of the world, a +very small world, but strange to me. They must +have bragged and boasted. Anyway, for the first +time I remember being troubled about my financial +standing. I did not know whether my parents were +rich people or poor people, but it was apparent that +there was great satisfaction to be had from riches. +Still, it was a delicate matter, upon which I was +loath to consult mother, who seemed to be above +such trivial considerations. One day when I could +bear my anxiety no longer I devoted myself secretly, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>like an expert accountant, to the business of estimating +the worth of our estate and determining once +for all the financial standing of my family. Followed +such a feat of memory as rarely has been equaled +since Adam named all the beasts of the field at one +sitting. I forgot nothing, from father’s old army +shawl to the thousands of acres of land in the plantation. +My scale of valuation was eccentric, but exceedingly +gratifying. We were very rich people, I +decided, although I doubt if I had ever seen a piece +of money at this time. We had servants and land +and were really poverty-stricken.</p> + +<p>It is a good thing to be born poor with an opulent +mind. Fluctuations in market values have less effect +upon your strictly private fortune. Wealth is a state +of mind which many a rich man misses. I have no +idea how long I retained this notion of being an +heiress, but I am moved to tears and laughter by +the quiet assurance I had, based upon our wealth, +to which I never referred. Children are very shrewd +about preserving their illusions. They conceal them +from the diminishing knowledge of others. I am +wondering what might have happened if my young +companions had suspected the source of my ease and +pride. And what would have been the effect upon +me if I had realized how anguishingly poor we were?</p> + +<p>After all, it was not such a bad way to grow up—next +door to the kingdom of Heaven, believing myself +to be the heir of a great fortune and descended +from great people.</p> + +<p>I may have acquired some mettle of the spirit in +these purely imaginary circumstances which enabled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>me to bear with a better grace the vicissitudes of the +direst poverty later on, for I have never felt poor. +If I had a nickel in the machine drawer, I was doing +very well; if my husband had a dollar in his pocket, +want and anxiety were comfortably removed.</p> + +<p>What I remember about myself during this period +is different and more engaging. It seems to me that +from being a shy, silent child I became a genial little +girl. I remember jumping the rope at school and +sharing a playhouse under the trees with another +little girl. But these were diversions natural to my +age, as a kitten chases its tail when not otherwise +occupied. I recall much more distinctly the satisfaction +with which I parted from these companions +and took the lonely path home across the fields. I +had the happier feeling of being very much abroad +then as a bird must have on the wing in a wide space. +I remember the habit I had later on of walking in the +flower garden late in the evening until mother called +me. I am certain that this was a kind of enchantment +I practiced, for I have no recollection of thinking +anything right or wrong, but only of feeling like +a part of everything; not that I could have defined +the sensation then.</p> + +<p>This habit of walking alone late in the evening has +remained with me. Sometimes for years it may be +broken by circumstances or inevitable companionships, +only to be resumed again with precisely the +same somnambulant happiness I had when I was +young. As near as I can tell now, it is like resting +from being mortal and old and tired. It is like escaping +from the weary consciousness of your own +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>life, narrow and familiar and full of thoughts that +take hold of you like hands. Maybe it is a little +Enoch period I enjoy of not being.</p> + +<p>My first appearance on the stage was during a +school commencement about this time. I was in a +dialogue composed of little girls who were supposed +to impersonate flowers—the rose, the violet, the +lily, for example. I was the tulip. When my turn +came to tell how it felt and what it meant to be a +tulip, I was so deeply moved that I had to be led +from the stage in tears. But I had felt the glare of +the footlights in my face and craved the opportunity +to appear on the stage. My desire was not to show +off, but to move the audience. I had the true artistic +impulse.</p> + +<p>There was a poem written about that time purporting +to be the Lament of the Empress Eugénie +over the death of her son. The first line of it ran: +‘Waileth a woman, “Oh, my God!”’ I remember +smiting a cheerful commencement audience one +night with this thing, delivered in a voice which +ranged from soprano to a sobbing whisper, and with +gestures of the wildest grief. I suppose the poor empress +conducted herself with dignity in her sorrow, +but whatever she said or did, she could not have +equaled my interpretation of her woe. The performance +was received in petrified silence, but I still +believe the audience might have cheered if it had not +been so startled by the activity of my emotions.</p> + +<p>I am probably the only person living who believes +that I had histrionic ability of no mean order. +But I have never regretted missing the career of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>great tragedienne, on account of the well-known +perversity and stupidity of audiences. Sometimes +they are elegant mobs who slay you by omitting the +encore. They are the majority and hold your fate in +their hands at every performance. But if you write +a book, you are the silent majority. The book keeps +going the rounds, speaking your mind, and you are +not present when the reader or critic damns it. You +are probably writing another book. I prefer the +safety and remoteness of authorship, if for no other +reason than that one may go on writing no matter +how she looks, whether she has a distinguishable +waistline or not, long after the tragedy queen has +lost her beauty and has been obliged to retire, probably +in straitened circumstances on account of the +extravagant habits she acquired during her affluent +period in the theatrical profession. Authors rarely +are successful enough to develop their spendthrift +talents.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="X"> + X + <br> + WHAT I READ + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent">I<span class="smcap"> was</span> in and out of school until my seventeenth +year. Toward the last I must have had queer teachers, +or I may have been a trifle out of drawing myself, +for I was permitted to choose the books I +studied from father’s library. This was an old and +honorable one, collected by two generations of +leisure-loving men with reading minds. I recited +lessons from Plutarch’s ‘Lives’ and Paley’s ‘Moral +Philosophy.’ Poor old Paley! It turns out that he +was entirely wrong about morals. I doubt now if it +makes much difference whose philosophy you study +on this subject. Morals change like rules for pronunciation, +and are more confusing to learn than a +foreign language. When you know the language you +know how to speak it, but one never gets a working +knowledge of morals until he learns how to compromise +them with a good conscience and an upright +mind. It is an obtuse subject and requires +much experience in honorable living to master it.</p> + +<p>Another book I studied was Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem +Delivered.’ Why I chose this poem I cannot imagine, +but it has left a trail of flaming angels at war, +memories of many flashing colors, and a sort of +golden cadence in my mind, although I cannot recall +a single line. What I do recall, with that mischievous +retrospect we sometimes cast back upon our +earliest follies, is the way the good little lady teacher +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>used to look when I switched forward to read from +this book. She used to turn her head sidewise with +that weary air polite people have when they must +listen to a bore. I always let her have as many pages +of the stuff as she would bear.</p> + +<p>I have spent a good deal of my life beyond the +bounds of the times in which we now live. Most +people do who read and think without adding the +experience as a fact to their consciousness. If life is +brief, I shall never know it. I am not really old in +years, but it seems to me that I have been living for +ages. Much of my youth was passed a long way +back in the centuries. I had a widely assorted companionship +then, reaching all the way back to Genesis. +Besides the first and closest relation I acquired +with Nature, there were the prophets from the Old +Testament; pagans of one sort and another from +histories of the Greeks and Romans; heroes chosen +from poetry and mythology; ghosts, angels of the +covenant, Jesus Christ, with a sort of secret hankering +for many of the Catholic saints, whose lives had +drawn me to them.</p> + +<p>These people were amazingly real to me, because +I did not know any living people so intimately. The +topography of my mind must have been a curious +map of ancient lands. Years later, when at last I +saw Rome, really it was a disappointment to me; the +shattered shell of a great civilization left half buried +in the dust of centuries, a frailer, unsubstantial city +built into these ruins and filled with little men. No +gods on Mount Olympus. I am a Christian, but I +did miss the altars and oracles of those fine old +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>deities in Rome! The sunken place where the Forum +had been, but no signs of Lycurgus or of Cæsar.</p> + +<p>We never shall know how many great men were +created by their biographers, but we may infer how +insignificant these same men would be twenty centuries +later. I do not think Brutus or Mark Antony +would cut much of a figure in the Rome I saw. Still, +I have a sort of sympathy for Mussolini, not with +him. A modern politician giving himself the airs of +a Roman tribune. Who knows but he may be the +whelp of atavism? Grant him a Plutarch for a biographer +and he might shine for centuries to come as +a great man. After a while, it all depends on your +biographer whether you live in the memories of men +or are forgotten along with the rest of us.</p> + +<p>The people I knew in those days stalked through +the Scriptures, or they had been poets and gifted +men, according to their biographers.</p> + +<p>I was not conscious of being different from others +of my own age; but I must have been, now that I +consider what substance my mind was made of, +what scenes my imagination dwelt upon—creation, +the slow-traveling patriarch of the Scriptures. I was +not allowed to read fiction, but I read a translation +of the tragedies by Sophocles. To this day I still +have a clearer memory of one scene in the ‘Œdipus +at Colonus’ than of anything I have ever seen acted +upon the stage. Œdipus, eyes cut out with Jocasta’s +golden buckle, with bloody cheeks and beard, standing +above her dead body, and the halls of the palace +filled with wailing women and woe-stricken men.</p> + +<p>This is terrible stuff to be laid away in the mind of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>a young girl. Later I added ‘Prometheus Bound.’ +And after so long a time, out of the memory of such +scenes, I found out what tragedy is if you write it—an +act of fate which we perform unwillingly or without +knowing what we do. Terribly simple, in a +bleak place, or in a place of great splendor like a +palace; all in the scene, not to be told in many words.</p> + +<p>Along with this I read Dean Swift, Sut Lovingood +and Byron’s poetry. Mother was no great reader. I +doubt if she knew of some of the lands through +which Gulliver traveled, and my impression is that +she thought all poetry was virtuous.</p> + +<p>I must have acquired a certain boldness of mind +from these various sources in an age when the +maiden mind was actually tainted with modesty. +In reading a Latin fable I was the only girl in the +class who would translate the word ‘<i lang="la">asinus</i>’ into the +little English word it means. I remember this instance +on account of the blushing embarrassment of +my companions. I was not aware of the almost +universal existence of the vulgar.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XI"> + XI + <br> + THE TEACHER I HAD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I am</span> passing briefly through the educational period +of my life. It was relatively unimportant. Textbooks +may furnish a good setting-up exercise for the +strengthening of the mind; but if one takes them seriously, +or imagines they furnish him with the things +he should know along the way he must go, they are +injurious. It is a fearful thing to be stitched up and +certified in a common-school education and later +sold out of a university into the markets for what +you are worth or not worth to the world. You have +really no wisdom of your own. Your mind is a short +or long pattern of other men’s thoughts, theories, and +convictions. You aren’t anything but an addled egg +of information, or a good one that must be hatched +later into a mind of your own.</p> + +<p>I am not opposed to education, you understand, +but to the way we get it. The best ones in my opinion +are obtained as a man makes his own living, by +work and experience. I would rather learn from a +great man or woman traveling a wind-swept road +than to study all the textbooks in a school taught by +a little fellow who knows the whole course. This is +my objection to schools, all the way from the primary +grades through the universities. The teachers +may be scholars, but they are rarely great men. +They have nothing of themselves to impart that is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>worth emulating. If so they do not impart it. Teaching +is a business, not a process of inspiration.</p> + +<p>The teachers I had must have been amazingly patient +with me, but never in the way of discipline. I +reeked with learning in those days; I was at the +puppy-leg stage of my intellectual development, not +steady in my mental wobblings, but ravenous for the +bones of other men’s thoughts and too much absorbed +to practice the pranks of the average young +person in school.</p> + +<p>I read more Latin than now is required in a college +course, but it was only a way I had of making the ancient +dust fly through Virgil, Horace, and the rest of +those orators and poets who lay so safely buried centuries +deep in their fame. I doubt if I dealt honestly +with the moods and tenses of their verbs. There was +some mystery about the dative case which I never +tried to fathom. If I derived any benefit from these +remarkably free translations, it was the practice I +had in the valiant and unscrupulous use of words for +translating my own thoughts later on. However it +may be for others, this has been for me more difficult +than translating the most obtuse Latin sentence. +Horace was dead and could not protest; but being +alive and exacting, I fared worse at my own hands. +To find the right words for an idea that ought to +have wings and tail feathers is an art I have never +mastered. But if by chance one such thought does +rise living and winged, I have an inkling of how the +Lord must have felt when the first lark He made rose +upon its wings with a song in its throat.</p> + +<p>No human has the right to feel so gratified with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>his own performance, but our real feelings are rarely +governed so strictly by modesty as we pretend they +are when another man praises us. Modesty is often +the hand we throw up to ward off his smashing blow +if he should suspect how conceited we are. What I +mean is that thoughts really are miracles, and it gives +you a secret sensation of amazement and joy to get +one of the things out of the far reaches of wisdom, +disentangled from your past and your hereafter and +set down in a few simple words which bequeath it to +mankind.</p> + +<p>I have done a lot of presumptuous thinking along +this line, sneaking around the outer edges of creation, +trying to stretch up to sensations not really lawful to +know. Sometimes, taking a look above and abroad in +a star-blossoming night, I miss the prideful humility +of David when he exclaimed, ‘When I consider thy +heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the +stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that +thou art mindful of him? and the son of man that +thou visitest him?’ What I am tempted to wonder is +how the Almighty feels when a brand-new star slips +out into his infinities and swings obedient forever to +the first sun that draws it. And how does He take it +when one of these stars He has ordained wobbles in +its orbit and shoots off into space until it is dissolved +like a dust ball?</p> + +<p>I do not suppose it makes much difference. The +thing is not wasted, only a trifle more dust to be +gathered in passing by the other planets. Some time +has elapsed since we have had a certified measurement +of the circumference of the earth. Apt as not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>it is a much larger heavenly body than it used to be, +or smaller, packed tighter from revolving so fast for +so many million years. We cannot rise far enough +above it or scratch deep enough into it to find out +much about it, and our thoughts remain as far from +His thoughts as the East is from the West, and God +still is the name of what we do not know, but must +believe to live. Still, I have this hankering after +the streaming glories of His mind. I do not care a +thing about being a little lower than the angels and +crowned with glory. These are competitive values. +What I want is the power to think myself into the +order and majesty of His peace, so filled with energy +and what we call love, which undoubtedly must be +the law of the whole thing.</p> + +<p>Prophets always look ahead when they prophesy. +No man can look behind him and tell what might +have happened, because what did happen has obscured +the view. I have no idea what kind of mind +and life I might have had if I had enjoyed the same +religious freedom in my youth that I had in choosing +the texts I studied. My guess now is that I should +have been a very different person, and not nearly +so legible morally. Still, if I had had more religious +liberty during these formative years, I might have +escaped that tightening of the conscience into a +sense of guilt from which I have suffered most of +my life.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XII"> + XII + <br> + THE ‘REBEL’S’ CHILD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">My</span> memory is eclectic, so to speak, and would +never retain what was repugnant to me, especially +in the way of education. I have forgotten most of +the multiplication table. The algebraic figure of +speech, <i>×</i>, is still an unknown quantity to me, though +I remember passing creditable examinations in this +study. There must have been something wrong with +the teachers I had.</p> + +<p>Ridpath’s ‘History of the United States’ was the +first book I ever read. Vanity was the inspiration of +this undertaking. I had been brought up on glorious +family legends and I expected to find the volume +thickly populated with my ancestors. But it was +not. This is characteristic of historians; they omit +many men famous in their own families. I think it +accounts for the growth and development of the Colonial +Dames and the various orders of Daughters. +You may set out your family tree in any one of these +organizations and enjoy the distinction of being +somebody in spite of the negligence of the historians.</p> + +<p>After all, I was destined never to finish reading +Ridpath’s history. I was halted at the Battle of +Gettysburg on account of a terrible and unexpected +censorship.</p> + +<p>Father had been such a good soldier that he was +never obliged to boast of his war record until he was +a very old man and was compelled to fan up his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>past glories to confound the current generation of +his posterity who fought in gas masks from dugouts +during the World War. I was therefore a disciple +of Ridpath without sectional animus. I was ignorant +of the opprobrious reputation the word ‘rebel’ +had in the South. The probability is that I had +never heard it spoken, as bad language is not used +in the best society.</p> + +<p>One night we were at the supper table. I was still +sitting on the dictionary in the bottom of my chair +in order to be sufficiently elevated for the proper +use of my knife and fork. But I had been reading +Ridpath that day and suddenly showed forth with +some childish remark about what had been done to +the rebel army at Gettysburg.</p> + +<p>It was as if I had cast a bomb in the midst of this +peaceful scene. Mother turned pale and stared at +me as if she felt a serpent in her bosom.</p> + +<p>‘Rebel?’ shouted father.</p> + +<p>I died beneath his gaze, but kept my eyes open, +fascinated by the noble rage that seemed to transform +him. He stood up, cast his chair from him, +ground his teeth, swept a gesture that made the +candle flicker, folded his arms and strode back and +forth, lashing the tail of his fury.</p> + +<p>He called upon God to witness his sorrow that a +man should live to hear his own child call him a +rebel!</p> + +<p>I keened my nose and wept, still wondering why +rebel should be a bad name.</p> + +<p>Father laid his hand upon my head and forgave +me with a sob. After all, he said, it was not my fault +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>that an honest man who had suffered, bled and died +twice for his country, should be set down in history +as a rebel. His unfortunate child was the victim of +a partisan historian. Where was that book?</p> + +<p>I slid hastily from my seat and ran to fetch the +iniquitous volume. Mother had purchased it from a +book agent without suspecting how the author +had branded her husband and all brave men of the +South.</p> + +<p>Father opened it, stared at the printed pages, +wrinkled his nose, snarled his lip as if he literally +smelled the meanness of ignoble truth, gripped it in +his two hands, tore it asunder and tossed it through +the open window behind him, the pages still tittering +maliciously as they fluttered down.</p> + +<p>Followed the first and only address I ever heard +on the Lost Cause, impassioned, and, I still believe, +veracious. He let me have the facts—state sovereignty, +slavery, secession—his own part in the +struggle. He opened his wounds and bled afresh. +Did I see his feet—halting before me and standing +at attention upon these members. He had marched +without shoes through the snows of Virginia and +left his tracks there written in blood! He had slept +in this snow without so much as a shawl to cover +him. He had fought all day and all night when he +was sick from hunger. And he’d never been shot in +the back! Only to be besmirched with the title of +‘rebel’!</p> + +<p>Socrates about to die had nothing on him in the +way of eloquence, though he may have surpassed +father in the logic of his defense. But watch the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>world; it is ever more easily stirred and convinced +by oratory than by logic.</p> + +<p>Sitting with my hands clasped in an ecstasy of all +emotions attendant upon such a ministry, I was +born again and confirmed in the doctrines of my own +people. I have let it all go long since. I have praised +Lincoln and Grant—not Sherman, of course, +though he may deserve it from another point of +view—but it has been, you may say, in the way of +good sportsmanship. The fact that the South was +wrong will never make the methods of the North +seem right to me. I doubt now if any means used +which result in war can be right. It comes to me +now that the men of the North and the men of the +South never were enemies. They fought like growing +brothers during the Civil War, leaving no malice +behind. It was the ethics practiced by the carpetbaggers +that estranged the two sections.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII"> + XIII + <br> + NEW ENGLAND AND THE SOUTH + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I can</span> look back through the whole of my life at +incidents like this hour with my father which bent +the twig of my mind and determined the very +nature of my thinking even after I outgrew my +prejudices. Thus to this day it impresses me as a +queer coincidence that altruism, of all things, flared +up about that time in New England. Very few of +us realize the fact, but it is a sort of instinct to cover +the deepest transgression with a canopy of high-mindedness. +If you are a man, it is safer and more +veracious not to speak too nobly of your own nature, +nor to spread the wing of your soul too far. The +weather changes and you come down in a bad +place. Here in the South we are not good; but that +is the point—we do not pretend to be. Instead of +hiding behind altruism, we have permitted the world +to capitalize our faults. This has been good for us. +We have fewer faults than if we had lived according +to a self-deceiving pose.</p> + +<p>Time has proved us.</p> + +<p>Personally, I prefer to have descended from those +Virginia colonists who came to this country of their +own free will, like hardy swashbuckling adventurers. +They appear to me to have had more ease of mind, +better manners, and finer qualities than fighting over +doctrines ever imparts. But the Pilgrims, who came +to escape religious persecution, were very good +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>people. They were a bit wasp-waisted in their +pieties, but they had a sublime courage for enduring +hardship. They were the raw-boned element of +Protestantism, essential to the life of a new nation +in a new hemisphere, and if it had not been for +persecution in England they would not have come. +This country might have been settled as it is now +being gorged by the overflow populations of Europe. +Such people never make a civilization. Their instinct +is to destroy it. So we must be thankful that +enough of the hardiest and bravest Protestants were +driven out to start life decently here, thus giving us +two hundred years in which to mold and harden a +civilization needed now to withstand the disasters +of Europe.</p> + +<p>But these people were encompassed about by the +will of God. They were obliged by the everlasting +order of things to survive their faults and to acquire +the right virtues, as we all must do or perish. So the +New England colonists stopped hanging witches and +modified their blue laws. And the Virginia blades +settled down and went to work. But they must have +suffered cruelly for the harshness of their beliefs. +History proves that the effects of theology differ +dangerously from those of religion upon the characters +of men. One reduces religion to formulas, doctrines, +and creeds; the other lifts men by some simple +wisdom of the heart to a sort of nobler goodness, kin +to God.</p> + +<p>We may perform one of those acts of impromptu +justice called a lynching, which is reprehensible, but +not so bad as the torturing and slaying of forty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>innocent men by mob violence, crimes that are more +and more frequently committed in other sections. +Many a time men and women of New England have +felt obliged to tell me that they would not dare to +live in the lawless South, no doubt with the best +altruistic intentions of bringing home to me the realization +of the dangerous conditions we have produced +down here. Now it turns out that the South +is the safest place to live in this country. It is the +wisest place to build factories and start industries, +because it is easier to obtain labor and control labor +here. We are about to be swamped and capitalized +by money and immigrants from the North. It is a +terrible situation, because there is no way of limiting +the quota, say from New England, as the national +Government limits those from desperate Europe. +Personally, I prefer the peace and poverty we now +enjoy to the thrift, energy, and wealth these people +insure. Presently we shall have here the same disorders +and problems that greed and altruism have +bred in the North, East, and West. Time changes +the condition of people, but not their nature or their +disposition. The people of the North, whether they +are Christians, capitalists, or the sons of carpetbaggers, +have a talent for meddling with the social, +intellectual, and commercial life of the South, and +the nobler they are the more they meddle. It is one +of the characteristics of greatness of soul. This provincial +state of mind is bound to affect the quality +of their piety.</p> + +<p>They have more sense than we have, but they are +pathetically deficient in that deeper wit of understanding. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>They understand nothing but their own +minds and their own wills. They are artlessly +hypocritical in their relations to us. Having failed +to uplift their own masses spiritually or morally, +they are on a religious trek constantly toward this +section. Their world is not our world; their God is +not our God. We are a warmer, kinder, more spiritually +minded people, therefore more patient with +their chastening efforts in our behalf than, say, the +West would be.</p> + +<p>The awful thing always characteristic of them is +their desire and determination to govern and take +all the credit for everything accomplished. I do not +think a union between the Northern and Southern +Methodist Church would be any more successful, except +in a financial way, than any other government +set up by a foreign people who had the balance of +power. And religion consists in no such circumstance. +I have my very grave doubts as to whether +the great body of Methodists in the South favor +this contemplated corporation of the two churches. +The thing is being engineered by the politicians and +princes of these respective organizations.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV"> + XIV + <br> + CERTAIN LIES + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">According</span> to my way of thinking, one of the most +engaging charms I had as a child was the simplicity +with which I lied. I was totally deficient in the arts +of deceit, but the slightest moral pressure from +mother sent me flying to cover behind a perfectly +transparent falsehood. I have known many a man +to practice prevarication in his pacifying relations +to a woman. They choose this method of childish +fiction in dealing with women through some simplicity +of their own psychology. And it is the secret +which nearly every woman keeps that her experience +with her youngest child and her husband are very +similar in this matter. But no such thing is characteristic +of the pussyfooting feminine mind. We are +much smarter in merely twisting the truth than in +lying. Maybe I was too young then to have developed +the gender of my faculties. My peculiarity +was that once I had committed myself to a falsehood +I would not confess the truth, nor any part of the +truth. Neither prayers nor punishment could move +me. My own notion is that this was due to some +kind of misdirected self-respect. To this day I have +a well-bred horror of confessing.</p> + +<p>But mother believed that it was innate depravity +and took measures accordingly. One day when I +had told a fib and stuck to it, much evidence to the +contrary, she took the Bible and read from it that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>passage which says, ‘All liars have their portion in +hell.’</p> + +<p>I was not the same after that. I had a conscience +which humbled me, and a very real fear of the place +lurid with flames where the worm dieth not and +liars inherit a certain portion. I was the wicked. +My sins accompanied me like a still, small tune. I +began the hectic life of indulging in sprees of goodness. +I would be very industrious or very thoughtful +for a day, but I never could hold any high moral +note in living. To this day I hate objective righteousness +as every true artist hates drudgery. I am +not denying that faith without works is dead; but +good deeds, even the very virtues by which you are +recognized and praised, frequently adorn a Pharisee.</p> + + +<p>I have often wondered if all children pass through +a period of joyfully achieving innocence. They are +not good, but what freedom there must be in not +being able to think evil! Maybe Shakespeare was +right: ‘’Tis thinking makes it so.’ Certainly it is +written of children in the Scriptures, ‘Of such is the +kingdom of heaven.’ Which suggests an idea of +Heaven I have never seen advanced by a theologian—that +it is a place of infinite relief where one may +be as unscrupulously busy as a child without doing +anything wrong. But we could not risk living in +this present world with a generation of such Kingdom-of-Heaven +saints. A man with that much +innocence in him would be an outlaw. So it may +have been all for the best, the mill and anguish I +passed through getting my mind and virtues to fit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>me and that sum of human heinousness so essential +to surviving here.</p> + +<p>Guilt must be the parent of the moral sense. We +are not born with it. We are born innocent and very +dangerous. Then slowly, or quite unexpectedly, we +receive that first spiritual perception of ourselves; a +guilty feeling that weighs us down, never again to +be so free, never again to be the same assured heir of +all the stars and half brothers to the angels of God. +We call it the voice of conscience, but I am telling +you it is the sense of guilt, a ticker in your breast +warning you of the change in the value of your +virtues, recording the loss of one. It is a good thing, +but very painful. I think most of the activities we +engage in are due to the effort to escape it. One of +the salvation promises is that we shall be delivered +from it in the world to come. I do not know about +that. I have prayed so often to be delivered from +my sins and trespasses, it is inconceivable to me +that I could develop very virtuously anywhere +without them to brace me morally. I believe in +eternal life, but I should feel queer, finished and laid +aside, without my temptations to worry me onward +and upward from within.</p> + +<p>Far be it from me to question the goodness of +God because evil is present with us! We should +never have the honor of choosing righteousness for +ourselves without it. Who would be charitable if +no one was in need of charity? Who would know +how to practice mercy, forgiveness, and long-suffering +if there were no faults or weakness in others to +forgive? And how in heaven shall we be able to use +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>all these virtues so hardly acquired here if there is +no occasion to exercise them in heaven? How can +we possibly enjoy ourselves where all the other saints +are as good as we are and no distinctions made?</p> + +<p>We derive more satisfaction than we realize from +successful competition with our fellow men in +righteousness. I offer no solution; I merely ask +these questions of those people who look forward +with joy to eternal life without one single familiar +thing in prospect to occupy their minds during this +infinite stretch of time. As for me, I trust the Lord to +make my everlasting life even more interesting than +this short one, which has certainly been a feverishly +exciting experience. I cannot help hoping there will +be a few of the dearer sinners in heaven upon whom +one may practice a little encouragement. And I +hope there will be tremendous saints also whose attainments +far outshine mine, so that I may have the +honor of associating with them, as we are proud to +be recognized here by great men who have surpassed +us in the victories and laurels they have won.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XV"> + XV + <br> + REPUTATION + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">We</span> make reputations long before we suspect that +we have any such comet’s tail of public opinion +attached to us. We leave ridiculous caricatures of +ourselves along the way, which illustrated tragedies +in our lives at the time. Later we come upon these +records and pictures and are rarely ever pleased. +But somebody has kept them for you, and somebody +will remind you of them one day when you +are sitting on your pinnacle.</p> + +<p>I have been painfully reminded of such things, +such as the time in my early school days when I +wore the wrong little girl’s bonnet and came home +with boogers in my hair, the frightful ordeal my +head passed through, and mother’s tears. She was a +woman who made mountains of her mole-hills and +then climbed them, dragging me, miserable, after +her. I lived a very sensational life with her morally +on this account. I remember the almost fainting +state of humiliation I fell in on this occasion, because +it seemed I was the only child in the whole history +of her family that had ever contracted these +disgraceful insects. I have also been obliged to recall +how I learned to play cards under the schoolhouse, +never having seen such things before, nor +dreaming that they were the devil’s own deck of +sins. This business lasted a week, and I cleaned up +all the available property of my companions, chiefly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>slate pencils. Then one of the heaviest losers virtuously +betrayed me to my grandfather, a stern old +man who knew more than I did about the iniquitous +gift of gambling in my immediate family.</p> + +<p>There was a terrible scene, and I was obliged to +stand beside the marble-top center table in the parlor, +lay my hand on the Bible and swear solemnly +never to play cards again. I have kept this vow. +The little girl who betrayed me is a grandmother +now, an exemplary woman who indulges in nothing +worse than a social game of bridge.</p> + +<p>I might easily have forgotten these and many +other diminishing incidents of my childhood but for +the fact that they are treasured in the archives of +the family with parsimonious care. If you wish to +collect complimentary material for a record of yourself, +never appeal to your relations. They may be +proud of you as an asset to the family name, but +they have a gift for remembering your gawky period +privately, the follies and faults you committed and +have forgotten. You may have come up in the +world with a laurel on your brow, but if you go back +home forty years later wearing two laurels on your +brow, and a noble expression, they will miss the +point. What you are only serves to remind them of +the little snub-nosed girl you used to be. They are +determined to remember that you are dust. No +matter how well you conduct yourself, you cannot +fix their attention on your virtues or your fame, but +they remember how you looked in a long-tailed +ruffled basque and full skirt when you were eight +years old. Or how you grew up to be very sarcastic, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>and the impudent thing you said to the Baptist +preacher who wanted to proselyte you just after you +were converted, meaning that the sting of my tongue +had not been changed by conversion.</p> + +<p>I do not think they mean any harm. They are +simply keeping you where you belong in the family +no matter where you belong in literature. Still, I +would have preferred not to have become such a +surprise to these people who knew me in the beginning. +It does seem queer that none of them suspected +the kind of youngster I really was. I could +write a very serviceable anthology on family relations; +but it is wiser not to do so, because some of +them are bound to survive me and have the last +word. It would be truthful but misleading.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI"> + XVI + <br> + ‘BEAUTIFUL AND PRECIOUS’ + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> older I grow the more beautiful and precious +life seems to me. The time will come, I know, when +there will be nothing else to pray for except life and +everlasting life. Give me that and an even break +between joys and vicissitudes, the same right I have +here to choose goodness, and I would cheerfully +risk existence longer than a pious saint could stand +with folded wings singing in heaven. But I know +very little about this. Maybe I shall be changed +when my corruption puts on incorruption, acclimated +to all this music and brightness and the high +level of perfect goodness. In the meantime, surely +the Lord will respect my honesty in clinging to my +human feelings, since I am subject to them according +to His will.</p> + +<p>I do not know how it is, but there is a doctrine +which teaches damnation like consequences in all +the churches with which I am familiar, either by +election or predestination—terms which distinctly +imply the exclusion from salvation of those not +elected or predestined. I can find no Scripture in +the Bible that justifies these interpretations without +giving the passage a theological twist. The Methodist +church, which makes such generous provision +for salvaging and saving those who fall from grace, +is not without blame in this matter. It covers the +whole ground for the doctrines of election and predestined +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>damnation, or salvation as the case may be, +with the doctrine of apostasy. The only difference +is that an apostate chooses his own fate and is not +predestined to it from the foundation of the world. +This is only apparently putting the blame where it +belongs. The threat hidden beneath is that the Lord +will stand just so much, then His spirit ceases to +strive with a man. When you think about it, this +is the worst fate of all. What is to defend a person +highly sensitized spiritually from the perpetual +fear of being forsaken in his sins?</p> + +<p>I had my first lesson in theology very early—religion +is something else. If you have the mind to +believe, the Scriptures are singularly clear; but only +a student and a scholar can make heads and tails of +theology. It is a sort of puzzle the wavering minds +of men have made from the Word of God, to the +end that sinners have been exalted by a creed, +saints burned at the stake for the sake of a doctrine, +and thousands obliged to flee from one country to +another to save their necks and their liberty of +conscience.</p> + +<p>Maybe all that was for the best. Certainly, if you +give it time, the worst turns out for the best.</p> + +<p>Mother was the kind of Methodist who could +afford to believe without much personal anxiety in +this doctrine. She was a truly good woman, with an +Old Testament mind. Somewhere along the way +she warned me of the danger. She impressed me +with the fact that if I hardened my heart the spirit +would cease to strive with me. The time came when +God abandoned the willful sinner and left him to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>his fate. I went around with this red-hot coal of fire +on my spiritual back for a long time. I acquired +habits of thought then that worked havoc with my +peace for half a lifetime. I have never entirely escaped +the fear that I may turn out to be an apostate +after all. It seizes upon me like a malady. I am +troubled by the realization that the spirit does not +seem to strive with me as it did when I was younger. +This is a fearfully lonely feeling, and not rational. +But sanity, in my opinion, is an achievement. I have +seen very few well-balanced people in my life who +were not dunces.</p> + +<p>I was finally soundly converted and joined the +church. At the time that experience seemed more +miraculous than it does now; I have been born again +so many times since. First I had to adjust myself to +the heavenly mind. Then I must adjust myself to +the ministry of my husband. Finally, after his +death, I had to be born again to the world, capable +of dealing with it sensibly and honorably. My experience +is that this last requires more divine inspiration +than being a private Christian protected +by all the defenses that marriage and religion raise +about a woman’s life.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII"> + XVII + <br> + THE WORKING OF LOVE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was nine years old I remember a certain +thing that happened. I was sitting somewhere +behind the old field schoolhouse with three other +little girls. We were making wishes and telling our +fortunes by pulling the petals from daisies. I made +a wish and tried it out by the daisy petals. But I +would not tell what it was.</p> + +<p>‘I know,’ said one little girl.</p> + +<p>‘You never could guess,’ I retorted.</p> + +<p>She bent over and whispered, ‘You wished for a +husband!’</p> + +<p>It turned out that we had all wished for husbands. +We were the simplest, most innocent of little creatures, +at the doll-mothering, playhouse stage of +development, totally ignorant of love and lovers. +But we felt the need of husbands, as, I suppose, the +Eastern Hemisphere might have longed for the +Western Hemisphere to make the world complete. +We felt incomplete.</p> + +<p>The florescence of nature came to me as it does to +all youth, unbeknowingly. What I remember about +that is the quantities of romantic poetry I consumed, +practicing at the same time a very strong virginal +antagonism toward young men.</p> + +<p>At last love and the lover did come to me. I have +written all the experience out in another place, and +of my marriage at the age of seventeen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> + +<p>Love does something to the mind. But it is something +that you cannot use so long as it lasts as a +vital part of your experience. During the first ten +years of my married life it seemed to close the +intellectual pores of my mind. I lived according to +that definition of faith which says it is ‘the substance +of things hoped for, the evidence of things not +seen.’ I passed through many joys, poverty, fear, +and great tribulations according to that ritual of one +sentence. I did not think in the terms of ideas, but +only in the terms of love. I was guided entirely by +my husband’s mind, which was one you may say +literally stricken by the Holy Spirit. He was a +preacher and made only one use of his mind, that of +finding God and teaching sinners the way of salvation.</p> + +<p>This was not as you may suppose a drab and monotonous +existence, but one filled with strange and +lofty experiences.</p> + +<p>I was destined to discover that mother’s ideas of +religion were coldly platonic as compared with the +passionate fervor of my circuit rider in his devotion +to God. Mother believed in behaving yourself and +keeping the Commandments and walking according +to the ordinances of the church to which she belonged. +He believed in literally living the life of +Jesus Christ—and could not do it. This brought +on the struggle that lasted for him more than +twenty years. I tried to keep up with him. The +first time he fasted and prayed all day after we were +married, I fasted also, but could not pray that long. +Protracted prayers are a mystery to me. I can +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>simply fall upon my knees and let that be a prayer +any time. What is the good of words to God? They +are symbols we use to one another because we +neither know nor are known to one another as He +knows us.</p> + +<p>This was the last time I ever fasted, because at +the end of the day I was exhausted, nervous and in +no Christian mood.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell in years how long it took me to do it, +but I finally adjusted myself about my husband like +a small protesting world and so stood the siege. +Love held us as close together as if we had one heart +in common. But I do not remember that we ever +had the same mind about anything. The point at +last with me was to get mine disentangled from the +bondage of his brave, beautiful, but impractical +religious beliefs. I never succeeded. All these years +after his death I am still more conscious of the truth +that led him than of my own right mind. I am still +beholden to his God; I have never got round to +serving my own God with a free mind and a comfortable, +cheerful spirit. I must fall into a state of +anguish once in so often, make sacrifices that do not +ease the pain, and go about wondering where the +witness of my spirit is. I have the feeling sometimes +that at last I may be dragged through the gates of +heaven, spent, woeful, and humble, by the very +power of his spirit; that I shall not stride in with my +hat on and my head up, bearing a good conscience +with me in token of a well-spent life.</p> + +<p>If you have been born in the twentieth century +and have a good deal of human dust sticking to your +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>soul, if you really love the world, remembering that +God made it and blessed it, as others think they love +only Heaven; if you like human beings, good and +bad, better than you do saints—it is a queer feeling +to know that you are forever involved in a mediæval +religion of asceticism, sacrifice, and sufferings.</p> + +<p>By this time it is my very nature to work up +hardships and great spiritual struggles for myself +which only involve me deeper and higher in the will +of my husband’s God—all the time remembering +the child I used to be, so sure of a kinder God, so +peacefully at home beneath His kind heavens. It is +a queer situation which will end very creditably, I +suppose, with my funeral.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII"> + XVIII + <br> + VENTURES IN SCRIPTURES + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I was</span> eleven years younger than my husband, +being really in the plastic period of adolescence. +He was the gentlest of men, but he had a brilliant +and mature mind, a queer temple of intellectual +loveliness with pure classical lines. He did his +thinking as a master architect does his drawing, +with delicacy and precision. He was never overbearing, +but the elegance, sweetness, and sincerity of +his mind confounded my younger wits. I supposed +that a man who could think like that must be correct +in his conclusions, and for something like ten years +I surrendered my own mind and left him to do our +thinking. Most of it was pious, but always informed +with that effulgence of the spirit peculiar to the +rarer saints. My impression now is that I became a +very good young person, by ear, so to speak, and +that I was strangely stupid. The mental background +I had acquired from much ravenous reading before +my marriage faded. I forgot Tasso’s great poetry +and settled down on the hillside of a mountain +circuit with Lundy and the beatitudes. Maybe this +was good for me spiritually, but it was diminishing +mentally, which, in my opinion, was never meant to +be the effect of any Scriptures upon the mind.</p> + +<p>Lundy was not a practical man spiritually. I +remember distinctly how determined he was to remain +poor in spirit that he might become one of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>those legitimate heirs to the Kingdom of Heaven. +I imitated his poverty here with the same artless +sincerity a child imitates an older person, though I +could never put much feeling into the idea of being +poor in spirit. The effect upon him was that with +his nature elegant to the point of fastidiousness, and +his scholarly mind, he walked humbly hand in hand +with the meanest of his flock, making himself literally +one of the least of them.</p> + +<p>It was all wrong. I call your attention to the fact +that Jesus went up into a mountain and set Him +above the multitude before He began that great +Sermon on the Mount. And when He finished it and +came down the great multitude followed Him. I do +not suppose He was jostled by that crowd. He was +apart and far beyond them, and so held Himself +there and everywhere else. It will not do to be intimately +poor in spirit with people who have no sense +of your meaning. If you do they will keep you poorer +than the Scriptures require both in spirit and fact.</p> + +<p>Lundy was the same way about that beatitude +which recommends those that mourn for they shall +be comforted. We were rich in love and peace and +were being as good as it is possible for human beings +to live, but he would mourn in spite of everything +for his transgressions, any transgression he could +remember. He was the most unforgiving man of +himself I ever knew.</p> + +<p>In this connection I remember the first theological +ruction we had after our marriage. He had harked +up one of his former sins and was making himself +miserable about it. I tried every way to smooth over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>his transgression—in vain. Finally I lost patience +and called his attention to the generous forgiving +Gospel he preached to other sinners. Did he believe +he preached the truth? Certainly he did, was his +reply.</p> + +<p>‘Well then,’ I retorted, ‘why should you malign +the goodness of God by imagining you yourself are +not forgiven according to the same Gospel?’</p> + +<p>This was one of the many clinches we had over +these beatitudes. He said that a man’s conscience +must be his guide in such matters. He reserved the +right to repent of his own sins! He went on to imply +that I might be morally obtuse. This was the straw +that broke my camel’s back. I retorted that I was +tired, and I supposed the Lord was tired of the vain +repetition of his repentance over some little dead +and forgotten transgression. I thought such conduct +was morally debilitating. From this we had hot +words and I flung myself upon the bed and wept +bitterly.</p> + +<p>My belief is that I had some glimmerings even as +far back as that of the true meaning of these particular +Scriptures. I know now that they are emergency +remedies for the soul and not designed to create +a perpetual state of mind. The effort to practice +them all the time will victimize any man in his relations +to his fellow men. I feel better most of the +time, but now and then I have known what it is to +be poor in spirit before the Lord on the occasion of +some defalcation in virtue or patience or courage; +but it is not my idea to tell any one else about it. I +do my mourning and hurry on as quickly as possible +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>to the more cheerful part of this beatitude which +says ‘for they shall be comforted,’ feeling that I do +myself credit by taking the Lord at His word as soon +as possible. I have practiced swiftness in acts of +faith and found it profitable. If the Bible means +anything at all, you have a right to believe it. That +is the test of the truth of the Scriptures—believe +them, and if they do not come true you have the +right to deny them. I have never had the chance to +deny a single one, though of course I have lacked the +spiritual capacity to try out the whole thing.</p> + +<p>But there is that one which says, ‘Blessed are the +meek’—meaning teachable—‘for they shall inherit +the earth.’ It is not my nature to be teachable, +but I have been in such tight quarters all my life +that I have been obliged to learn a great deal with +meekness. And it is a fact, I have inherited more of +the earth than I deserve. To be strictly honest, I +have never hungered and thirsted after righteousness +to the point of egotism characteristic of some +saints. I always had a feeling of modest limitations +along this line; but now that I think back to those +first years of my married life, it seems to be anguishing +and pitiful the way I strove to be good. It +was so terribly necessary if I was to keep up with +Lundy.</p> + +<p>The motive was a trifle crooked, as you will see; +but the Lord honored it as He did that woman’s +faith who had the issue of blood, which was an unintelligent +faith. For as I look back now it seems to +me that I was pretty well filled with righteousness +then according to the other end of that beatitude. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>With me, being merciful is not a virtue. It comes too +easy for me to have deserved much in return, like +some kind of happy weakness of character. Still, +I have finally been overwhelmed with mercies. I +feel sometimes that I might have used them to a +better advantage further back in the years when my +needs were very great. But the point I make is that +this Scripture was fulfilled. I have even been pure +enough in heart at rare intervals to see God. But +not often when I was up and shining. Usually it +would be when I was passing through some valley +of the shadow of great grief. After the pain is over +I have always been able to look back and know that +sorrows are much more purifying and elevating to +the mind than joys.</p> + +<p>But when it comes to that verse which says +‘Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be +called the children of God,’ it has depended upon +the circumstances whether I came out of the scrimmage +like such a child. I have known myself to +forgo the blessing and refuse to make a peace that +left me in the lurch. In that case I hunted up some +such Scripture as an eye for an eye and a tooth for a +tooth, and took what satisfaction I could get from +that. Never yet have I parted with an eye or a +tooth, or turned the other cheek except to my Lord, +who is the only one who has the right to smite me.</p> + +<p>These, of course, are my favorable experiences +with the truth of the Bible. I have suffered a-plenty +from the unfavorable passages, such as, ‘Judge not.... +For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be +judged.’ I have had this experience a thousand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>times. Some one who knows me, or a stranger of +whom I have never heard, rises up and passes judgment +upon me as if it was a harsh and sacred duty +he performed—without ever suspecting, I suppose, +that he is measuring to me again unfair and superficial +criticisms I have passed on other people. They +do have somewhat the advantage in this business, +because there are so many more of them than there +is of me, and one person cannot spare the time to +pass as many adverse judgments as one author endures. +Even at that, I fare very well on account of +getting so many more favorable judgments than I +deserve from the same sources.</p> + +<p>I was so much involved in the purely spiritual +struggle of trying to live above and without the +world until I was thirty years old that I became a +sort of ignoramus. I cannot now recall what were +the social and intellectual conditions of this period. +I remember who the great preachers were, but not +the name of a single statesman or public servant +except one old congressman who used to do his +electioneering at Sunday-school picnics. Readers +of the circuit-rider stories must have observed that +these are records in religious living to the exclusion +of all earthly interests.</p> + +<p>I suppose this is the reason why even ‘My Book +and Heart’ produces the impression upon some readers +of being the chronicle of a narrow and dreary +life. I do not think it is, you understand. It seems +to me that almost any person with a provincial +mind might fail to appreciate the literature of a +foreign country with which they were totally unfamiliar. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>The spiritual world which I inhabited at +that time is not known now by a great many people +otherwise very well informed. They are unable therefore +to appreciate the vividness and romance of +such an existence. It seems drab to them because +they live in sums and dividends and secular realities +and the same kind of diversions, not in sublime illusions.</p> + +<p>But try chasing an impractical saint up one +Jacob’s ladder after another for twelve years and +find out for yourself what a varied and stimulating +experience it is. Hunting big game in a jungle is +nothing to the risks you take and the rarefied hardships +you endure and the keen relief you feel now +and then between adventures. I cannot claim that +it was mentally exhilarating, but I developed considerable +wing power of the spirit very helpful to me +when I finally did go back, pick up my mind, shake +some of the star dust off, and begin to use it with a +good conscience for my own benefit in this present +world.</p> + +<p>But never so long as I live can I escape the tragic +effects upon my life of these early years. My mind +is free now, and I can reason as clearly as the next +one about what a dear and blessed gift from God +the world has been to me; but in my heart I seem +still to belong back there in the years upon the lower +rungs of that ever-upward-stretching ladder I used +to climb toward Lundy’s God. I cannot get over +feeling hard pressed spiritually sometimes, as if I +was in dangerous need of chastening—I suppose +the steel bridge never forgets the furnace in which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>its girders were melted and forged; I would give +anything now and then to rest from this smelting +sense of God and be comfortable in my carnal mind, +but I never can be.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX"> + XIX + <br> + THE WISDOM OF THE WORD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">What</span> I have tried to prove is this: The Word of God +is a prophecy of us in all of our manifestations and +it records the laws of life and conduct from which no +man can escape. Whether he is a good one or a bad +one, he will find his portrait drawn there and a complete +prophecy of what his fate will be. It never +fails; it always comes true, for the atheist, agnostic, +or spiritualistic sorcerer no less than for the saint.</p> + +<p>Just look yourself up in that Book, and if you +know how, you will find yourself predicted and recorded +in it down to the very nose of your nature. +Set down a list of your virtues and look up the rewards +promised in return for these virtues, and you +will know for certain what your dividends in living +will be if you hold onto your assets. Make a list of +your vices and weaknesses. Then, if you have the +courage, look up the consequences which follow +them as recorded in this Book and you will know +long before judgment day what will happen to you +even in this present world. ‘He that liveth by the +sword shall perish by the sword.’</p> + +<p>Even if one does not feel the keen edge of the +blade in his breast, he is cut down one way or the +other, and knows it whether any one else suspects +it or not. He may be a rich man and a philanthropist, +and he may get a great send-off, with a splendid +funeral and a mausoleum set over his grave; but if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>his fortune was built upon widows’ mites and the +bread taken from the poor, if he swindled and +cheated, if he practiced usury, he went down to his +dust a very poor man and knows it. Because the +Word is written in him and only copied in the Bible.</p> + +<p>The Baptists are not so far wrong about their +notions of predestination and election, though far +be it from me to travel my days encompassed about +by their doctrines. That would be too nerve-racking +to the mortal mind. Give me a creed with more elbow +room in it for my transient transgressions and +more encouragement for believing I have a chance +to save my own soul by growing my own virtues +according to the Word, which I could not have if I +got the notion that I was damned or elected from +the foundation of the world.</p> + +<p>The place where the makers of these sterner creeds +miss their cue, in my opinion, is when they fail to +realize that the Scriptures are a sort of key to which +we may refer and find the answer to the equation +we are. They contain the history of all dead men and +the prophecies of all living men and men to come. +The smallest little squinched-up fraction of a saint +can look in that Book and find out exactly what he +is equal to and even how to become the whole unit +of one. But we turn the trick. We do make ourselves +according to the mind we use in the business. +I do not know any more terrifyingly liberal provision +made by Providence in our behalf. I have often +wondered why the preachers do not say more about +it, for it is far more convincing than the damnation +gospel with which they used to set us afire.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>I had no such wisdom of the Word as this, however, +in the days of which I am now writing. I was +a sort of Protestant Catholic, if you know what I +mean. I accepted Lundy’s interpretations of the +Gospels as a devout Catholic gets his from the +priest. And I was not very much worried about not +being able to live up to his ideals in the Christian +life. Who has ever kept pace with the piety of a good +priest? I did not feel obliged to do so. I existed in a +state of mental obedience to certain religious convictions +which were not my own. This was bad for me +mentally and morally. I had considerable natural +ability, but I remember distinctly being afraid to +cut loose and think thoughts kin to my kind of +mind lest I should sin against my husband’s faith. +The virtues that one gets under such conditions do +not really belong to her, but to the church or priest +who imposes them. You are trained to them as a +leopard is trained to jump through fiery hoops in a +circus without singeing his tail. Without suspecting +such a thing, I was that artificial in my Christian +life during this period, a pathetically accomplished +trick saint.</p> + +<p>I have sometimes wondered if the stampede of +human souls from the tyranny of creeds accounts +for the strange mental and moral disorders of our +times, and that presently, being as we are, forever +immortal and close kin to God, we shall discover +righteousness for ourselves and choose goodness as +the great vocation of man, as it surely is. One thing +is certain—in every age when the people have not +been permitted to study the Scriptures, but have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>been obliged to accept a church’s interpretation of +the Word, there followed a period of animal simplicity +of mind in the masses, ignorance, loss of ambition, +initiative, and all the poverty, follies, and meanness +of mind which issue from such conditions.</p> + +<p>Without every kind of liberty, men must perish, +and they do. The only knowledge that really +counts in character is the knowledge we get for ourselves +tested by experience. This is the reason why +some very cultured people remain so ignorant and +ineffective. The only law that ever will actually +control men is the will to obey their own conscience. +Therefore the primary object of every preacher and +teacher should be to set up the ideal of courage and +an honest mind. Such people are safe citizens in +this world and the next one. But they are not safe +under doctrines, creeds, and laws arbitrarily imposed, +whether they get them from the Bible or the +Bolsheviks.</p> + +<p>Consider the condition of our own country now. +The democratic form of government is the best form +for patriots. We were patriots when we signed the +Declaration of Independence. Now we are not in +principle or conduct. We are getting a commercialized +conscience and covering the snare of it +with philanthropy. So it turns out that the Constitution +we made back there in the days when we +were plain Christian patriots does not control the +mind or illustrate the character of this nation now.</p> + +<p>A monarchal form of government would be no +better. Mankind seems to be outgrowing kings, +not by growing better but less good. We are turning +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>our back upon conscience and the Ten Commandments. +No system of laws will govern such a people. +I do not know what the political economists think +of this situation, but as an old woman who looks +at it through the passages of many Scriptures, I see +the shadows of terrible events lengthening across +the world. It is coming, that fearful punishment +men inflict upon men for their sins. It is coming because +it is not in us to endure too long our own +unrighteousness. This is the law of moral economy +written in us which we cannot escape.</p> + +<p>The big knot in this whole problem is human +nature. But once in so often we do untie it and +straighten things out, not so much by the grace of +God, but by the perverted righteousness of ferocity. +Then we react and turn out once more to be the +children of God—not lost after all, only chastened.</p> + +<p>The secret of all things is as far from us as the +East is from the West and as His ways are from our +ways. Therefore, the higher standard we reach in +pure romance the nearer we are to truth. I prefer +Milton’s poetry, the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, +my choice of the Psalms, and a few of the elder +hymns to anything Mr. H. G. Wells can think or +write about the beginnings of life or the history of +Christianity. It is interesting copy and contains +much entrancing information, but Mr. Wells has +too much sense and too little faith in the right direction +to be the medium of the Lord’s divine illusion, +which clothes us like a garment and is the only protection +we have against the destructive rationalism +of the mortal mind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + +<p>We have daily examples now of an educational +system which encourages license in thinking along +these lines. Two youths who graduated with distinction +from two leading universities developed +such unscrupulous intellects that they planned a +monstrous crime. They had an ambition to commit +a ‘perfect crime,’ as formerly Christian education +inspired men to achieve honor. They executed a +murder and proceeded with their plans for blackmail, +ransom, and the scientific torture of their +victims. They were not originally perverts. Now +they must be regarded as criminally insane. They +are the products of the rational system in education +and of the ever-increasing intellectual slums produced +by the license of this system.</p> + +<p>I think Mr. William Jennings Bryan has the +wrong bull by the horns when he assails the theory +of evolution. It is not a theory, but a fact distinctly +recorded in Genesis and proved by the whole history +of creation down to the present time. But he +might become a benefactor of youth if he would +exercise the same energy in getting an interstate +alienist commission appointed to test the moral sanity +of many learned professors in our schools and +universities. The findings of such a commission +would go far toward revealing the sources of the +wave of criminal insanity that is showing its crest +in every court in this country. Too many learned +doctors without any faith in the law which God is, +are teaching young people how to think. They become +criminals mentally whether they ever commit +a crime or not.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XX"> + XX + <br> + CONFESSION AND THE CHURCH + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">But</span> what about the Church in all this moral confusion? +More and more active, more and more +prosperous, without having much effect upon the +situation! What has become of that note of authority +with which it formerly controlled in so great a +measure the conduct of men? Well, it turns out to +be a sort of spiritual bluff the Church put up, now +no longer effective because men have learned how to +think.</p> + +<p>This is a dangerous discovery in view of the fact +that we do not know enough or fear enough to +think righteously. But less than at any time for +the last two thousand years are we listening to the +voice of the preachers. It is they who have their +ear to the ground listening to the rumbling demands +of the world. They are cats fighting over modernism.</p> + +<p>I do not know what a modernist is, but my impression +is that it is an element in the ministry of +some churches anxious to accommodate its members +and keep them cordial by yielding to their demands +for less piety and more diversion. One pastor has +introduced the ‘sacred dance’ about his church +altar and quotes David’s example as his justification. +David was a great singer, but not a good man. +This preacher might take another man’s wife as +David took Uriah’s and be quite as plausible in his +contention.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>The Methodist Church has just lifted the ban on +worldly amusements for its members. And we are +just now getting the news of a fine old bishop about +to be tried for heresy who strode into the court of +bishops accompanied by his radical lawyer. He +looks as queer and out of drawing as Socrates must +have appeared going off with that young rascal +Alcibiades to make a night of it!</p> + +<p>What I mean is that the Church is losing its +dignity and authority as a holy institution. The +debacle was inevitable, because its oppressive +methods over the minds and imaginations of men +were at variance with the wisdom of God. His +Word was split into doctrines and creeds. No one +denomination of us could use the whole of it. The +plan of salvation varied according to the Church to +which you belonged, and the doctrines by which +we were to be damned varied even more. A good +deal was taught concerning deliverance from sin, +and nothing much was proved concerning freedom +in Christ, which is the whole thing.</p> + +<p>Jesus was of all men the mildest and tenderest in +his relation to men, but the prelates, dignitaries, and +princes of all the churches with which I am familiar +have been overbearing either in their own personal +character or in their interpretation of the will of +God. This was their method during the Church’s +period of power to frighten men into the Kingdom +of Heaven, as now during its decline we find the +disposition to coax people into the Church by offering +indulgences.</p> + +<p>There is no warrant in the Scriptures for such +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>practices. They contain the laws of righteousness, +the rules of living set down plain enough for a wayfaring +man to understand. We are left free to enjoy +the rewards of our virtues and to suffer the consequences +of our transgression. The rest is silence. +This is where the Church made its mistake—too +much preaching and terrorizing, not enough teaching +of just the Word. Now we have the reaction.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI"> + XXI + <br> + LUNDY AND I WALK AND TALK + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> is queer how thoughts you had long ago and the +very scene of these thoughts come back to you after +you have lived a dozen later lives. I recall something +now that indicates how narrow the margin was then +between me and one of the threadbare fallacies of +my sex:</p> + +<p>Lundy and I were walking late in the afternoon +through the college campus. I remember the deepening +twilight beneath the trees. I wore a dark +dress. I was young, slender, pale, homely—what I +mean is that I remember feeling this way, sad and +put upon. Lundy was stepping along innocently +beside me, gracefully silent, no doubt enjoying this +silence, for he was one who never practiced speech +as a relief for intellectual hysteria. He could retain +his thoughts like a gentleman. Suddenly I let out +what I was thinking about the world’s injustice to +women. We were the victims of the whole social +and domestic order of mankind. We were the bond +servants of a civilization which we had no part in +making. We had no rights, only duties to perform, +and so on and so forth. I cannot think now how I +came by such thoughts. I must have read something +along this line, and, like D—— was suffering from, +mental regurgitation.</p> + +<p>What brought me to my own personal senses +was the look Lundy gave me, not reproachful, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>startled, as if he had received a thrust and wondered +if he deserved it.</p> + +<p>We walked on, staring straight ahead; but I +could feel my husband searching himself, looking +for his sins against me, and his harshness. This was +unendurable. I sat down beside the road and made +haste to renege. All at once it was clear how good +this man had been to me, how hard he worked that +I might be a little more comfortable, how patient +he was with my ruffian mind, and how he had given +me all the love he could spare from his jealous God. +And now—appalling thought—what if he went +off on one of his remorseful tangents, his ever uncertain +peace destroyed by my complaint?</p> + +<p>Never did a woman praise her husband more +fervently than I did for the next few minutes. I +laughed and stroked his legs. He would not sit +down! He had the rigid air of a man who preferred +to take his punishment standing up. I vowed I was +only teasing him. As a matter of fact, I was not +thinking of my own husband at all when I began to +drool about the wrongs of women. I must have been +seeking martyrdom at large.</p> + +<p>This was one of those little epochs we make in +living. I passed as quick as a flash through an enlightening +mental process. From that moment I +escaped the idea of grievances from which many +women suffer too much in their imaginations. I +have been a sluggard ever since about correcting +the abuses from which women suffer. I have never +been able to cast myself or my pen whole-heartedly +into a campaign to clean up the men and bring them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>to repentance for their trespasses against us. Let +somebody else do it! Because, of course, it must be +done before we repent of the wrongs we practice +against them, such as headaches, indifference, inefficiency, +and extravagance. Upon those occasions +when I have been even slightly moved to do my +duty toward chastening them, I always think of +Lundy, the astonished blue look he gave me that +time on the campus in Oxford, as if this was the +first he knew of his unkindness and injustice to the +woman rib in his side. I remember him, the whole +mind the man of him had at that moment, and I +cannot believe in the light of his kind heart that +men really mean to be unfair to women, any more +than we mean to be as exasperating as we are to +them sometimes.</p> + +<p>We are both the victims of some secret plan of +Nature in this business. Men are overbearing on +account of the kind of gender they are, and women +have nervous squalls on account of the kind of gender +they are. If they were entirely compatible, the +one to the other, their children might be poor, spiritless +creatures. For love certainly is a fearfully eager, +exacting, and destructive influence upon the dead +level of peace. Therefore incompatibility never +seemed to me reasonable grounds for divorce. On +the contrary, it must be in Nature the best of all +genealogical grounds for those two afflicted people +to continue to live together.</p> + +<p>The success of marriage does not depend upon +how well it is financed with money or social position, +but almost entirely upon how much love and wit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>you can put into it. Maybe there is some grave +inequality of mind or spirit or quality between you +in the beginning, but go on living together and +presently there will be six of one and half a dozen of +the other. You will develop practically the same +horse power of perversity, even if the man becomes +ferociously impatient and the wife sinks away into +cowardly patience.</p> + +<p>There is nothing known to man as exasperating +as an infernally patient woman. She is either mean +or lacking in wit. She never seems to realize that +domestic temper in a man is a form of hysteria and +should be treated accordingly with a dash of cold +water, figuratively speaking, or some sort of shock, +which is not meant to be a suggestion of license in +conduct. He would ask no better excuse for a tantrum +or a tyranny than for his wife to commit a +fault. But there are a thousand ways of twisting +the tail of a perverse man’s temper without ceasing +to be an artless lady. All you have to do is to put +your mind on it. The Lord has endowed every +woman with special talents for this emergency.</p> + +<p>I know one charming little gentlewoman who +married a very ordinary man who never had the opportunity +to control anything or anybody until he +achieved this lovely wife. Then he set in to exercise +his powers along this line. If he had been the warden +of a penitentiary he could not have been more exacting +than he was as the master of his own house +and the husband of this woman. The marvel was +the sweet way she went on showing her admiration +and affection for him. Some of us were disposed to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>pity her as a poor creature without spirit. Then I +caught on to her game.</p> + +<p>When her husband was present she never ceased +to augment him by telling what he would permit +her to do, or more particularly what he would not +allow her to do, say or think. Each revelation was, +of course, accompanied by an exchange of eye-flashing +intelligence between those present and frequently +by an embarrassed flush on the husband’s +face. Nothing could stop her from making these +revelations of his meanness and tyranny, always as +if she approved of him to the point of boasting. We +heard that when he reprimanded her for exposing +his private authority she remained artless and too +simple to be managed.</p> + +<p>‘But you know, dear, you did say I should not go +to that meeting, and I wanted them to understand +why I would not accept their invitation,’ and so on +and so forth. In the course of two years she let in +the light of so much public opinion on this man and +his methods as an overbearing husband that now he +practically runs to open the door to her every wish. +He is tremendously concerned that his neighbors +shall know his wife may do as she almighty pleases. +And so she does. It was one of the most diverting +and enlightening dramas of married life I have seen +in years, played without a single mis-said line, and +ended, you may say, with much secret applause.</p> + +<p>If it appears that I have turned my light too far +forward through the years in the immediately preceding +pages, I can only say that we must follow +the beam while it shines when one is trailing the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>mind, even if it is your own mind. This was as good +a place as any to set down the effects of that first +and last interview with my husband concerning the +grievances of women. The reader will recognize it +as the veracious record of a strictly feminine mind +whatever else he may think.</p> + +<p>If I may be permitted to comment upon my own +copy in thinking, I should say that once a woman’s +mind is divorced from her affections it is a trifle unbalanced +and untrustworthy no matter how brilliantly +and broadly she uses it. It ricochets like a +ball fired at a low angle of elevation which is apt to +fall back upon her own destiny disastrously. A good +many of these duds are already dropping behind +the Nineteenth Amendment. I cannot see much +improvement in the character of women, though +they are more alert mentally and less satisfied. +They have gained something they wanted and they +have lost something they needed personally and privately. +I have felt obliged for conscience’ sake to +believe in equal rights for women, but the best +success I ever had along this line has been to go out +and win by my own works and wits the rights I preferred +and that would be the most becoming to me +in the end.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII"> + XXII + <br> + WE CONSIDER GREEK CULTURE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">My</span> husband was not only a distinguished scholar +and a great preacher but he had a brilliant, gallant +mind of his own. Let him have it, and God be +thanked, was my attitude. Whenever he flared intellectually, +I turned out my light and watched with +admiration such an aurora borealis of fine, cold, +clear thinking as I have never seen in any book or +heard from another man. Some radiance of his +mind will remain upon the horizon of mine as long as +I live. I can never tell how much of it has brightened +the edges of the copy I have produced since those +days. For I have been a cheerful plagiarist of light +whenever I found it.</p> + +<p>But if we came to loggerheads in an argument, +as frequently happened, on any subject, whether it +was religion, philosophy, poetry, or the fatalistic +mind of the ancient Greeks, I stepped out with gaffs +on the legs of my native wit and met him as an +unscrupulous wrestler meets an honest big man. I +had all the advantages, because I was never constrained +in the exercise of my mind by much real +knowledge of the subject or by those precedents +which govern a scrupulously trained intellect. I +left him to furnish the information. My business +was to digest it quick as a flash and use it, then to +prove my contention or to reject it for the same +reason. I do not know what a casuist is, but he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>frequently accused me of being one, as if this was +a fault of which I should be ashamed. But I never +was. This grieved him. I am sure he felt that I +would not overcome a certain vulgar insolence of +ignorance, because I had no native reverence for +learning.</p> + +<p>Once when I was belaying the ancient Greeks +like a ruffian he assumed the dignified manner of a +gentleman and a scholar who must be patient with a +Smart Aleck. As near as I can recall, this is the +gist of that altercation:</p> + +<p>‘You do yourself discredit when you speak disparagingly +of an illustrious people,’ he said.</p> + +<p>I knew nothing of their civilization, art, or literature. +Then he went on to pay a tribute to the Greek +intellect. It was symmetrical, dignified, and beautiful +as their architecture. Had I ever studied the +glory and simplicity of the Parthenon? I admitted +that I had not, but I was willing to concede that +they had highly developed artistic instincts. Which, +I had to infer, was the wrong phrase to use.</p> + +<p>‘They had brains, brains!’ he retorted hotly.</p> + +<p>‘I would no more revere a man for his brains than +for the hair on his head,’ I shot back; ‘the quality +and quantity of both are determined by purely +physical conditions, the climate, the food they eat, +their habits as human beings. I judge the Greeks by +what they have produced.’</p> + +<p>‘That is precisely what you cannot do intelligently, +because you do not know what they produced.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I know the effects—’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>‘You are profoundly ignorant of the effects of +Greek culture upon the world,’ he interrupted.</p> + +<p>‘Culture’ was one of Lundy’s words, never a +favorite with me. I am not denying there is such a +thing, but whether it is beneficent depends in my +opinion upon the moderation with which you absorb +it and balance it with better, sturdier elements of +character, like honest bigotry and hard-headed convictions. +It is a boastful word with a bad reputation +in advanced stages of civilization. It too frequently +became the elegance by which the distance between +morality and immorality is shortened.</p> + +<p>Lundy, however, loved it, with no such barbaric +instincts as I had to warn him against it. And I +suffered much from the personal uses he made of it +during what may be called the Hellenic period of +our married life.</p> + +<p>This time I made a clean sweep and cut Greek +culture to the bone.</p> + +<p>‘There was something wrong with their culture,’ +I returned, ‘because they did not survive it as a +nation. Men are destroyed by their own minds, +their systems of thought. What the ancient Greeks +produced with all their art and learning and culture +are these modern Greeks. I do not think much of +them. Neither do you. They have the same hair, +the same brains. They are out of the same stock, but +virtue has gone out of them. They are no longer +sculptors and philosophers. Nobody quotes them +or imitates them. The fatalistic mind back of all +their culture made slaves and little men of their +descendants.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> + +<p>Lundy regarded me for a moment in regretful +silence, as we sometimes measure some one who is +dear to us who is determined not to be like us.</p> + +<p>‘Corra,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you have an +underhanded mind. You deliberately missed my +point.’</p> + +<p>‘I made my own point, which was better than +being run through by yours,’ I laughed.</p> + +<p>Then I had to listen to his explanation of how +there were now no Greeks of that breed. The +Persians had destroyed that great race.</p> + +<p>His scholarly indignation frequently rose to the +pitch of sarcasm. But I was never abashed. I +could not be made to hang my head mentally or to +feel what is now called the inferiority complex. If +you can finance the outrageous courage of ignorance +with a certain secret wisdom of your own, you stand +a very good chance of disconcerting a learned man +in an argument. I always came out of these intellectual +scrimmages exhilarated like a ragged young +sparrow that has enjoyed an upward flight upon an +eagle’s wings.</p> + +<p>One little trait I venture to record by way of +illustrating how shrewd a woman’s mind can be at +ducking out of sight at the right moment. Lundy +was resentful like most learned men—or unlearned +for that matter—if it appeared that I was about to +get the better of the contention. He felt the trickery +of wit at his expense, a petticoated Puck putting +Bottom’s head on a wise man’s shoulders. Intellectual +rage caused him to blink. Whenever he regarded +me with this fluttering blue gaze I cast the argument +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>aside, rushed to him, laid my head upon his +knees as these knees were the executioner’s block +and invited him to strike in case he desired to make +such a disposition of a fool. In such a manner I was +always able to restore the equilibrium of love and +charity between us without his ever suspecting that +this was balm I laid upon his wounded vanity.</p> + +<p>I have now a certain misty tinge of time in the +colors of my mind, elegant wisps of culture, pseudo +evidences of learning obtained from my association +with Lundy. I have practically no accurate information +on any subject, which is one reason I so +rarely burden the reader with a quotation; but I +have the sense and feeling of all these things Lundy +studied in his lifetime to learn. I walked for years in +the rich pastures of his mind.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII"> + XXIII + <br> + THE YEAR IN OXFORD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">As</span> the years passed there were happier periods, all +of which have been recorded in ‘My Book and +Heart.’ The years in Oxford, for example.</p> + +<p>More than one circumstance contributed to the +relaxation I enjoyed there. The prim academic life +of the little college town was stimulating and refreshing +to me after the hard and lean years in the +itineracy. We were relieved from the burden of +souls, and Lundy was absorbed in his work as +teacher of Greek in the college. This is the one +interest he had that I could not share. I had worried +and prayed with him through all the Gospels, but +when it came to feeling my way through the enclitics +and iota subscripts of a dead cross-stitch +language I had no conscience about leaving him to +his fate.</p> + +<p>Now that I look back, this is a queer circumstance, +that I never had the least ambition to keep pace +with my husband mentally. I was not uneasy lest +he should escape me by this route, as I always felt +he might do in those frightfully arduous pilgrimages +he made toward God in the spirit. Anything might +happen to such a traveler, I feared. But I have +always enjoyed the assurance of having a very +dexterous mind, regardless of whether I had as +much information or intellectual training as the +other person had or not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<p>This is no more a conceit than a man feels in the +strength of his muscles. He is not disposed to skin +the cat in order to prove his physical power. He is +much more apt to sit down comfortably observant +while some weaker man boasts of his biceps. I have +done a lot of that kind of sitting down in my life. +Nothing fans me into such a state of peaceful mental +somnambulance as the intellectual antics of a person +who displays his learning, not from vanity always, +but frequently because it is all he has got; no real +sense, no wisdom of his own, merely much good +stuff he has learned from other sources. He spreads +it like a garment as any other decent person would +to hide the thinness of his shanks.</p> + +<p>The literary life of Oxford was the most youthful +and strident feature of this old college town. I do +not know how the dean of the English department +contrived to mislead so many young men, but year +after year a certain per cent of the senior class were +imbued with the idea that they had some kind of +gift for literary creation or literary criticism. The +latter predominated. During the winter months +they shook the very battlements of English literature. +They spared nobody from Henry Fielding to +Dickens. Never shall I forget the way the feathers +of the Brontë sisters used to fly when half a dozen +of these young whelps seized upon ‘Jane Eyre.’ I +was in my George Eliot stage at the time and suffered +a graver mind, but I recall with no flattery to +myself the part I took in these discussions. There +may be such a thing as a mature mind under the +age of forty, but if so it is the result of premature +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>gray matter. I was still in the adolescent period +mentally and found great refreshment in the group +of young-rooster intellectuals who frequently came +to the house. We worked out our theories and opinions +on one another as growing children wrestle.</p> + +<p>Oxford was a narrow-minded little community, +but it was pigeon-breasted morally. The only disciple +of Zola in the town was an innocent young +man from Arkansas, who had been well grounded in +his morals. He was by way of becoming a novelist +at that time, but turned out to be a historian. He +graduated in vain from the English departments of +five universities and was finally reduced to recording +facts and dates and rewriting information that he +could not digest. It was a form of mental regurgitation. +A great many people have it. The one rash +thing he ever did was to espouse the cause of realism +in fiction, which none of us knew or cared enough to +attack. He came in frequently to discuss the subject +with me, chiefly, I suppose, because no one else +would listen to him.</p> + +<p>I have always been interested in bores. They are +in my opinion the strangest of human phenomena, +probably the one type of character impossible to +dramatize. Has any one ever read a novel entitled +‘The Bore’? You have not, because the creative +mind cannot produce him. He is automatic mentally. +He can learn, frequently more than an intelligent +man, but he cannot think. He is without +imagination and the personal messengers of sensibility. +He never knows or suspects how the other +fellow feels. Poor D—— could talk indefinitely in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>a sensible monotone without the glint of a thought +to brighten his durable conversation. To me it has +ever been fascinating to watch a good brain work +that was totally disconnected from life, charm, or +personality.</p> + +<p>Everything was settled except the relative merits +of the new school of realism in fiction as compared to +the old school of romanticism. This was a burning +question then. As I remember, Émile Zola was the +father of the realists. He had written a particularly +disgusting novel, the title of which I do not recall; +but one scene in it I am compelled against my will +to remember—which, I suppose, proves that Zola +was indeed a realist, because I have forgotten ten +thousand lines of poetry that entranced me more.</p> + +<p>This was a description of the decomposed body +of a soldier plowed up on a battlefield after the +Franco-Prussian War. Zola omitted not one worm +from this picture. Yorick’s skull was a clean white +bone as compared with this horrible pollution of +what had been a man. He made realism stink for +five pages. I shall never be willing to confound this +monstrous insensate vitalizing of the processes of +death with the convincing romanticism of life, +which is what the best literature is. However, my +opinion is prejudiced in this matter, for I am an +incurable romanticist, from the first chapter of +Genesis to the last breath I draw. I think the world +of life is one bright illusion conferred upon us by a +good God, and that if it becomes anything else, that +also is an illusion by which we damn ourselves.</p> + +<p>I have a vague recollection of Cæsar or some such +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>person having said that the Romans were made +indolent and effeminate by the importation of +luxuries from the provinces—a free translation, +but the gist of what he meant. I cannot tell what +might have happened to me if we had gone on living +in Oxford and if Lundy had continued to hold the +chair of Greek in Emory College. We were as poor +as possible, but I had my little luxuries from the +various provinces of literature. Every college community +titters with quotations from the best writers +and speakers. I was subject during this period +to short-flighted aspirations, such, for example, as +trying to understand prosody. But I could make +nothing of this science of poetry, not even with +Lundy’s illuminating assistance. I remember at +another time reading Guizot’s ‘History of France.’ +This was a real experience and came near starting +me to thinking. There is something in the quality +of the French mind to which I have always felt a +reluctant kinship. They are the only people I know +who can leap into an enormous vocabulary of words +and beat them up with the wings of their spirit into +a fine hysterical eloquence.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell how I missed my cue, but my suspicion +now is that I must have made a more or less +deliberate effort to develop mentally. I do recall +regretfully certain intellectual flutterings which are +never to be confounded with the stirrings of the +creative mind.</p> + +<p>When it is all over, or nearly over, and we look +back with the wisdom of all our experiences gained, +we know that love is the best thing in life and that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>it leads through whatever shadows to the best +things we are capable of. So I know now that my +devotion to little Faith was more stimulating and +informing than anything else.</p> + +<p>In contrast to this tender happiness I enjoyed as +a mother, I was never free from a nameless fear and +anxiety for my husband. It turned out that his +duties as the head of the Greek department in the +college did not divert his mind from that absorbing +passion for peace in God. Rather the fatalism of the +Greek mind reacted disastrously upon his own mind. +In addition to this his vitality was depleted by overwork. +No matter how pale saints are—and I have +observed that as a rule they have poor complexions—I +shall always contend that it is easier to step up +and trust the Lord if you are in good health. Lundy’s +strength began to fail and he passed more frequently +into those dark periods of despair. So I labored with +him in good faith according to his interpretation of +the Scriptures. I remember now the premonitions +I had of unimaginable misfortunes.</p> + +<p>Years passed and our fate had come upon us, +driving us far from our little world at Oxford before +I finally realized that this was not a spiritual condition +from which Lundy suffered, but a very real +and dangerous disorder of the mind; melancholia, +which took one form after another of religious +mania.</p> + +<p>I have written out in another place the life we +lived during this period, but not the terror and +silence that fell upon me. This cannot be set down +in words; the frantic efforts I made to save him from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>himself, and to protect him from that terrible world +in the Church. I know where the spirit of all tragedies +dwells—in the silence which you dare not +break, with even one call for help. I contracted the +habit of holding my breath in these years of suspense. +Even when my body slept it seemed to me my heart +was forever sitting up with Lundy in the dark hours +of the night.</p> + +<p>This was long before the Great War, but I distinctly +recall how I used to wish I could find relief +in a real battle, see the dreadful face of my enemy +and feel his wounds rather than face the powers and +principalities of Lundy’s terrible darkness.</p> + +<p>I fell sick under the strain and lay at the very +doors of death for a long time, but not wishfully. +I survived the predictions of various physicians for +no other reason, I believe, than that I felt obliged to +live and stand by my husband.</p> + +<p>I did it. No one can say I failed him or ever drew +back once from the shadows that finally engulfed +him. I had written ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife’ and +put the crown he so richly deserved upon him before +he passed away. I remember being in a hurry to do +that.</p> + +<p>Nothing was further from my plans than to become +a writer, but I must have already begun the +practice of studying characters, for I remember all +those people whom I knew then, not their faces but +their attributes, their inside minds. Otherwise, I am +inclined to believe now that this was not an important +period in my own mental development. It +seems to me that I had very little raiment on my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>thoughts, not much sweetness or color. That bright +and halcyon past which came back to me later in a +dark time was eclipsed by some sort of adolescent +egotism of the mind. I remember being very smart, +which is a form of stupidity. I try not to remember +it, but it occurs to me that I may have felt intellectual. +I entertained views too noble or too bitter to +be true. I must have done some soul-stretching of +my mental neck.</p> + +<p>Nothing that I have ever written about myself +humbles me so much as this confession, for I have +observed the same state of mind in others. It is +ugly, insincere, and leads to maudlin movements, +agitations, and other disorders of our times, especially +among women. The wonder to me now is +that I did not get the idea that I had a message for +the world. God in his mercy saved me from feminine +screech of this emotion which so many of us +mistake for noble inspiration.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV"> + XXIV + <br> + HOMELY PLEASURE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I was</span> thirty years of age before the character of my +mind differed consciously from that of any other +woman’s mind who is a devoted wife and mother, +and, by marriage, deeply and sincerely pious. I was +backward with my needle, but necessity compelled +me to become skillful in this art. I made my own +clothes and they proclaimed the fact. But I was +more successful with dear little Faith’s things. She +came up in the drawn-line period. We could not +afford linen, but every ruffle and hem on her white +muslin frocks was hemstitched. The gathers were +rolled and whipped. The yokes were elaborately +carved with the needle into blossoms and webs +worked into the drawn threads.</p> + +<p>Faith was an adorable mite of a woman from the +very beginning of her life. She felt her feathers and +could not resist the joy of switching when she pranced +forth in one of these dresses. I wore the long skirts +of that period and held them up behind after the +manner of those former ladies. Likewise, Faith +invariably reached back, caught a fold of her exceedingly +abbreviated skirt between her thumb and +forefinger, the other three fingers hoisted and +curled as daintily as if she held an afternoon teacup. +Then, bent slightly forward, head thrown proudly +back, she frisked forth glorified in her own pride. +It comforts me now to remember that I never +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>chided her for these airs and that she had the joy of +her things.</p> + +<p>They really were beautiful little garments, if I do +say it who should not boast of my handiwork. You +may have observed that love can impart to a woman +who has no sense of style about her own clothes, a +rare genius for dressing her girl child.</p> + +<p>I had no domestic accomplishments, but I had +one hard-and-fast rule as a loving wife. This was to +appeal to the eye. I have a vaguely guilty feeling +that I was not an exquisitely neat housekeeper—which +immediately became a belligerent feeling the +moment some one referred to the fact—but I +always kept one place attractive in the house that +would strike Lundy’s eye as he entered the door.</p> + +<p>I remember once after we had left Oxford and +our fortunes were at the lowest ebb we lived in two +rooms far up in the mountains. I had saved his +dearer books, some draperies and precious ornaments +from the sale of our household things in +Oxford, but not enough to furnish a whole room +cheerfully. So I massed our wealth in one corner of +it.</p> + +<p>There was an ugly little stove set far enough out +to admit of a seat behind it on both sides of the +corner. I had it put in, no more than a low wide +shelf against the wall. But it was softly cushioned +and I covered it with a dark blue chenille curtain. +I covered some old sofa pillows with the red-and-yellow +borders of these curtains and piled them like +gaudy mushrooms on this seat. Some distance above +I put in narrow shelves for the books. These were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>arranged without regard for their titles or inside +substance, but to bring out as much color as possible. +A red or green backed book was precious and +must be placed where the light would fall on it.</p> + +<p>There was a vase on the top shelf, two brass +candlesticks, and wedged in the corner was a remarkable +plaster-of-Paris little boy, quite naked, +sitting cross-legged on a square pedestal, reading +from a large book open upon his knees. I take it +that he was an erudite child, because from the looks +of his pouncy body he could not have been more +than three years old. Lundy had given me this +thing in an opulent moment years before. Remembering +the classical Greek turn of his mind, I cannot +believe it truly represented his taste, only what he +could afford to buy. But he craved statuary of the +graver sort to the last and treated himself now and +then to the moulded bust of a great poet or a great +philosopher. I keep them all, though the little boy +has lost half his book, broken off long since in our +travels.</p> + +<p>Two very wide chenille curtains remained. These +were split and hung at the windows on either side of +this corner. I do not suppose a professional decorator +would have admired the general effect, but compared +with the remaining space and furnishing of +that wretched room, it was palatial.</p> + +<p>On very cold evenings when Lundy came in, the +stove would be glowing like a grotesquely deformed +red-hot coal. The two candles would be lighted and +flickering bravely. The little boy high up in his +corner between them would still be studiously reading +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>his book. The books on the shelves below would +be lined up brightly like old friends waiting as +usual to spend the evening with us. And Lundy, +merely giving me the peck of a kiss as he passed, +would make straight for that long cushioned seat +behind the stove. He stretched out there like a +wealthy man and read or scribbled notes for a sermon. +I do not think he ever really saw the other +part of that wretched room.</p> + +<p>This was the life I lived then and the mind I had +then. Good, tender and very anxious for my dear +ones, but not by any stretch of imagination an +intellectual existence. I doubt if we can be very +active in such a love affair as this and be intellectual +at the same time. Love itself is the self-expression +of such a woman, which is something we hear +more about these days than in those days, when it +seems to me women loved more giftedly than they +do now.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV"> + XXV + <br> + LOVE AND AUTHORSHIP + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Mothers</span> are especially methodical. Love makes +them and tempers their minds in the beginning. +They find out how to love each one of their little +children differently, then they settle down in their +maternal formulas of affection. These children +grow up, their natures change, but this makes no +difference. She remembers that Thomas was a +sensitive little boy and had to be treated tenderly. +So she goes on making allowances for his beautiful, +sensitive nature, although he may have grown up +into a cold-blooded wretch who has made his fortune +on a widow’s mite.</p> + +<p>By the same token, she never forgets that her +other son was a normal hard-headed youngster who +must be disciplined and required no petting. So she +goes on giving him the lick and the promise of a +sterner affection, although he may now be a broken-hearted +man who has failed on account of going into +business with the meaner, more excitable brother, +and is very much in need of tenderness. But she apportioned +her affections between them like an estate +she willed them long ago. Now she is too old and +<i lang="la">non compos mentis</i> affectionally to change her will.</p> + +<p>Authors do their work the same way. They find +out how to write. They get their own method, a +certain set of characters, and they stick to this +method and these characters, with a few lay figures +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>added here and there in different stories. What I +mean is that their leading heroes and heroines show +a marked family resemblance to one another in +every succeeding book. And why not? They are all +out of the same parent mind. I should recognize a +certain author’s heroine anywhere on earth, even if +she escapes from all the stories in which she figures. +She is a young woman who usually works her way +up, when the reader has every reason to believe she +is bound to fall. I have not seen her lately, but she +used to make me very anxious on account of her +threadbare skirt and having to heat a can of tomato +soup over an alcohol burner behind her washstand +screen. I do hope she has kept her chastity and +married well as usual these late years, since I have +been too busy to keep up with her struggles. She +was a model and an inspiration then to every working +girl without a job. Which, when you think about +it, is very high praise for her procreator.</p> + +<p>I had been one of the most diligent unknown +authors in this country for ten years before circumstances +thrust me into the written rôle of ‘A Circuit +Rider’s Wife.’ It was then that I seemed to have +found myself as an interpreter and at last capable +of producing that literature of the heart which is +peculiar to all of us. I am not wholly in my right +mind in any other character now. She knows the +very gist of everything I feel or know about men and +women.</p> + +<p>I would not attempt to tell how earnestly and unsuccessfully +I have tried to be a younger, lovelier, +and more attractive woman in fiction. Being a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>youthful, coquettish heroine is frightfully hypocritical +and embarrassing. If I am compelled to +play that rôle, I always put that dearer, wiser old +woman in as a neighbor to the girl so that I may +rest and dwell in her for a scene now and then.</p> + +<p>I am far removed these many years from the +circumstances that made the ‘Circuit Rider’s Wife.’ +She was very poor and enjoyed her economies; I +am now no longer poor, but cannot bring myself to +commit an extravagance. She walked very softly +before the Lord, and I walk even more softly before +the world, on account of having attracted some +attention from that quarter which she never had. +She was always anxious for the peace and fate of +her circuit rider; now I am lonely for the lack of +these cares, and Lundy has passed away into what +may be called the literature of my soul. She went +to church every Sabbath day, and I do not go. +Nevertheless she constrains me. Sometimes even +yet the mind she had comes back to me like a song +and I am tempted to sit down in the amen corner of +my years, tell everything that is comforting to +know, sing a hymn and try to lead us all in prayer! +I seem to slip off into that same old-fashioned +tenderness for men and women we used to feel for +mourners kneeling about the altar during a revival.</p> + +<p>Then the woman I am now looks about me and +takes a more sensible view. What the world really +needs is to have its emotional nature disciplined and +trained even more carefully than we take the pains +to develop the purely mental faculties. Praying +will not meet this emergency.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> + +<p>My hope is to get at least ten strides ahead of +this woman I used to be in the record I am now +writing of my mind, which has changed considerably +since she managed its downsittings and uprisings.</p> + +<p>The question is whether I can do it. As we grow +older it seems to me we break none of the bonds +that formerly bound us; we simply add to them. I +doubt very seriously if there is any such experience +as liberty. It is a notion we get from not remembering +for a moment the habits that bind us no less +in the spirit than in our more obvious affairs.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI"> + XXVI + <br> + THE MIND OF THE WRITER + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I had</span> been writing ten years before I discovered the +amazing capacity even the ordinary mind has for +creating from experience and memory, and that its +powers of production are limited only by one’s +courage to think, and by the amount of physical +strength and endurance one can afford to spend on +the performance. After the ‘Circuit Rider’s Wife’ +was written I was in the gravest state of anxiety lest +I should never muster the material for another book.</p> + +<p>About this time I met an old friend who now holds +the chair of metaphysics in one of our great universities. +I may have given some intimation of my +despairing state. In any case, he instructed me in +the laws governing mind. He drew a diagram of +my mind on a piece of paper and showed me how +it worked. I had only one consolation as I studied +this thing—that he did not know or suspect the +thoughts I was thinking about him at that moment. +They were not complimentary.</p> + +<p>I rejected his theory, but I could not get the picture +of his infernal diagram out of my mind. Every +time I sat down to work at my desk, I could see the +lines and segments of my mind on that piece of +paper and the dot where a thought would probably +appear. The result was a hysteria of self-consciousness +mentally which made thinking impossible. +Quite by accident that great student hit upon the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>method of obstructing thought. The mind turned +like a worm on itself!</p> + +<p>In my opinion it is wiser not to fumble with this +delicate piece of machinery, no matter how much you +may find out by tearing it to pieces. What I know +is that he who peeps at his mind will never have +the use of it. It is wiser to leave not only your mind +but your gender severely alone if you hope to do +good spirit-level thinking. It would not surprise me +at all if these were not the bonds which do somehow +bind us to God, to be accepted, but not understood.</p> + +<p>After all is said and done and taught that we can +possibly learn from others, every man faces his own +problems and solves them the best way he can. The +lawyer learns law, then he practices law according to +the bias of his own mind and character. Maybe he +is a shyster. Maybe he has an honest legal sense. +It all depends on the kind of man he is. The same +thing is true about the physician. After a while he +gets his own mental habits of diagnosing our complaints +and diseases. If his mind catches and holds +some fixed idea about neurasthenic tendencies, apt +as not he will diagnose your case accordingly, although +you may be having fits on account of an +ulcer in the stomach. In any case, he finally works +out a system of favorite prescriptions. Then he fits +us to his medicines, and his methods as he grows +older, no matter how new our disease may be. He +cannot help it. His mind has made him and it is too +old, inelastic, to add another cubit to his wisdom or +courage as a physician. If you are about to become +a patient, the risks are six of one and half a dozen of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>the other whether you choose a young doctor in the +experimental stage of his practice or this old one +who has settled down in his methods, because they +are reasonably successful and rarely ever result in +your death.</p> + +<p>Preachers are the same way. They see God according +to their lights, make sermons until they exhaust +their vision. Then they go on preaching this +same body of thought as long as they live under +various texts from the Scriptures.</p> + +<p>I am wondering how a literary critic would go +about reviewing the mind of an author instead of +his book. He would probably decline the assignment. +He is a judge of the material, the copy a +writer produces, but he is no mental mechanic to +pass judgment upon the amazing motor of our +faculties. The best he could do would be to write an +illuminating essay upon the times in which an author +lived; the effect, by inference, of that particular +period of civilization upon his work; whether he was +well and in good circumstances, or wrote under the +pressure of ill-health and poverty.</p> + +<p>But none of these circumstances would account +for the main fact that he became an author instead +of, say, a fishmonger or a banker. The great majority +of poor people or sick people never take it out on the +world by writing books. Neither does their state of +health determine their literary style or their choice +of material to convert into copy. Robert Louis +Stevenson was an invalid, suffering from an incurable +malady. By all the laws governing such a +life he was due to die early without accomplishing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>anything. But he sat up in bed and wrote the healthiest, +most entrancing stories of his times, and died +later.</p> + +<p>The mind is something else, not us. It is an instrument +set up in us, controlled by spiritual forces +which reach it through the medium of our emotions. +It can be well and powerful when we are weak and ill. +‘By my spirit,’ thus also sayeth such a man. On the +other hand, the mind is frequently ill to the point +of dissolution when we are enjoying perfect health. +Witness the sickly slime copy produced by a decadent +writer who may be an athlete physically. +‘By my spirit,’ also says such a man who has adopted +his powers and principalities of darkness. My notion +is that it is a choice between spirits which determines +the quality of your thinking, but not the power with +which you can do it. That, I suppose, is the personal +equation in the whole phenomenon and would +depend upon the strength of your emotions and the +capacity of your mental motor.</p> + +<p>It is not for me to venture into the realm of metaphysics +with my cheerful, flat-footed ignorance of +this subject, but I am now writing the record of +my own mind in relation to my work as an author +merely from experience. The conclusions I have +reached in this manner may be erroneous from the +standpoint of the professional students. But I have +frequently erred with the happiest practical results +in my own living and achieving.</p> + +<p>I remember being very much upset upon learning +that poetry, religion, and sex animation were all +products of the same emotional reactions. This was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>a serious matter. If I could not dispose of it in a +manner satisfying to my mental and moral platform +in living, it would take the luster off my thoughts +and render me some sort of automaton in spiritual +consciousness. You are not really the author of a +thought which splashes up like spray from a wave +of emotion which has its origin in sex. This information +was too diminishing. Also, I prefer to believe +in God, not because of my sex, even if I was of the +other sex, but because I have a spiritual consciousness +which only the idea of Providence can +satisfy.</p> + +<p>Still, I had a squeamish feeling that we probably +were made precisely by this economical pattern, +one emotion carrying all our sensations; thrift in +expenses being one of the axioms in creation as I +have observed it.</p> + +<p>Any sensible person must have reached the same +conclusion I reached, provided he did not consult +too many learned authorities, but stuck like a leech +to his Scriptures, which was something like this: +By nature, delicacy, and decency, by all prayers, +every hope and noble ambition, the sensations of sex +are so mixed in us with the highest emotions of +religion, eloquence, and every sublime imagination +that we have been for ages the parents of spiritually +minded beings instead of brutes.</p> + +<p>I suppose this was the only way to insure such a +phenomenon in an apparently physical and carnal +world. We are thus born convinced of immortality +by that admirable device of the Almighty. I am +ready to stretch a neck ahead of the current animal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>propaganda concerning sex and contend that it is +probably the basic principle of the instinct we have +of immortality. How else does the lowest type of +savage also arrive at faith in God and keep company +with ghosts and spirits? Superstition is the name +we apply to that, when it may be a much sounder, +though more elemental, faith than we have ourselves. +In any case, how do you account for the +character of his superstitions or for his ability to +produce them at all? He has no Bible, no literature, +neither theologians nor scholars to direct his mental +processes. But he has his emotions. He is some kind +of stick-in-the-mud poet, and he arrives at the idea +of God because he is a man. A dog cannot do it, +though he has the same procreating instinct, but is +not informed with the spiritual sense.</p> + +<p>These conclusions have given me great satisfaction +as a writer. I am never embarrassed if a +particularly entrancing thought comes to me. I do +not attribute it to the inspirations of my gender, but +to the spiritual quality of the mind produced by +gender in general, if you will have it so, not that I +am personally disposed to dig down to the rudiments +of my thoughts. Some mysteries are sacred so long +as they are hidden, but shocking when they are +exposed. It seems to me that the tendency of our +times is to suspect sex of something which is really +good, but that we are inclined to make something +bad of what we suspect.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII"> + XXVII + <br> + DO YOU WANT TO WRITE? + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I should</span> be slow to advise the most gifted person to +enter the literary profession. It is a life of infinite +labor and hardship. The rewards are commensurate +if you win them. But comparatively few who +strive to enter in do so. Nobody lacks the sense to +write, I believe; but most people lack the intuition, +that hidden truth out of which romance and poetry +and all literary illusions are made.</p> + +<p>Very few people who read books know or suspect +the literary casualties in an author’s life. The most +successful, as the least renowned of us, suffer amazing +losses in labor and a corresponding depreciation +in self-confidence. You may buy a seat on the stock +exchange, get a ticker and do business there according +to your own secret information about the market. +But you cannot buy a seat among the editors in this +country if you are a writer. Neither can you discover +the ticker in their mind which determines the +worth and unworthiness of your copy. They also +are taking a chance with the public which reads. It +is a fickle public, apt to change its mind any time.</p> + +<p>Nothing is less profitable than to study a magazine +with reference to producing copy peculiar to it. +You are almost sure to make the mistake of writing +something similar to the article or story you have +studied, when your common sense should warn you +that the editor will not want to repeat that dose. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>You have been subtly guilty of a repetition of the +motive back of the story you took for a pattern, +which is reason enough to expect that the thing will +be refused.</p> + +<p>An editor must have a kaleidoscopic mind. He +cannot tell you with any degree of accuracy what +he wants, because he does not know very far in advance +what his readers want. But he can tell you +as quick as a flash what he does not want, because +he has more past experience than you can imagine +to guide him in rejecting unavailable copy.</p> + +<p>The best bet, I discovered long ago, was to find +out what was true and vital in the experience of the +greatest number of people and to write that. As a +rule it is so old and elemental as to have become +identical with them, like a man’s ribs. He rarely +ever thinks of them. There is such a body of +thought and emotion in all of us of which we no +longer speak. We have lost the words to do so. But +when we see them written out it is as if we had recovered +some dearer speech of ourselves.</p> + +<p>The language we use is for the obvious, the things +we do and say, or for the impressions we wish to +make upon others. We have ten thousand dialogues +for lovers, a considerable vocabulary for speaking +piety and eloquence, and we are not short on narrative +sentences; but I challenge any man to prove +that it is easy to tell in words what is going on in +his mind which is peculiar to him and not to be told. +He is thinking them in the same way he breathes to +live—by way of being mentally conscious. He is +registering himself in every emotion, motive, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>desire faster than these mental sensations can be +translated into words.</p> + +<p>Language is artificial. We only use it to be heard, +or to be seen in the written word, or when we are so +moved that we are practically talking to ourselves. +The greater part of the thinking we do is so mixed +with feeling that it is like a circulatory system of +consciousness, therefore the only absolutely veracious +mental versions of what we really are.</p> + +<p>To set down as much of this copy of us as possible +has been my particular business as an author. It +requires a sort of loving cunning in the use of words +which has been the most fascinating feature of my +work. Mere words will not do. They must convey +the color, charm, and pulse of life. They must have +a private twinkle of wit in them that makes a good-natured +noise like laughter through the keyhole of +the reader’s mind. If you take pains, make every +one count like a stroke in the picture of a secret +trait which is peculiar to all of us, the individual +reader gets the same shock of surprise that he would +have if his mother had been eavesdropping his mind. +It makes him nervous, wondering how much else she +has heard.</p> + +<p>As to that, it is like seeing God; you cannot do it +without being pure in heart. So I doubt if we could +interpret the secret hearts of men and women without +feeling very close to them in love and sympathy. +My observation of meaner-minded people is that +they never really understand other people, only +what is evil or potentially evil in them. I reckon it is +a blessed provision of Providence that we only see +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>through the glass darkly when our deeds are evil. +Otherwise the wicked would have a frightful advantage +over the innocent and good.</p> + +<p>One of the most profitable experiments I make +along this line is to write out good impulses peculiar +to people who are not good, but have a perpetual +hankering after their might-have-been virtues.</p> + +<p>They invariably rise like woefully undone children +to the bait. I get a batch of letters from sinners the +moment such a paragraph picture of their futile +goodness appears in print. Some of them very smart +and bitter, but feeling that soothing plaster I have +laid on the wounds their sins have made in them. +Others are low in the dust. They do not expect to +rise. Still, they want me to know they have enjoyed +the relief of a few tears on their cheeks.</p> + +<p>I do think this is a dear thing about men, even +the worst of them—how they will confess their +tears of grief or regret to a woman in whom they +believe or whose confidence they desire to win. If +she is an elderly person with some wisdom of their +sex, she knows that these are histrionic tears, shed to +move her. Still, it is an artless sort of compliment +they pay her good old simplicity. But if we should +tell how many men and which men we have seen +weep, the world would never believe us! The poor +things are driven to it as we are driven to little +hysterical manifestations with our dearer men which +we should never try to put over on another woman. +Before other men they must play the part of pride, +strength, and courage, even if they have no such +attributes; but once in so often the last of them will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>break down before one of us, quiver his chin and let +his tears flow, because he knows that we know he is +really a child who never grows up, begging for cake +when he is a boy and for sympathy when he is a man.</p> + +<p>Very few lost and undone women ever show up, +but now and then one comes in a letter, lays her +head on my Circuit Rider’s Widow’s knees and +whispers that she remembers when she felt like that, +referring to some paragraph, say, in ‘My Book and +Heart.’ This is as near as one of them ever comes to +admitting that she no longer has the right to feel +like that. And none of them ever sign their names. +Thus they let you know they do not expect an answer. +It is their sad way of walking like ghosts for a +few lines close to what they believe is a kind heart.</p> + +<p>It must be fearful not to be good if you are a +woman, because you never can forgive yourself, +while a man can and will do so with the least encouragement +from you. If the woman he loves +shrives him, he will rise up and strut like a spiritual +peacock without ever taking the trouble to lay his +case before the Lord in prayer. He is the greatest +economist in contrition the world ever saw.</p> + +<p>But when you think about it, this only goes to +prove how transparent they are. I am by men as I +am by the more occult Scriptures—they are not +difficult to understand if you have the right mind +toward them, not antagonistic or suspicious.</p> + +<p>But I am always careful never to let one know I +am reading him. Nothing upsets a man so quickly +as to realize that you are seeing him maneuver in and +out of sight behind the lines of the rôle he is reciting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>so well to you. He is offended. He takes his leave +of you like a puppy with its tail between its legs, or +he goes off with a prideful stride. Presently he tells +somebody that he does not like that woman. But +he does. He simply dislikes the glimpse he had of +himself mirrored in her old Sea-of-Galilee mind.</p> + +<p>I never answer such letters. Let them read Paul’s +epistles! But I do feel closer kin to them than one +ever does to the comfortable saints or to the brazenly +virtuous.</p> + +<p>When you have been a mother and known such +richness of hovering love as that, after you are childless +the wings of your heart do feel strangely empty. +I have sometimes considered adopting a bunch of +bad grown-up children and starting them all over at +their A B C’s of morals and decencies. But it would +never do. This whole countryside would be working +presently with runaway children. I have a vague +suspicion that I am not an easy person to live with. +I have a hot and heady temper, and exacting standards +acquired in these lonely hills where there is no +world to obstruct or soften my convictions about +what is right or wrong, and about the exceedingly +early hour when dutiful people should get up and +go about their tasks. As the stepmother of sinners +I might be rather terrible in my manifestations. +Besides, I could not love them as a real mother +loves. I should lack that essential wisdom in dealing +with them. So I have abandoned the idea, except to +think about it.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVIII"> + XXVIII + <br> + EXPRESSING ONE’S SELF + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Personally</span>, I do not think so much of self-expression +as a noble yearning. I would not go so far +as to suggest that it is a wave of feminine psychosis; +but the suspicion grows in my mind that it may be a +sort of hysteria peculiar to that class of people who +have boastful souls and considerable mortal vanity, +neither of which can be financed by the finer art of +living privately. We notice it in women now, as we +do other symptoms which were formerly characteristic +only of men. Job had a notable case of it. He +fretted his wife until at last she lost patience with his +groaning vanity about his integrity and advised him +to curse God and die. Carlyle made his wife miserable +while he expressed himself like a winged leviathan +in ‘Sartor Resartus.’ It is easier to write an +epic than to live your own life becomingly with no +audience to cheer the performance. Therefore we +are a trifle long on epics and short on achieving a +good record of ourselves in secret. Women have at +last become infected with this disorder of the mind, +a pathetic desire to cast themselves on the wide +screen of the world in some rôle of self-expression.</p> + +<p>My mail has been laden with letters from them +for years asking advice about how to do it. They +are either distracted spinsters or married women +who are childless and unhappy. Their homes and +their husbands have got on their nerves. They are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>the pseudo heroines of their own sorrows, futile +egotists in tears who wish to publish their tears in a +book. They have only a martyr illusion of themselves +and no sense at all of other people. They are +totally lacking in that quality of the medium without +which there is no such thing as a truthful interpretation +of any life. God himself could not teach +such a woman to write an honest sentence about +herself, much less her husband, concerning whom +she is determined to reveal the worst.</p> + +<p>Recently a mean little wife with a soul-pulling use +of words sent in a long account of her grievances. +She had married beneath her own position in life. +Her husband was an honest man, but not—oh, not +a gentleman! He did not understand or appreciate +her. He was cruel, contemptuous, and overbearing. +Judging by the way she praised herself, it was easy +to infer that she was one of those women who make +a damnable use of their virtues and would not lend +one for any consideration to her husband. I suppose +she wore that sad accusative look which provokes +the worst in any man. She felt that it might relieve +the tension if she could find some means of self-expression +and she wanted advice about writing the +revelations of her married life.</p> + +<p>On account of being partly Irish, I am not always +able to resist the temptation to use the shillalah of +my wit upon these little Judases.</p> + +<p>‘Do not write the record of your wrongs,’ I advised +her; ‘but meet your husband with a smile the +next time he comes in and strike him over the head +with some blunt instrument. He will probably +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>clean you up, which is precisely what you need. +This will much more quickly relieve your nervous +tension than writing a book, which is a drastic +business and very hard on the nerves, even when +you tell the truth.’</p> + +<p>The women’s organizations have a less sensational +way of cashing in these unhappy ones. They give +them a task to perform in connection with their vast +activities. They are doing everything, maintaining +schools and clinics, they are lobbying for bills. They +are the most rapacious collectors for charity on +earth. They have their publicity departments and +their propaganda. They are setting up monuments +and preserving the memory of honorable men. +They almost invariably do what they set out to do +and they are the only corporations in this country +that get their labor free of charge, that even collect +dues from their workers—which will indicate the +fierce passion in the women of our times to achieve +worthy ends and to express themselves in honorable +service before the world, whatever happens to their +homes, husbands, and children.</p> + +<p>No one respects them more than I do, but a +burned child is afraid of fire. For so many years I +did not have the use of my own life. It was controlled +entirely by the rules of the Methodist Church +and limited by the adversities of a circuit-rider’s life. +Never in this world would I yield it to the executive +committee of any kind of woman’s board. I am +a woman myself and know very well how much +greater our talent is for governing others than the +most despotic form of government founded by men.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>My idea is that the good little life, with no publicity +screen in the background, leads with less confusion +and certainly less embarrassment to peace +and happiness.</p> + +<p>The theory is excellent and does me credit written +out in words. But a master mind could never put +into words the web I have spun upon it to ensnare +my own life, liberty, and happiness.</p> + +<p>For years past I have felt my immortal spirit +zooning in it like an insect with its legs tied. No +woman ever longed for self-expression as I long now +to escape from my own plan of happiness.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIX"> + XXIX + <br> + SITTING IN THE PUBLIC EYE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I could</span> have been contented with intimate blessings. +I do not remember ever to have craved a +career. I do not now understand those who strive +so brilliantly and senselessly for recognition, fame, +and one sort of distinction or another.</p> + +<p>For me the career of an author was purely accidental +and resulted from a desperate emergency. I +have written all this out more particularly in another +book, but while we are on this subject of careers and +recognition I may as well set down now what I have +to say about that.</p> + +<p>Anything you do, however well, which draws the +world’s attention is a fearful thing, not to be lightly +sought. And I do not refer in this connection to the +competitive jealousies engendered by success, having +had no experiences along this line. What I am +trying to tell you is that with the rewards one earns +in this business some right to live privately passes +away. Your habitation may be divided from the +crowded world by a thousand hills, but there are +voluntary biographers in it who create the life they +think you live back there. I could write much more +entrancing legends about myself.</p> + +<p>I have an ambition to sit gracefully in the public +eye, one hand resting on my desk, neatly littered +with manuscript, and the other curled like a white +lily across my breast. When you are posing thus in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>your own mind it is disconcerting to learn that you +are a country policeman, conscientious in the discharge +of your duties. I respect policemen, but I +should shrink from crowding into that profession.</p> + +<p>If you have written much testifying to your +Christian faith, even if you do admit a somewhat +crank-sided human nature, it is depressing to learn +that you are an atheist smoking with bad doctrines.</p> + +<p>After that happened, I had no sooner retired behind +that Scripture which says, ‘Blessed are ye, +when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and +say all manner of evil against you, for my sake ... +for great is your reward in heaven’—and I am taking +particular satisfaction in the dark intimation as +to the probable nature of this reward—than I was +startled by the report that I had become a Catholic. +This is a compliment which I shall never deserve, +even though I am totally lacking in Protestant +animus against the Catholics. If you have been one +of those certified widows so highly recommended in +Paul’s epistle to Timothy it feels very queer to hear +that you have been cutting a swath in the social +life of Havana.</p> + +<p>Not everything you hear about yourself can be +considered good publicity. And if you have delicate +sensibilities, the currycomb of public imagination +frequently rubs your vanities the wrong way.</p> + +<p>You can never choose your own duties or pastimes +again. You must work at your thoughts. +They hold you and compel you like voices calling to +be heard.</p> + +<p>Sometimes now I still feel the womanly instinct +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>stirring in me to sew a fine seam. I want to lay a +pattern on a piece of beautiful cloth, cut out something +sweet and make it. I long to gather a ruffle +with my fingers, pin one end of it down and scratch +the gathers with my needle as I used to do long ago. +But I never can do it. No time. No such cunning +left now in my fingers. I have become a sewless +woman.</p> + +<p>When it is a fine, large, perfectly rounded day, +with the sun shining and all the leaves talking in the +wind and a faint perfume of woodland flowers floats +in through the window like an invitation, I would +give much to cast my pen far from me and follow it +out and away to the deep green valleys where these +blossoms bloom. But I cannot take the day off. I +must stay here and write down the things my mind +makes believe. No real blossoms, only the things I +know—so little, compared with what the trees tell +and the river sings, if you know how to listen.</p> + +<p>Every author knows what I mean. We become +the slaves of our thoughts that must be written +before they fade into forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>Invitations to speak upon public occasions are +among my most grievous embarrassments. Why is +it inferred that one is or can be a public speaker because +she has written a book? Writing is a very +private business. I do not know any other occupation +which requires so much privacy unless it is a +life of prayer or a life of crime.</p> + +<p>During these many years with a bee in my bonnet +and a pen in my hand I have practically lost my +oral faculties. I cannot scintillate on a rostrum. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>The flare of so many faces would put out my light. +I am accustomed to work in the presence of three +open-eyed windows which look upon a wide green +forest. Much motion and life out there, but complete +and magnificent indifference to the mortal +mind in here struggling with the adverb of an idea.</p> + +<p>I am not apologizing, you understand, for not +being able to live up to this side demand of a literary +reputation. I am simply telling what happens to +one not anxious to dine on her own fame in a public +place. Many people will not believe an author +shrinks from committing this act of sublimated +cannibalism, because so many of them do it, especially +the English writers imported by our women’s +clubs. But I cannot be made to believe they enjoy +the performance. One must have spent a while +in England, realized how repressed their enthusiasms +are, for Americans to understand how these +speakers must suffer from our goggle-eyed reverence +for their voice culture, their outrageous pronunciations +and their perfectly exquisite intellectuality. +Nothing, I believe, but a sense of financial duty to +themselves brings them to us.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile women are now the best public speakers +in this country. They have something to say, +and they are saying it with charm and courage. +Heaven forbid that I should ever expose my old ruminating +mind among them on the stage! What I +mean is this: When you write you may take infinite +time and patience to say what you want to say. +You write in ten different ways. You reface it and +begin again and again until the breathless, speechless +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>idea you had lives and shines. This is how slow +the pen-traveling mind may be; but try fumbling +the ball of your thought like that before an audience +and see what happens to you! The reporters +would be justified in publishing the news that you +had a stroke which rendered you practically inarticulate +soon after you began your address.</p> + +<p>As for preparing an address and delivering it with +your eyes and spectacles fixed upon the page instead +of the audience, I know this is intolerable, for +I have been in many an audience on similar occasions +and it has frequently occurred to me that +the offending person might have chosen something +much better from a book to read.</p> + +<p>That which so many people strive to win must be +a good thing, but I am simply telling you what +fame costs. Once you grow accustomed to being +famous, you do not realize it, but you are never +quite your humble, honest self. No matter how tight +you keep the lid on, there is some watered stock of +vanity inside. You are always in danger of the +thing’s coming off and of giving yourself an air or +two. No man or woman was ever so distinguished +that this exhibition did not make him ridiculous, +especially to those of meaner minds.</p> + +<p>But the final and most depressing part comes in +the evening of your great day when you are no longer +great. Your career has ended. Fame fades like a +withered rose in your hair, and you are forgotten +even if your works are not. Other writers, whom +you naturally feel are not doing so well, are popping +up in the public eye.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> + +<p>I am still sufficiently able-bodied in my mind and +spirit not to notice the crowding forward of these +youngsters; but I have a sort of presentiment that +after a while, when I am no longer strong enough +to practice nobility of mind, it is going to hurt +some to do without the praise and admiration they +get. I am dreading the time when I shall be so +lonely, so much in need of a little recognition that I +may be anxious to accept an invitation to sit on the +stage behind the speaker of the evening.</p> + +<p>I can feel myself like a pain sitting up there, very +old and gray, maybe a little soft in my head, but so +pleased to be present and face foremost to the +audience! I am waiting for the speaker to conclude +his oration and for the applause meant for him to +die down. I am hoping like a poor old hungry child +that a few people in the audience will recognize +me as the author of ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife,’ or +the woman who wrote ‘My Book and Heart’ many +years ago. I am all in a flutter lest no one press +forward through the crowd about the speaker and +clasp me by my old palsied hand to say how glad +he is to see me, and how well I am looking—not a +day older! How do I manage to keep so young? And +he will never forget when this or that circuit-rider +story came out. And how he loves ‘My Book and +Heart’! Maybe he has just read it all over again. +I shall be hoping he will say something like that. +Meanwhile I am glowing with childish pleasure at +this spoofing, but trying to maintain the air of +dignity I used to have when I really was myself.</p> + +<p>Heavens, how I do despise those people, now in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>the strength of their years, who look with contempt +or indifference upon the old children we become!</p> + +<p>This is the lightning of fate already flashing in my +sky. For I have observed the weather at the end of +more than one distinguished career. It rarely ever +is very warm and bright. You have outgrown the +normal mediocre sense of yourself, and you are no +longer able to keep up the intellectual expenses of +your reputation as a famous person.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXX"> + XXX + <br> + ON LAYING DOWN YOUR LIFE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I doubt</span> if the best people live their own lives. They +make themselves the shield and buckler of another’s +life, or they are the foundations of peace and security +upon which many lives are built.</p> + +<p>What impresses me is that they seem to pass +beyond the reach of any rewards. They lose the +capacity to receive or to shine. If the most devoted +mother survives the sacrifices she has made, it is +with pathetically folded hands, as the spectator of +the brilliant careers of her sons and daughters. I +suppose mothers get some sort of half joy out of +being merely present; but even that is sacrificial, +for they are not puffed up over establishing these +young ones; they are simply rejoicing in their +success. Something has happened to them, they are +tragically emptied of self and cannot share the lives +they have made.</p> + +<p>It is the same way with preachers, priests, prophets, +all that class of men who spend themselves +for others—they lose the capacity to live. They +are those good, quiet shadows in the background +everywhere, strangely contented with your fame or +your prosperity, not neglected, but used up.</p> + +<p>We are very good about making them the objects +of our benefits. We get them out and show them off +now and then for conscience’ sake, but they never +really enjoy the parade except to be in our reflected +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>glory. They are dead to themselves, which is being +dead indeed.</p> + +<p>Just practice laying down your life for others and +see what happens to you! These others will take it, +strengthened by you, and go on about their affairs. +I have never seen that Scripture fulfilled in this +world which reads, ‘For whosoever will save his +life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for +my sake the same shall find it’; so it must be fulfilled +in the world to come, which is a long way off and +very mysterious, geographically speaking.</p> + +<p>Sometimes when I am very low in my mind I get +a feeling of terror about the Word. So many Scriptures +read like laws every whit as merciless as those +which control life in the natural world. All that +lives has been and must be fertilized by that decay +provided by death. Every flower fades, every leaf +falls to enrich the soil for next year’s leaves and +blossoms. Must we also lay down our lives forever +and ever as living sacrifices that those who come +after us shall be stronger and wiser to win what we +missed of life and happiness? Is no mercy to be +shown to the very good? Must they wait to be +raised from the dust of all things to receive their +rewards?</p> + +<p>Such thinking makes me nervous and a trifle +indignant about the way those people who do not +lay down their lives seem to flourish more than we +do who have served long sentences in that wearying +position.</p> + +<p>I do not know how it may be with women of other +sections, but in this part of the country if you do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>your own work something goes out of you; not +virtue—you are likely to multiply frightfully in +virtues—but that bright, fluttering grace of the +spirit more becoming to us than all the nobler attributes +folds up and disappears. No matter how +conscientious she is about setting aside a certain +part of each day to improve herself and to keep up +with her husband’s times—I never knew one to +keep up her music—music is one of the things that +go out of her—she cannot do it. She is so busy doing +her duty she falls fatally behind his times if he is +a man who marches with them. I do not know why +this is so, but it is probably a feminine geographical +phenomenon.</p> + +<p>This is a blessed and glorified land; there is a +fragrant inertia in our climate suitable more particularly +for the production of the sweetly sitting inspirational +woman. She does not need to know so +much in the way of mere learning in order to be +placidly wise. The dust down here is an alluvial +soil, humanly speaking; it has been warmed and +brightened for so many ages by the sun, the perfume +of so many flowers has sunk into it, the sorrows +and misfortunes of a great people have sanctified it. +My feeling is that it has a cultural quality which +must be got through higher education and the most +poignant mental exercises in the other sections where +it has been spewed up into hoarfrost for a corresponding +number of ages, stauncher dust, but not +by nature so pleasant when raised, say, into an able +citizen, a strong ballot-bearing woman. Therefore +it is not so important for our women to exercise +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>these rights in order to save the country as it is for +the abler types in other sections. All they need is +two or three of the neater virtues, a prayer capacity +in faith, a kind and forgiving heart—and the right +look on their faces, effulgent, without being offensively +intelligent. I am not one of these, I weep to +confess, but I have known such women all my life, +as one is acquainted with certain private blessings +not shared by the world at large. But I have never +known one of them who did all her own work—a +noble service diminishing to such a woman.</p> + +<p>No matter how correct the pattern of her frock +is, or how good her manners are, or how sensible her +conversation is, I have never been in the company +of one who performed these tasks without becoming +immediately aware of the fact, a sort of uneasiness, +as if her shoe was pinching her foot. Her seams are +too straight. Her draperies do not flow, however +voluminous they are. Her eye has a measuring gaze. +She feels like the two-edged sword of a just woman +made perfect regarding me. Or at the very moment +when I am about to confer the bright splash of a +thought upon her, my light is put out by the realization +that her mind has skipped back home to +make sure she did not leave the top off the soda jar +and did lock the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>I am not complaining of her, you understand; I +am endeavoring to compliment her upon her merits. +She has all the virtues and you have only your grace +in words, a fluttering heart and a mind that climbs +her like a clinging vine in conversation. You must +lean to her because she will not bend to you. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>has lost some graceful elasticity of the spirit. You +cannot clasp fingers with one of her thoughts and fly +up on an idea and share opinions with her. She is +pickling her opinions. You can frequently smell the +vinegar of her mind boiling. At such moments I +have become so enfeebled spiritually as to be momentarily +deprived of my soul. I am of the earth +earthy, due entirely, I suppose, to the effect her +obvious worth has upon my stricken conscience.</p> + +<p>But I am not alone in these sensations, only more +vocative about them. I have observed her carefully; +she is widely depressing.</p> + +<p>I have known such a woman to go abroad, spend +a year studying art in all the galleries of Europe, +come home, deliver a lecture on the masterpieces +she has seen and fatigue her audience to the brink +of tears. One must be a person in order to entertain +other persons, and she had lost that touch of Nature +which makes us kin whether we are kind or not. +She is a grammarian of duties, and a recitation of +culture if she invades that field. Nothing illuminating +sticks to her, nothing softening can happen to +her mentally.</p> + +<p>Some instinct for liberty warned me from the +beginning to avoid the fate of these unfortunate +best-of-all women. I have been very busy for forty +years, but in my hardest circuit-rider days I never +would do all of my own work; only so much of it as +could not possibly be avoided. Even then I was +careful not to put my whole mind on it. If I had to +wash dishes, I always spat enough wit through the +kitchen door at Lundy, even if he was in the uttermost +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>parts of the parsonage, to draw his fire and +thus divorce my attention from the clatter in the +dish pan. Whatever else happens to me, I will +never do my own work. If it comes to that, I will +escape the disaster to my soul by having no works. +Dishes and laundry are not mentioned in the Scriptures, +therefore they are not obligatory. I will let +my faith praise me rather than my doughnuts.</p> + +<p>In recording this scandalous moral limitation I +am simply exposing to view the kind of mind I have, +knowing well how many better women will take a +shot at it. Let them bang away. I would rather +have my reputation as a domestic animal riddled +than to have my dearer faculties destroyed by a +flatiron or dishwater. No one was ever more reduced +in poverty than I have been, not one a more considerate +or obedient wife. But I managed to remain +a wife, never the mere servant of my husband. If +you must do it, make the business brief and forgetful. +Give him a balanced ration and leave every +man to iron his own shirt, would be my motto, even +if I went to the field with him afterwards and +ploughed a furrow by way of reciprocity. The idea +is to keep in with your husband at whatever cost. +It works out better in the long run than making a +pig of him at the table and a tyrant of him in the +house.</p> + +<p>The disposition to do that is a senseless weakness +in devoted women. Added to their domestic pride, +it accounts for the enormous labor now necessary in +the conducting of a home and the entertainment of +guests.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> + +<p>I am writing this record, however, to prove that +the keeping of virtues and those attributes becoming +to what you think is your nobler nature is an expensive +business, and places you within grasping +range of everybody doing business with you who has +no such vainglorious sense of himself to serve.</p> + +<p>I have never found that it pays in any worldly +sense to be outrageously and unscrupulously upright +in my dealings. The question is whether the +inward foundations one lays that cannot be swept +away by earthly misfortunes make up for the losses +one sustains. I do not know. I sometimes suffer a +very strong temptation to take an inferior’s under-hold +upon a person who thinks I am an easy mark +and pull off the deal according to his standards in +business, not mine, just to learn how it feels to win +that way. This, however, is a puerile temptation. +My habits are established. I have no practice in +shrewdness; only cunning enough not to experiment +with my too-long-buried talent.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXI"> + XXXI + <br> + YOU MAKE YOURSELF + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> forces that create us pass away, whether they +are parents, teachers, or books, and we are left at +last to re-create ourselves in the image of our own +minds. This was what happened to me after the +death of my husband. The woman I was and the +mind I had then faded into a sort of peaceful silence. +I was not for a long time. I remember feeling +strangely like a ghost, surrounded by the same +friends, in the midst of familiar scenes, but not of +them, removed by death as far, maybe, as he was +from the mind and life I had with him. He had +been my altar and my church, I discovered.</p> + +<p>From that day forth I escaped from the meekness +of being merely a Methodist. I was Hagar going off +into the wilderness with my own Bible, leaving behind +me forever the Abraham and Rebecca brethren +and sisters of the established order. I was in danger +of raising up the very Ishmael of a mind against +them. But this passed. By nature I am short on +vindictiveness. I am not even respectable at this +point. I have known myself to relax and forgive +people whom I doubt if the Lord will ever forgive. +They seem to pass out of my thoughts like shadows +that obscure the light.</p> + +<p>This happened later. Directly after Lundy’s +death I was a very dangerous person, quite mad +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>with the pain and horror of what had happened to +him.</p> + +<p>I have a vivid picture of myself at this time one +day in my darkened house. I am sitting outrageously +straight, pale and wan in my black dress, but not +bowed down or weeping as a widow should be. And +I am being visited by a great preacher in our church +who has come to pray with me, to the end that I +shall find the grace to forgive certain brethren who +used my husband despitefully in his last days. But +I refuse to kneel or to pray or forgive these men. +Let God do it, I told him, since the Lord only knows +how and when to pardon us. I left them terribly in +His hands and sat with mine neatly folded, while +this prince of the Church parted his coat tails and +fairly shook the shadows of that sad place with his +petition in my behalf. Then he arose, faced about, +and stared at me.</p> + +<p>‘Their sins be upon their own heads,’ I retorted, +feeling very pale and weak, but tearless and determined.</p> + +<p>I may have referred to this incident in another +place, but I am copying it here to indicate that as +soon as that I was stripping my mind of religious +sentimentality and assuming a sensible relation to +the Lord, who believes profoundly in punishing +wickedness even if a good man commits it.</p> + +<p>Shortly after this I had an assignment from the +editor of ‘The Saturday Evening Post’ to go abroad +and write a series of articles about the women of the +Old World.</p> + +<p>I was seriously ill at the time, depleted in mind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>and body; but I accepted the commission, as a +gambler takes a bet, without giving the editor the +least intimation about my physical condition. You +cannot be overscrupulous in dealing with editors +without queering your own game. Very few of them +will arrange with a sick man to do a long piece of +work. My idea is to keep my word with them if I +die for it, and to leave them to take all the other +risks. Even at that I have been obliged to deny +myself the vanity of making many contracts with +them on account of knowing that I can write just +so many words a day, and that there are only three +hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Which is as +much as I am capable of morally in my relations +with them.</p> + +<p>On my way home, after making this arrangement, +it occurred to me that I would stop over at Dr. +Howard Kelly’s hospital in Baltimore and find out +exactly how ill I was; not that this would make any +difference in my plans to go abroad, but I wanted to +get some idea of the odds in my own body against +this achievement.</p> + +<p>Doctor Kelly was positive that I was in no condition +to go. I was a very sick person. If I persisted +in this undertaking, he predicted that I would be +brought home feet foremost, which in my opinion +is a very dull way to arrive.</p> + +<p>I sailed two weeks later, stirred around for six +months among the women in the various countries +of Europe and wrote my impressions of them. +Those articles would read now as old daguerreotypes +look of a far former generation. Some of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>great ones whom I met then are dead, like Frau +Cower of Berlin. I doubt if she would be great now +if she were living. Women have changed the definition +of their greatness since then. She was a neat, +dim little old woman with a piece of lace pinned like +a rosette on top of her gray hair. She had a patient, +enlightened, philosophical mind about the future +of her country women. The emperor reviewed his +troops that very day in September of 1911, but I do +not suppose Frau Cower had the least inkling of the +terrible future already dawning for German women. +My idea of her is that if she had known she would +have skipped the Great War by the length of a century +and gone on with her calculations as if that had +been an interruption in destiny. She had a long-distance +mind.</p> + +<p>Rosa Goldberg was the most notorious woman +in Germany then, but not the most influential. If +there was one with actual influence there at that +time, it was Alice Soloman. I have often wondered +what became of her. She had power and charm, a +certain beautiful enthusiasm that made her effective +with men. But Rosa was murdered. This was before +the time when it was conceivable to deal so +with even the worst of women in public life.</p> + +<p>Emma Goldman, a far worse woman, was quite +the fashion in this country then. She had her +disciples among a certain class of our decadent +intellectuals, to say nothing of the great following +in her own class. I remember her well, slouchily +dressed, with a scrubwoman’s figure, black hair, +straight and parted in the middle, black eyes, large +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>and strong, that missed focusing on other women’s +faces. Olive skin, flushed, thick, red lips, the lower +one loose. She taught dishonor and deserved death, +but worked like an evil worm at the foundation of +our social order for twenty years before she was even +banished. Which always seemed to me a futile sort +of gesture, in view of the fact that immigrants are +examined at Ellis Island for physical disorders and +are rejected on account of having a pimple, but are +permitted to enter with the most frightful diseases +of the mind.</p> + +<p>The point about this first adventure I made +abroad is that I survived it and came home head +foremost in the business of living as usual.</p> + +<p>I have survived a number of physicians who predicted +my death. It is not so difficult. You simply +make up your mind not to die of your complaint, +however fatal it sounds in the diagnosis, but to live +according to your spirit as much as possible. I am +not expecting to keep up the struggle indefinitely. +This body is not so substantial as it used to be. The +dear thing will drop off me some day like a worn-out +garment. But I shall have got the last shred of wear +and tear out of it. And I shall always remember in +paradise what a brave chance I had in it to do and +think and go about on my two feet, which in my +present mortal state still seems a safer way of traveling +than by wing.</p> + +<p>I do not pretend to be a grasping, discriminating +student of the Bible. I have chosen from it what I +need, but I cannot even claim to have read it through +consecutively. Many enlightening passages may +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>have escaped me, but I do not recall the portrait of +a single saint with wings in the Scriptures. Elijah +disappeared in a chariot of fire. Moses died like a +disappointed man. When they reappeared in that +cloud of witnesses, it was a cloud; nothing recorded +of their wings. After Jesus was transfigured, He +ascended into heaven. No need of wings.</p> + +<p>I think it is probably the mortal imaginations of +our preachers and artists have added this doctrine +of wings to saints, because they felt obliged to illustrate +by the familiar symbol of feathers the <i lang="la">modus +vivendi</i> of immortality to mortal minds. On the +contrary, the one authoritative description of how +we rise from the dust discreetly records that our +corruption puts on incorruption and this body shall +be raised a spiritual body. Only angels, those earlier +messengers sent to men, are recorded as having +wings. I do not suppose these beings ever were in +the flesh. I doubt if they are of the same stuff we +shall be. It would not surprise me if they turned out +to be the mere birds of heaven, and that the saints +will be stepping around as usual, very light on their +feet, maybe, but wingless.</p> + +<p>I do not recommend this idea to others, but to me +it is comforting. I have always felt the need of having +something firm to rest upon, even when I tuck +the head of my spirit beneath the wings of my imagination +and pass into a heavenly reverie. I am psychologically +opposed to being up in the mere air, +here or hereafter.</p> + +<p>The minds we have make slaves of us. We build +a city or take one. We make laws, establish our institutions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>and our covetousness in commerce. We call +this a civilization; but it is nothing, no more than +the dream of a transient world that never stands the +tests of the great realities which remain unshaken in +us beyond all our knowledge and powers assumed. +It is invariably destroyed, blown away before the +wind of some change in our minds. And we lie at +last buried deep in the dust of our endeavors. But +nothing sleeps in the dust. It must rise and live +again. So do we come up from the dark wilderness +of these disorders and start all over again after the +pattern of our own minds. Another dream, in which +men walk like somnambulists for centuries to the +same doom of death and dust regardless of God, even +when we call it a Christian civilization, missing the +way, the truth, and the life as we did before.</p> + +<p>The importance we attach to the workings of the +merely mortal mind seems to me to approach madness. +If for one moment we could escape from the +illusion created by our own faculties, we should perceive +that we make of ourselves the fools of all +creation. The sense to live is the only wit that really +counts, and we have less of that than any other +creature. We have only the sense to overcome, +achieve, and to destroy. A flea knows where to hop, +but we do not know. A dog knows the way home, +but the smarter a man is the more likely he is to lose +his way home. He can only think, believe, hope; +but he does not know the simplest things that the +beasts of the field never have to learn. He will drink +from a pool that a thirsty ass will pass by because +the ass knows the water is polluted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> + +<p>The very earth has more sense than we ever show. +It is not inanimate, but contains and uses all the +elements we call brains without having them incased +as ours are in a small bone shell. The life that +springs green and silent from its breast is more +obedient to law than we are, and survives us. It +knows a joy and peace in living that we never learn. +We are foolish to think the trees are not wise because +they do not speak.</p> + +<p>I have long suspected that the power of speech is +not a power at all, but a mere form of hysteria from +which the living that really know the truth never suffer +because they do not fear life or death as we do and +can afford to be calm and silent. The frailest flower +that blooms knows that it will rise from the dead in +the next season’s sun, breathe, feel again the dew +and rain. Therefore these little ones make no such +tragedy as we do of death. Their knowledge is +better than our faith in immortality. We make a +religion and an anguish of doubts about an incident +which all Nature, every Scripture, and our own instincts +prove is a senseless anxiety. We do live again +in the spirit if the very dust rises again in myriad +forms of beauty and strength.</p> + +<p>But no scientist would offer such evidence. He +must think it out, when this is something which +cannot be thought, but must be accepted as we take +our breath from the air without arguing about it. +And the very theologians will throw up their hands +in pious horror at such an idea, give it a bad name +like pantheism, as if this was the name of a peculiarly +damnable heresy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>My notion is that it is not our heresies but our +sins that damn us, and no Christian name we apply to +them will save us. I am no pantheist; I am one of +those humbler, more transient manifestations of the +will of God. The grass outlives me, the rose outblooms +in blossoms that praise Him better than +mortal deeds, and I know the stars outshine me, no +matter how immortal I am. As a spirit clothed in +celestial light, I doubt if I should amount to more +than one short beam in a universe filled with the +brilliance of His glory.</p> + +<p>To me, it appears sillily egotistical to give ourselves +such airs about being immortal. Everything +else is. The very stones are fertile and furnish +elements indispensable to life. We, indeed, are the +only created forms of life that entertain trembling, +despairing doubts about that. We are even stupid +and narrow-minded when our lid comes off and we +go insane. We stick to the beaten tracks of the mortal +mind, no real imagination in our delusions. The +asylums are filled with men and women who believe +themselves to be kings and queens or some other +great mortals. I have never heard of one who imagined +himself a disembodied spirit. The nearest they +ever come to that is by claiming to be disastrous +prophets. I have never heard of one who had the +glory of madness to believe himself a majestic oak or +even a blade of grass. The nearest approach I recall +was the poor young lunatic who thought he was a +grain of corn and invariably took to his heels at the +sight of a chicken. We show too many evidences of +ignominy to give ourselves airs, sane or insane.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>If I should take leave of my senses while I am still +in the flesh—for I do not expect to need such senses +when I am finally in the spirit, any more than flowers +take thought to bloom—I hope I shall swing out +into a more becoming conceit than the notion that +I am an article of diet suitable for a hen, or even the +Queen of Sheba. I have my doubts about whether +she was all she should have been, or she could not +have been traipsing after a man with Solomon’s +notorious reputation. My vanity would be better +served with the delusion of being an ever-blooming +rose. As it is, I suffer sometimes from the vague +regret that I missed blooming at the right time, the +weather of my years being inclement then and unsuited +to mere happiness.</p> + +<p>But this record will prove that I had my delusions +along with the rest of my kind, and that though +time and experience destroy the dearest illusions, we +do cling to the last to whatever delusion we adopt. +It is a bondage of the mind which we work up and +strengthen year by year until nothing remains but +a terrible obedience.</p> + +<p>What amazes me now is the shrewdness with +which I avoided various forms of bondage by which +women are so frequently defeated in their pursuit of +happiness.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII"> + XXXII + <br> + THE LADY POLITICIAN + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Without</span> taking thought I have avoided the conscience +of the modern woman, which is a very sensitive, +diligent, and unhappy conscience. I seem to +have lost step with my sex. No one honors more +than I do the sincerity of their purpose to reform, +improve, and save the world. But I mistrust their +judgment. I particularly mistrust their power to +achieve their own wills. We have always been +dominated in mind and conduct by men. We have +never been free moral agents, nor even immoral +ones. Cast your eye about and you will always see +the string some man pulls to move the puppet we +are.</p> + +<p>However it may appear to others I do not know, +but to me women seem to be more completely under +the dominion of men than ever before. The difference +is that formerly we were managed or mismanaged +by our husbands and fathers; now it takes a +whole political party to turn us about and use us for +their honor and glory; but they do it. If any one +calls attention to the amendments and laws we have +been instrumental in getting on the statute books, +I call your attention to the fact that the state of the +individual woman is not changed. The wife signs +away her property as usual if the husband needs it. +The mothers have less influence than ever before +upon the character and conduct of their sons. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>only political influence they have is by adding themselves +obediently in subordinate positions to the +great political parties. Never were there so many +handmaidens to politicians in this world. It is a less +elevating service than being a down-trodden ‘widow +indeed’ who was required to wash the feet of saints—presumably +male saints. They are now atoms of +public life, but men control public opinion. So watch +the atoms spin.</p> + +<p>The trouble is we can pass no amendment to the +Constitution that will change our own nature.</p> + +<p>How well I understand the predicament of that +young woman delegate to the Democratic convention +recently held in New York!</p> + +<p>No one will deny the frequent assertion made +through the press that the women delegates in this +convention were an admirable body of women, but +those who are most familiar with the attributes of +what men call admirable women will have their very +grave doubts about whether they had any more to +do than they were told with the final choice and +nomination of John W. Davis as our presidential +candidate, which was the very creditable performance +of what appeared at one time to be a convention +decidedly discreditable to the great party +it represented.</p> + +<p>If the women in it had been equal to the emergency, +they might at least have insisted upon a +physical examination of the contending candidates. +This would have eliminated some of the contestants +quietly and decently, as we bury the dead, without +so much scandal and with less than half the expense +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>incurred in getting rid of them. Right now we do not +know whether the livers and kidneys of Coolidge and +Davis are sound. But when we consider the casualties +in the White House due to electing men depleted +in health and vitality, this is as important an issue +before a nominating convention as any plank in +their respective platforms. More than half these +give way anyhow later on under pressure. But when +the man himself is sickly the chances are ten to one +he will not survive the intolerable burdens he has +assumed, and this is always a national tragedy.</p> + +<p>The ineffective person is always the shrewdest +critic of those who strive, however blindly, to +achieve. I seem to belong to that class, but I am +so located for the sake of discretion, not for purpose +of criticism. I do a bit of haphazard voting now and +then for the purifying of my purely conventional +conscience, much as one recites a prayer without +believing the Lord hears his petition. I know the +cards have been stacked and the successful candidate +for that office has been predestined. So I never +fash myself into a state of enthusiasm or animosity +over an election.</p> + +<p>The most significant evidence I have of the political +importance of women is the change in the character +of my own mail. Formerly it consisted entirely +of letters from admiring readers or indignant +readers of my books, or from those kind private +folk who are one’s dearest friends, even if one never +beholds their faces. They write by way of clasping +hands with you or exchanging confidences with you. +But now if a political campaign opens, I suppose +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>every woman receives as many letters as if she had +written a particularly appealing book. Every candidate +from the coroner type to the more iridescent +eloquent type who wants to be a congressman +or senator writes to solicit our votes.</p> + +<p>These are remarkably dull letters, couched in the +embarrassed language of an awkward man writing +to a respectable woman, whom he really does not +like, inviting her to vote for him. To me it seems a +frightful waste of postage, especially when the thing +bears a picture of the aspiring author. Yesterday I +had such a letter, ornamented with the printed +likeness of one who is running for the office of health +commissioner in this State, a man so grossly fat +that he has practically no lines in his face by which +a thought might be expressed. My idea of a health +commissioner would be a lean man with a vital +athletic expression.</p> + +<p>But my political psychology may be wrong. It is +possible that an obese commissioner might be moved +to preach a healthful gospel of abstinence and a balanced +ration. My impression is that they are all +glittering generalities so far as the health of the +people is concerned, and that the lady demonstrators +who travel like missionaries through all the +counties teaching girls to can and cook hold the +health of the next generation in their frail but diligent +hands. Nobody elects them. They get appointed +by hook or crook and do valiant service.</p> + +<p>In short, I have reached the eye-opening age when +a personal letter from the noblest statesman of them +could not move me to any real interest in his fate.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>Why should one vote? At the present moment +the highest official in this state is candidate for +reëlection without opposition. Personally, he bears +a faintly pathetic resemblance to Lord Byron. And +quite the contrary is true of him. He is not a poet. +He is totally lacking in that quality which inspired +Byron, banished, to lead an insurrection in a foreign +country against despotism. And we cannot banish +him! I have understood that he is an eminently +respectable family man, which really contributes +little to his eminence as a public servant. He can +lead a prayer meeting accompanied by the amen +chorus of the best brethren, but he cannot lead a +people.</p> + +<p>The instinct for personal liberty mentioned a +while ago has also led me to avoid participating in +the activities so popular and so ably conducted by +the various women’s organizations. Place yourself +within reach of the executive committee of any up-and-doing +group of women, and find out how much +time or strength you have left to spend upon your +own affairs! If you are a social climber, they will +give you prominence in exchange for as much faithful +service as you are capable of rendering. If you +desire recognition, which is the complimentary name +of publicity, you may have it as a reward for devoting +yourself to some department of public service +for the benefit of mankind, or for children, or for +charity.</p> + +<p>If by some fluke of circumstance you have earned +distinction, they can use you for the good of half a +dozen causes so completely that you will never have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>another half hour to devote to your own cause. +Henceforth you will be identified with their achievements. +You will not have one laurel left on your +brow which does not belong to womanhood at large. +If you belong to that ever-increasing volume of +women who crave self-expression, they can provide +more ways for you to express yourself than if you +were a mere Christian wife and the mother of ten +children. They are using up more wasted feminine +energy than any other power company known to +civilization.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIII"> + XXXIII + <br> + LIVING IN A BOOK + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">If</span> you have lived in one house all your life, it becomes +so familiar to you that you do not think of its +corners and angles, how the light comes and the +shadows fall through the windows. You do not +remember its upper chamber, because you are living +in that chamber, nor that quiet inner room where +you sometimes go to pray, because you are still +going in there, closing the door and falling upon +your knees when times are hard in your spirit, and +asking for a little comfort. But some day when the +door is shut and you are left outside, carried away +by some wind of destiny, bereaved of these intimate +associations with it, then you remember all the inside +of that house, every board in the walls, where +you slept and where you worked, the place you used +to sit with folded hands when the day’s work was +done.</p> + +<p>So it has been with me about the Bible. As long as +Lundy lived we were in it. It seems to me I was +always traveling its pages back and forth from the +old dispensation to the new dispensation, from one +Gospel to another Gospel, wandering around in +Revelation as one walks upon the shores of a strange +land, mystified.</p> + +<p>In those days it never occurred to me to quote the +Scriptures. I left Lundy to do that. I was not even +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>aware of being word-perfect in them. But after his +death they came back to me, and I had the use of +them as if they belonged to me at last according to +my own mind. I recall them by my association with +him. I use them right and left as he never would +have dared to use them. The little kind ones are like +bright footpaths that lead now more particularly +to my own God, which I used to travel with him in +the shadows. The great ones stretch away before +and after me beyond the limits of time and sense. I +do not try to reduce them to the dimensions of my +own thoughts; I simply spread myself in them and +feel immortality eased in all this space.</p> + +<p>When you have only one book you use it a great +deal. I have read many books, but I never had my +own personal rights to but one, the Bible. The +others belong to the authors who wrote them. They +have been created, but, broadly speaking, they are +not creative. The Bible is. I may be pardoned then +for referring to it frequently as the source from +which I have received most of my inspiration in +living and thinking.</p> + +<p>Now it is a mistake to fit your life to one or two +Scriptures when there is such a wide choice of them. +So when these moods of godly depression fall upon +me and I am feeling like a poor old How-Firm-a-Foundation, +or like a spiritual leaf that has been +used a long time for the fattening or healing of the +ungodly, I stir about in the Gospels for a better +prophecy of myself. Something like this, for example: +‘And he shall be like a tree planted by the +rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever +he doeth shall prosper.’</p> + +<p>Nothing is changed, you understand; the same +law of the spiritual world is demanding the laying +down of my life for His sake; but I get an extension +of that law for my own mortal sake. Somewhere, +sometime I shall be like a tree planted by the rivers +of water, and whatsoever I do shall prosper! I am +not above making a literal interpretation of such a +promise in the fairing weather of my mind. I begin +to feel greener, fresher in my boughs. Suddenly I am +conscious of many rivers of kind water that have +flowed close to the roots of my life. I have sinned +quite a good deal and come short of my own glories, +much less the Lord’s glory. Still I have not lost +much, only a few of my dearer treasures laid up +where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. I am +very well off here. After all, for a bush of my size I +have brought forth considerable fruit. I am not old; +I feel everlasting. Therefore let the years come; +time cannot defeat or harm me.</p> + +<p>In such a mood I can swing paragraphs by the +hour from the tip of my pen, or I can go forth and +plant a field, strutting in the conviction that whatsoever +I do shall prosper. It is a grand feeling, kin +to that liberty the old-fashioned preachers used to +claim when they made sure the Holy Ghost had +descended upon them and they fell upon their congregations +with power.</p> + +<p>It all comes to this again and again when you get +the chance to see through your glass clearly for a +moment: The Scriptures were made for us. They are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>the literature of what we are, the great reference +book of man. We are not created like victims to +fulfill them. By living we do fulfill them, no matter +how we live, in the flesh or in the spirit, or, like the +mortal hyphens we really are, halfway between. I +use my Scriptures this way, regardless of what may +happen to the favorite creeds and doctrines of other +people. The idea of a church God or a national +God is too diffused to meet my personal needs and +peculiarities.</p> + +<p>I believe this is true of every man.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell now how I missed even the faintest +association with the Scriptures in the minds of the +people who knew me best. Maybe it was because +I was never prominent in church work; maybe it +was because after the shadows fell upon me and I +had premonitions of Lundy’s fate I did not ask the +prayers of all Christian people, nor take even one +saint into my confidence lest he should suffer by this +betrayal. In any case, after he was gone, and I +stepped forth in my own written word caparisoned +in so many of his favorite passages from the Bible, +some of these people were scandalized as if a light +and humorous person masqueraded in sacred garments. +My own church regarded me askance for a +long time. I was never offended. On the contrary, I +comprehended their anxiety with a sort of sympathy.</p> + +<p>Comparatively few people inherit the Scriptures; +they get them as we Protestants accuse the Catholics +of getting theirs—predigested, interpreted, laid +down for them in creeds and doctrines. My poor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>brethren could not be sure that I would not presently +rise up in the insolence of my own mortal mind and +deny the divinity of Jesus Christ or commit some +other damnable heresy. This is frequently the way +with those who interpret the word for themselves. +They want to square it with some half-developed +science which will be changed or refuted to-morrow, +or they go off on a purely intellectual tangent. As a +spiritually endowed person I have always had the +sense to look down upon our finite reasoning powers +and to despise my intellectual tangents.</p> + +<p>I have discovered, however, that in dealing with +Christians of whatever denomination it is discreet +and valorous to use my mortal wits as shrewdly as +if I dealt with the impious. They may not be subject +to the same vices, but they have a record as +long as the history of man for persecution. That is +still an active principle of the religious conscience. I +had my doubts about whether a mere woman would +be considered eligible to a church trial for heresy, +not having heard of one in my times who had suffered +this distinction. Still, it was just as well to +settle down somewhere beyond the reach of this +honor. So, long since, I have allowed my membership +to lapse. Not even a presiding elder can summon +me before a quarterly conference to be tried +either for my sins or my views concerning this or +that doctrine. I am a Methodist unconfined, outside +in the Lord’s pasture at large. If my church +puts on a million-dollar drive for funds, I dutifully +give my widow’s mite and spend my real Christian +charity on a family of Hardshell Baptists who are in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>graver need of help than a rich and prosperous +church.</p> + +<p>When the Southern Methodist Church unites +with the Northern branch of this same denomination, +as now seems imminent, I contemplate reducing +the widow’s mite of my contribution. As +the devoted bystander of the Southern Methodist +Church, I am opposed to this Union; not on account +of prejudices connected with the reconstruction +period, when we escaped their maudlin sentimentality +concerning the negroes by withdrawing from +them. I merely remember that as a warning, but +my real objection is that we can be better brethren +in Christ further apart.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIV"> + XXXIV + <br> + HAPPINESS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> trouble is that we can use the Scriptures only as +far as they will go, and those we have do not seem to +be complete. I have a vague hungry feeling that we +have not discovered all of them. There must be a +few tablets still buried somewhere thousands of +years deep in brighter dust which record a little +happiness, something to ease the strain of so many +sacrifices and holy joys. I have had such joys. It is +like coming up through great tribulations and sitting +for a moment beneath your halo with tears on your +cheeks. I am not complaining, you understand; it +is a grand feeling, but too poignant to be really restful, +as if you had been exalted by a deed or a sacrifice +and must choose just holiness when you are still +in the flesh and feel the mortal need of relaxing some.</p> + +<p>I know by the witness of my own spirit that we +have missed a Gospel or two which contained the +strictly human touch in words. Paul comes somewhere +near it in his tender letters to Timothy, but +all these apostles were made too grave by their +suffering to catch the light of that message we should +have. The place where it really belongs is in those +passages quoted from Jesus. I am certain they failed +to record all he said, or that it has been lost, or that +it is still hidden away in the archives of time. He +was fearless, merciful, so good at remembering that +we are dust, he would have made a little allowance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>for that kind of happiness humans need; not an indulgence +in sin, but an indulgence in life.</p> + +<p>I do hope it is not blasphemous to say that I can +almost see Jesus in such a mood; His people at ease +about Him. It would be a quiet, bright morning +before the multitudes began to gather. And He will +have looked at these chosen to keep and defend the +Word with that blessing look even we can bestow +upon children whom we love. And He will have +said, ‘Little children, be happy!’ Something like +that He must have said, knowing what travails they +were to pass through and how greatly they would +need the respite of light-heartedness. But nothing +of the kind is recorded anywhere in the Bible.</p> + +<p>The word ‘happy’ does occur at rare intervals, +but it is too fearfully qualified. ‘Happy is the man +that feareth alway,’ says Solomon. And Job in +great pain catches his breath with this: ‘Happy is +the man whom God correcteth.’ And James says, +‘We count them happy which endure.’ All of which +means, fortunate are they who are prepared for the +worst, take their punishments with meekness, and +endure with courage. These are the evidences of a +good character and a noble mind, but not my idea of +real happiness. One wearies of worrying all the time +with his best attributes, especially in plain sight of +the wicked, who do seem to flourish without any +such attributes. I have never taken this as hard as +Jeremiah did; still, I have had my feelings.</p> + +<p>One day Jeremiah’s virtues irked him. He was too +aloof and lonesome. And he had what you may call +an altercation with the Lord:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + +<p>‘Righteous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with +thee: yet let me talk with thee of thy judgments: +Wherefore doth the way of the wicked prosper? +wherefore are all they happy that deal very treacherously? +Thou hast planted them, yea, they have +taken root: they grow, yea, they bring forth fruit: +thou art near in their mouth, and far from their +reins.’</p> + +<p>He goes on reminding the Lord of his own obedience +and how he has borne his trials until his sense +of outraged justice gets the better of him, and he exclaims, +‘Pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, +and prepare them for the day of slaughter.’</p> + +<p>I do not suppose the very treacherous are happy +and I have never wanted the wicked pulled out like +sheep for the slaughter, but I have always wanted to +ask a truly bad man who seemed to be having a good +time if he really was enjoying himself.</p> + +<p>I have always had a hankering after some cheerful +salvation, suitable and sanctifying to me as a human +being in this present world, where I know what I am +doing and what I want. I feel that I have a buried +talent for just happiness, a sort of incandescence of +my own nature which longs to shine. It seems to me +that I have never made my happy sounds in living. +I have missed that laughter which is the speech of a +merry heart. But I have heard it many a time in a +crowd and always flirted my head around to see who +made it. Usually a young person whose burdens are +still being borne by others.</p> + +<p>But once, I remember, it was an old woman standing +in her own dooryard watching two children, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>serious and absorbed in their play. Such a figure! +Tall and gaunt, so straight and finely posed, her +homely dress might have been a rag flung over an +imperishable ideal. Such a face! Wrinkled, brown, +rough, like a crude verse written by somebody like +Ossian; the wind and the weather of life had passed +over it, but now the sun in her eyes, the simplicity +of the deepest wisdom made humorous upon her +smiling lips. No comeliness anywhere, but that +beauty of honest happiness in every line. I think of +her as a song I saw once in the flesh set to a good +stout tune of laughter.</p> + +<p>I have a distinct recollection of such people +through the whole of my life. They do exist—women +who have survived all their fears and learned +their burdens by heart and stand canonized by that +undefeated look of happiness. I have seen someone +go by who looked like a joyful traveler on his way to +some happiness he had earned, carrying himself, you +may say, with the long light stride of a good conscience. +At such times I have felt the light of my +wings as if I had seen the witness of my own hopes +go by.</p> + +<p>These are the only people I have ever envied. +They have an expression of animation not intellectual, +but vital, so different from that conquered look +of peace which I am always fearing will settle upon +my face before I know what they have learned, not +by thinking, but by some happier use they have +made of living.</p> + +<p>I cannot now recall when this idea first took +possession of me, but it was far back in the years—that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>the life I was living was not mine, but a sentence +imposed upon me by fate, to be served faithfully. +And then as a reward further on I should have +my very own life, which would be different. I was +not so concerned as my husband to win heaven. I +had an impression then which has persisted with me +to this day, that for all we know this life may be a +rest the Lord gives us between long spells of eternity. +I anticipated some place in my years where happiness +would begin, as tired people look forward to a +vacation.</p> + +<p>Shortly after ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife’ was published, +it seemed to me I saw it, as you look a long +way down the road and see a wider brighter place +where you turn in through a gate and enter your own +house. I remember saying something to Lundy +about this. We would get away presently from all +the cares we had ever had, take a little house in the +country and begin to live happy ever after. I remember +his silence, the look he gave me. If in the +last day when we are called there is one who hears, +but cannot rise from his dust, he will have just that +look of terrible comprehension.</p> + +<p>It comforts me now to remember that not even +in this dark time when the shades were deepening +about him did I ever raise my hands to heaven and +cry, ‘Who shall deliver me from the body of this +death?’ I think well of myself that my one concern +was to keep him and comfort him as long as I could +reach him. Maybe I shall never achieve happiness, +but one thing I have had—the terrible wisdom of +love. I cannot doubt that I have received the best +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>of my life and nearly every gift that prospered in +me from my association with Lundy. What really +troubles me sometimes is whether or not he might +have fared better in the spirit if he had been free as a +monk to seek his sacrifices and renunciations.</p> + +<p>I think now happiness is a thing you practice like +music until you have skill in striking the right notes +on time. We have no vocation for it. And I had no +practice, not a day when I was free from care and +one great anxiety—and one must be free to be +happy. I know that much about it by having missed +it.</p> + +<p>I came nearer to what happiness must be, a sort of +deliverance from the things that are, after I began +to do creative work. Once I had a pen in my hand +and the use of my faculties, the casements of all my +darkness were flung wide and I escaped into a very +bright, quiet, good world of thoughts. Every memory +from my earliest childhood came back to me, +luminous substances to be worked into words. It +was like weaving love and deeds and the beautiful +colors of every sensation upon the loom of my mind. +What I accomplished was as nothing to the visions +I had. If, as Matthew Arnold claimed, genius consists +in the power to recall, I may lay some claim to +having genius. In one small room all my lights and +darkness came; people that I had seen, but never +knew, were suddenly revealed to me, so that I could +write down the very secrets of their hearts. Men +and women, long since dead, lived again and waited +there close as life to be used in case I needed them for +a paragraph or two. Things that Lundy had said, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>poetry and philosophy that he had read to me, piled +up like notes on my desk, changed, you understand, +by the alchemy of my own mind, but still the parents +of my thoughts. When I think of the vast stores of +material I have had, the wonder and grief to me is +that I have made such a dim and poor use of them.</p> + +<p>Once you get away from the Word, any discussion +of religion is unprofitable and apt to become +acrimonious. For this last page or two I have felt +my own spiritual gorge rising, a mean and distasteful +sensation which has no place in this record. It is +better to go back to my original speculations on +happiness.</p> + +<p>This is not a thing to tell, for it concerns the more +intimate annals of my mind and is set down here +with the same apology one should make for shouting +in public when in an exalted spiritual mood. But +here it is. Many a time when I have filched a grand +thought or some finer truth out of life to write down, +I am too moved to do it. I get up and pace the floor. +I cast a thankful look through the ceiling at my +heavenly Father, or I rush bareheaded out of doors +in the bleakest weather to cool off this happiness, so +that presently I may return and copy it into words.</p> + +<p>If this is happiness, I have had it; but my suspicion +is that I may have experienced then only the pangs +of a great joy. It is not a thing achieved by inspiration, +even if you write an epic or paint a noble picture. +You have produced something. My idea of +happiness is something you get. It is intaking, not +creative. You cannot think it. It comes to you in +the reality of personal experience, selfish and satisfying. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>What I want to know is how I have missed +it. Is it by some infernally digestive attitude of my +mind toward common human experience which consumes +my illusions, or is it on account of circumstances +over which I have no control, or have I just +led myself like a wanderer walking in a blind circle +between two worlds?</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXV"> + XXXV + <br> + THE LATTER DAYS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I have</span> often wondered what becomes of us here in +this life. For what we were in the beginning does +pass away, and we become the millstone around +our own neck. No matter how good we try to be or +how bad we actually are, we barely keep up appearances. +It is not time that changes us, but our +own desires, ambitions and the fierce struggle we +make to get what we want. The body breaks under +the strain, our faculties begin to wabble like shooting +stars, even if they leave a trail of light behind them. +We lose our grip, let go and stand aside, but not +satisfied. No matter how wise we have been, we +grow simple. No matter how rich, we become mendicants +searching the faces of youth for a little +praise or recognition, ready to accept any flattery, +however obvious, disposed to keep our noses and +let out that long plaint of weariness and disillusionment +peculiar to our condition.</p> + +<p>Many years ago there was a distinguished Methodist +preacher in Tennessee. He rose so high in the +ranks of his brethren that we called him a divine, +and he had some kind of double-D title conferred +upon him. He was a good man and did valiant +service for his Lord and for the Church. At last his +strength began to fail. Some power of the Presence +went out of him as it always does when the magnetism +of personality dies down in a preacher. His +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>sermons lengthened intolerably, which is the final +symptom a minister in our Church shows before the +bishop and presiding elders superannuate him. No +congregation wants the Word drooled to it even by +a saint. So this old man was retired on his niggardly +little pension and went to live with his married +daughter.</p> + +<p>One day I met him on the street, pushing a baby +carriage with his youngest grandchild in it. He +wore his pastoral clothes, stiff collar, and white +bow tie. His linen was as white as the apron of a +neat nursemaid. But what a look in his eye, an expression +of tears! Isaiah demoted! Nothing humanly +unkind had happened to him. His daughter +had probably taken this method of airing the baby +and getting her father to take exercise at the same +time. But when you have preached salvation with +power from the pulpit for fifty years, it is worse than +a fall from grace to be reduced to pushing a baby +carriage.</p> + +<p>I halted to wish him good-morning and to admire +the baby. He did not care much for this morning, +and let the baby go for a moment; he wished +to say something to me.</p> + +<p>‘If you knew what old age really is, you would +pray for death while you are young!’ he quavered.</p> + +<p>I tried to comfort him, but he was too terribly +wise to be comforted.</p> + +<p>‘You know,’ he went on, ‘I am not supposed to +be of sound mind. So they give me little tasks like +this to keep me occupied,’ regarding the infant +ruefully.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> + +<p>‘When you have been ordained and preached +the gospel for many years, and moved men by the +spirit, it’s a terrible experience to be set aside as of +no further consequence. I may act a little queer; +you do when misfortune and defeat overtake you in +your old age. But if I behaved as senselessly as a +lot of young men do, I’d be hailed before a lunacy +commission!’</p> + +<p>And this was twenty years ago, when nobody +thought of summoning an alienist to determine the +mental responsibility of a youth who had run amuck +and committed a crime.</p> + +<p>As I grow older and feel the changes that wisdom +and experience make in me, and learn to sit down +more to husband my failing strength and to keep +silent longer when younger people are exploiting +the foolishness of their wits, I often think of that +old man toddling feebly behind the baby carriage, +shorn of all his earthly glories save the insignia of +his long pastoral coat tails, despised because his +mind had passed the spring and summer seasons of +animal wit and aggressiveness, but pathetically wise.</p> + +<p>I am determined to avoid his fate by taking +thought now while my will is strong, and I have +fairly good business sense, and still reign supreme +in my own estimation to be spoofed or cajoled by +the flattery of being merely humored. I am already +old enough to fix a measuring eye upon any younger +person who undertakes to pacify me with the mere +assurance that such-and-such a thing is all right; +nothing is going to break; everything is greased and +the clutch is working properly. I have known myself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>to get out of the car and find something wrong +and ready to break, and much of it not greased, +and the clutch needing to be relined.</p> + +<p>This sort of enterprise does not enhance your +reputation for sweetness and light among young +people, but we must simply keep up our courage +and stand the gaff. If you are a woman, and have +passed the age of control by your merely feminine +charms, the only thing left is to exercise sufficient +authority to put the fear of God in these youngsters +and sit tight. My grandfather was not so far +wrong when he was dying and ordered us who were +about to supersede him in living out of the room! +That was the last act of authority performed by a +gallant gentleman who showed a proper contempt +for sniveling youth.</p> + +<p>I do not know how it happens, but as we grow +older our friends and relatives become miraculously +younger. We seem to survive too many of those +companions with whom we started in life and passed +our achieving years. As our infirmities increase, they +wax stronger, and we become no more than a memory +sitting in the chimney corner. However generous +and considerate they are of your feeling and comfort, +you have lost your standing among them. The +consequences are inevitable. You cannot hold your +hand with them. With the best intentions, they are +ready to take up your burdens and manage your +affairs, which is really a tender way of taking your +life away from you and leaving you in your old age +without the means of supporting your own vanities +and self-respect.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>Never again can you show how much better +judgment you have than they have in matters of +management and economy! You may be permitted +to hold your dear old yellow deeds, though frequently +in a weary moment you also surrender +them; but they have come into real possession of +your property and they are inclined to use it recklessly, +according to this speeding, spending new +world they are making for themselves, while you +become the helpless pensioner upon your own hard-earned +bounties.</p> + +<p>Nothing like that shall happen to me. I have observed +young people very carefully. They are really +the pensioners upon our wisdom and reared upon +our earnings. If every man and woman past sixty +should suddenly die, there would be one grand +wake of a funeral, then this world would rock upon +its foundations and go to pieces. I give youth +thirty days to destroy the whole thing. What I +mean is that we are very important the older we +grow, and for conscience’ sake should endeavor to +live as long as possible in full possession of our powers +and affairs.</p> + +<p>I have sometimes considered passing my last days +writing a book of gospels for the aged, designed to +stimulate their courage and sense of self-importance. +I have observed that we begin to lose them when we +lose the purely physical attributes of strength and +animation. This is that period when the mind clears +and can be used most effectively according wisdom +and experience, instead of those emotions which +inevitably affect our actions and judgments during +our younger years.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>The time comes when these friends and these +relatives who have grown up long after we grew up +will gather around you out of respect, affection, and +politeness; but you are a short circuit. There will be +such a divergence in your point of view from their +points of view that no common ground of conversation +or comradeship remains. They will be sitting +up with you off and on in this manner as if you were +the dear dead body of an ancestor, although you +may be getting your breath as usual and looking +straight through those innocent young things, too +polite to read aloud what you see going on inside of +them.</p> + +<p>The thing to do then is not to retire to your own +room like a sundown old cat, or like a pathetically +forgiving old woman, but to exile them. Send them +back to sink or swim in the world they have made +for themselves, and keep yours. Live and die under +your own roof, even if you do it alone. I have a suspicion +that it is a lonely passage, even if everybody +is present.</p> + +<p>I willed the world to these young powers and +princes ten years ago when I came to this valley. +They can have it. I am willing any time to spare +them a few words of advice about how to conduct +it, and I like to step around in it once in so often to +see how things are going. But I reserve this small +one, laid off like a garden between these hills and +fitted to me as a fine old tune is fitted to the simple +words of a good old hymn.</p> + +<p>Once you begin to fumble according to your own +light with a denominational idea of God or to mix +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>politics with your religion, your light goes out and +you find yourself being tried for heresy or in some +brotherhood which denies the divinity of Jesus, +whereas if you had your own right mind toward the +Lord you would know that any brotherhood which +denies Jesus is apt to be a vindictive corporation +organized against all men who do not belong to that +union. We are not brothers except according to the +way and the life of the great Galilean. I myself +cannot pretend to be more than the disgusted stepbrother +of all modernists in the Church and of red +radicals in general.</p> + +<p>But after all we spend most of our centuries maneuvering +in the right direction. It is only now and +then that a demoniacal cat-fit starts somewhere, as +in Russia at the present time. The hysteria spreads +as demoniacal dancing did in the middle centuries, +but it dies down. The whole thing comes from some +monstrous mob ignorance of the spirit. The individual +Russian still believes in his God, but the evil +forces of stronger minds are exploiting him.</p> + +<p>The thing that grieves is the casualties among the +innocent along the way.</p> + +<p>Here is a poor old bishop who has written a book +in which he denies a personal deity and doubts there +ever existed such a historical character as Jesus +Christ. On the cover of his book is the emblem of +Soviet Russia, the hammer and the sickle. Beneath +that is the red star, emblem of the workers’ party in +America, and the first sentence of the book is a quotation +from Karl Marx, ‘Religion is the opium of +the people.’ I am touched by that old man’s predicament +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>as I am sometimes at the sight of an old +Confederate soldier who had a brave record, but +who has lost his wits and goes about decorated with +cheap pewter and brass medals; only this poor soul +has got them published on the cover of his book instead +of being pinned upon his breast.</p> + +<p>I have noticed a certain thing especially about +brilliant men. They retain the use of their faculties +long after they lose their judgment. If one of them +remains in business too long after the prime of life, +he is apt to slip up and make an investment which +costs him the whole of a hard-earned fortune. If he +is a thinker and an authority upon some obtuse subject, +he is apt to lose his grip, take a header and show +up among the spiritists, as in the case of Sir Oliver +Lodge, who appears to have retained his thinking +powers long after he lost the sense to use them.</p> + +<p>It would not surprise me if H. G. Wells turned out +to be a religious fanatic in his last days. These +people suffer some kind of reverse in mind. They go +off on tangents. So this innocent old bishop with +the ascetic countenance and a noble Christian life +behind him lost the rudder of his faculties, and is +now being exploited by those arch madmen, the +communists. He has apparently reached the mimetic +stage of senility, got his metaphors mixed, and is +trying to impersonate both the grand old bishop and +the grand old communist so magnificently interpreted +in the first chapters of ‘Les Miserables.’</p> + +<p>Old men are sometimes subject to great vanities +of the soul without any wisdom. How else does one +of them get the idea of calling himself the Episcopus +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>Bolsheviscum et Infidelium? Instead of being tried +for heresy, he should be rescued, put away in a +quiet, comfortable place and allowed to fan himself +out according to his illusions. He is obviously a +good old man who has been tricked and flattered +by designing men and their still more designing +propaganda. Somebody has reversed the lever of +his mind, else his training in spiritual consciousness +would have insured him against being upset by +discovering traces of our Scriptures in mythology +and every heathen religion and philosophy. These +pagans, the very barbarians and savages, naturally +borrow, plagiarize and take the truth as we do, frequently +veiled in tradition. We all have the same +God and must feel the stirrings of His image in us. +If this man had been in his right senses, does any +one believe that the study of astronomy could have +possibly upset his strictly Christian faith? Can +what we know or suspect about a purely physical +universe affect the everlasting fact that our spirit +does bear witness to the truth of such Scriptures as +the Ten Commandments, the twenty-third Psalm +and the Sermon on the Mount?</p> + +<p>Words are dangerous things. They lead to heresy +trials now, and they formerly led many martyrs to +the stake. I suppose the good Bishop still believes +in Providence, but here he is in his old age trying to +liquidate his God into natural law. Somebody has +stolen that many pages of his mind or he would +know there never was a law without a lawmaker.</p> + +<p>‘Banish gods from the skies and capitalists from +the earth!’ he cries.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> + +<p>Well, that has been done in Russia. Religion certainly +is the opium of the people there. Never has +the world seen such a politically pious people. They +sleep, indeed, but what uneasy slumber is this that +filches all a man has and degrades him by his +very sacrifices! Imagine living under a government +which permits its people to prosper for a few years, +in order that it may step in and confiscate their +wealth and thus reduce them once more to the direst +poverty of a national ideal where the only capitalist +is this rogue of a government and the only god is +the pickled body of an arch-fiend who even in death +imposed his monstrous will upon them.</p> + +<p>My feeling is that every man is entitled to his +own God, which is the same God no man can escape. +And heaven deliver me from living in a country +where there are no capitalists! My idea would be to +live in one where everybody would be in neighborly +reach of one. But at that I am this close kin to the +bishop in the perversity of my mind; I should like to +see all communists and radicals banished from this +country before they pollute the minds of the ignorant, +irresponsible, and unwary, who are the real +poor we have always with us, even if some of them +are learned and rich.</p> + +<p>My tides are falling. I have no longer the mortal +power to believe everything and hope everything. +I must leave hopes now for those who need them +more than I do.</p> + +<p>When you are passing into the afternoon of your +years it is wise to break the habit you used to have +of planning for the future, because your future is behind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>you, as some Smart Aleck has said. It is sensible +to economize in hopes, because they are depleting +when you no longer have the power to achieve +them. I have planted all my trees years ago. Presently +I shall be obliged to sit beneath their shade +and fold my hands. Even then I know I shall not be +contented with just peace. I shall be looking and +wishing for a little happiness.</p> + +<p>When you are about to matriculate into old age +you speculate a good deal about how you will feel +then. I am thinking it would be a grand thing to live +long enough to grow simple and full of faith and the +artless happiness I had as a child. Old people do +sometimes; they come again into that eager, snooping +curiosity the very young have. They go about +wondering and getting themselves happily deceived +as we keep terrors and anxieties from little children. +It is a sweet and blessed state.</p> + +<p>Heaven preserve me from becoming a grand old +woman and being obliged to keep my dignity and +mind sitting up overwhelming others to the last! +I should hate to pass out as one of my grandfathers +did. He was very old, but he retained to the end an +outrageously overbearing use of his faculties. All of +us who were his meeker posterity had gathered +respectfully about his bedside, not tearful, because +he was intolerant of tears and we dared not weep. +Presently he swept the whole bowed company with +one glittering gray glance and commanded us to +leave him alone.</p> + +<p>‘I will not be stared out of countenance at the +very last!’ he gasped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> + +<p>So he died with all of us hidden behind the bed +peeping at him.</p> + +<p>I want some one to hold my hand then, and to hear +many kind voices soothing me and praising me as if +I had been a dear good old child for a long time. I +want to be reduced to that innocency of the ‘such as’ +when I go hence, and maybe trailing some fragment +of the same cloud of glory with which I came from +God who was my home.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVI"> + XXXVI + <br> + WHY WORSHIP EUROPE? + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">We</span> never can be sure what it was that gave us a bad +cold, and for some reason we invariably speculate +about that as if it made a difference. So it is with +getting to be an old person when we have always +felt young. I suppose we do grow old, but we do not +know it until suddenly the fact comes upon us. The +curtain drops behind us, all those years when we +were young pass into memory, and we see the whole +of life from a soberer, wiser, different point of view. +Our very self-consciousness gets a stoop in the +shoulders, and though we may go on for a time with +a square-shouldered air we are not the same.</p> + +<p>About this time that change took place in me. I +shall never know whether it was the death of my +husband, ill-health, or that six months spent in +Europe, but some vivacity of the spirit was gone +when I came home. Life had been bent somewhere +within. I felt the weariness of wisdom, such as one +gets from the world. And I never had it until this +time—a curious depression about the mortal fate +of man. I was so outrageously tamed that I lost the +habit of making dogmatic statements, which had +always been a refreshing insolence of the mind with +me, as bearing arms must be with a soldier of fortune. +It seemed to me that I had been demoted and +suddenly civilized.</p> + +<p>Whatever may have been the cause I do not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>know, but in my opinion it was Europe, that aged +me. It is an old book of history, illustrated with +the scenes and architecture of former, younger, more +spirited races of men. The countries I saw could +never have been produced by the people who are +now living in them, with the possible exception of +England. I do not like Britishers, but involuntary +respect compels me to hand it to Englishmen wherever +I see them. They have the weakest chins in +the Old World and the strongest wills still to survive +and achieve.</p> + +<p>I cannot understand Americans who worship the +life, culture, and mental attitude of these failing +civilizations. But they do. Nothing, not even the +Great War and our experiences then with their +rapacity and their resentment of our qualities can +cure us of this obsession. If the League of Nations +had been called the League of Arts, nothing could +have kept us out of it. We spend more every +year staring at their scenery, buying their pictures, +statues, tapestries, and the very stones of their ancient +castles than would be required to open every +door in the world to our commerce, our inventions, +our morals, and our institutions, all of which are +more vigorous and vastly superior to anything along +the same lines in Europe.</p> + +<p>But we seem determined to degrade our own +powers to achieve better things by this idealism of +old things abroad. We note disparagingly the imitative +characteristics of the negro race in their relation +to the white races, which has in fact delayed the development +of their peculiar genius in many ways; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>but we show the same tendencies toward European +culture with less excuse. I suppose we buy their old +things because we feel the lack of the tone of time +in our civilization and collect this stuff to produce +that effect.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, there is no virtue in the tone +of time. Virtue comes alone from our own achievements. +We cannot mellow what we are by what we +hang on our walls. This is cheating, in my opinion, +such as we do when we chase our ancestors back until +we derive a coat of arms from some old swashbuckling +knight of the fourteenth century. Very +few of them would be acceptable now in decent +society. It seems to me safer and more respectable +not to admit descending from any further back than +our original pioneer American blacksmith ancestors. +This is good stock, cleaned and charged with the +noblest virtues by the courage with which they +endured hardships and built a great civilization. +Benjamin Franklin’s sister made soap and sold it +to her patrons in Philadelphia for a livelihood. It +seems to me a more honorable record to hand down +to posterity than that of a seventeenth lady whose +only distinction was that she had a title inherited, +not earned, and that she sat to a great artist for her +portrait.</p> + +<p>Europe is childish, overbearing, grasping, like an +old man. We ought to contribute liberally to its +support on that account, as we do to aged parents; +but we ought not to ape the senility of old age. +We do now limit the quota of immigrants from these +countries, but it seems to me even more important +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>to limit the number of American tourists who go +abroad to the aged and mature. The youth of this +country should be kept at home until their characters +and ideals have been firmly established. I was +forty years old before I went over there, confirmed +and certified in my convictions as an American +citizen, but it was a long time before I recovered +my own spirit and wiped the shadows of a weaker +world from my mind. Even now I cannot be sure. +It seems to me that I detect a foreign substance at +times in my thoughts, not so firm or sound as real +living makes thinking. And I have known a great +many people who never do repent of Europe after +they have indulged in it. They get an air of aloofness +and superiority. They are sick and disgusted +with our honest sins. They have acquired a decadent +taste for vice as if vice were one of the arts of +Europe, as indeed it is. Now it does seem to me that +if we must be wicked we ought to be normally and +healthily wicked and call our sins by their right +names. It is a sign of degeneracy to be so virtuously +sensitive and proud of your vices as so +many men and women of older nations have grown +to be.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVII"> + XXXVII + <br> + THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">A young</span> man with a mind of high degree and an +extensive literary style recently shot off this in a +magazine article: ‘Gossips are people who have +only one relative in common, but that relative the +highest possible, namely, God.’ He might have +exchanged places with his nouns, written it: ‘People +are gossips who have only one relative in common,’ +and hit more nails on the head. But at that, he +missed by half the number we have in common.</p> + +<p>The nearest relative of every mortal man that +always survives him is the earth. He is atom and +acid kin to it. He springs from it and returns to it, +laid back into it, earth to earth and dust to dust, +which is closer kin at last than he ever was to his +up-and-speaking relatives. He bears but one relation +to God, a spiritual resemblance, either real or fancied. +Lacking that, he sustains literally no relation +to God beyond that of mere material scrapped and +to be used again for another form of perishable life, +vegetable or flesh. The spirit of him in this case is a +disease to be cured by some divine method with +which no man is acquainted, whatever the theologians +may claim to know about it.</p> + +<p>The wisest of us do not actually know much. We +can only believe according to the quality of our +minds. The favorite notion used to be that such +spirits went through a severe smelting process, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>similar to that of four thousand degrees centigrade +by which pure gold is now extracted from quicksilver, +but not, I understand, in paying quantities. +I am merely suggesting this, not as a doctrine, much +less a dogma, but by way of speculating upon the +possible method of purification. Personally, I find +it disturbing and unprofitable to dwell upon the reclaiming +processes of damnation. I have seen too +many damned people in this world, and been too +frequently damned myself, not to know that we +damn ourselves, and that by an act of will and faith +we can always escape from this sense of guilt, which +settles the whole doctrine of punishment so far as I +am concerned.</p> + +<p>But the point I wish to make now is that we are +all conscious of being kin to the earth, though comparatively +few have more than a creed sense of +being related to God. It is a thing we are taught, +but really learn to feel. The man who begins life +next to land never forgets. He may come up in the +world and be carried by his illusions of success far +from its life and loveliness, but there come wearying +days in his countinghouse when his thoughts fly +back like homing birds to that quiet place. His own +people may be dead and gone, or he may have lost +the sense of kinship to them; but he remembers still +where the shadows fell upon the grass, as a child +far from home remembers his mother’s face. It is +the child in him longing for the comfort of that +ancient mother of all men.</p> + +<p>If he has lost out and gone down in the world with +a bad conscience, the same thing happens. There +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>comes a woeful day when his tears rise like a tide +and he knows if he could go back, fling himself beneath +the shade of a certain tree for a long, long +time, the silence and goodness of the earth would +cure and restore him. It would not, but this is the +way he feels. The sensation proves and defines the +sanctity of our relation to the earth.</p> + +<p>As to those other people, born in cities as chickens +are hatched in an incubator, they have the same +instinct changed to silliness. They are like stepchildren +who do not know how to love the earth; +still, they have their transient cravings for its blessings. +But few of them can bear to live with it, because +its weather and its silence is terrible to them. +They are really inebriates, living by the intoxication +of the eye and the ear upon the vast confusion +of cities and crowds. They may be strangers there, +without home or friends, but they require this frightful +motion and noise as an addict must have his +drug. They cannot bear the solitude of silent +places or the diminishing companionship of their +elder brethren, the trees. They are waifs blown like +leaves in the wind the world makes in passing. They +never had the capacity to live, and so substitute +motion and noise for life as a sort of artificial respiration.</p> + +<p>I do not know anything more tragic to contemplate +than these lost children of the earth. They may +be learned men or successful men; they may be +dutiful or merely beautiful women; but if you dare +to realize how lacking in quality and the original +stamina of life they are, thrust them back upon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>the earth from which they sprung for longer than +a vacation period, and watch them go to pieces. +They are parasites, consumers. They have lost the +valor to produce their own sustenance from the +earth. They survive by trade, commerce, inherited +wealth, some kind of artificial labor. There is not a +drop of honest Adam sweat in them. They are the +kind of people who carry an umbrella over their +heads through life, whether it is the roof of an office, +a factory or a stock exchange. They want money, +prestige, power, more rights and privileges than any +man can ever earn except at the expense of other +men; but they remain unacquainted to the last +with real life achieved in the open according to the +law which bound the first man to the land for his +own good, where there are no fictitious values, but +a fair exchange of bread, poverty, and peace promised +to those who do keep and dress the garden +which the earth is.</p> + +<p>One may write very convincingly, however, upon +this theme without making much more of a success +than Adam did in the beginning when he was ordained +to keep and dress that first garden. The +Scriptures are not easy to fulfil. I have been +tempted to doubt if the very apostles who recorded +the Gospels actually lived up to them. I have had +a few divine inspirations myself without feeling the +least blasphemous; but looking back now, I can see +no more than the faintest gleam of them in my deeds. +What I mean is that it must be natural, after all, to +come short of the glory of God. This world would be +a frightfully glaring place if we did not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + +<p>The queer thing is that we also miss happiness in +the effort. The satisfaction of saints in their piety +has always seemed to me despicable. It is a form of +deceit never justified by the facts. And the gratified +airs they give themselves is not to be confounded +with simple honest human happiness. We are entitled +to that whether we miss the glory of God or +not. Most of the time I am certain this is the supreme +gift of His love which still awaits us when we +comply sensibly with the conditions; but I have my +dark moments when I am tempted to suspect that +this instinct for happiness may be a sort of clucking +encouragement devised by Providence to keep us +up and going, as romantic love is one of Nature’s +enchantments to keep up the birth rate.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVIII"> + XXXVIII + <br> + GARDEN HAPPINESS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Certainly</span> the exercise of our virtues does not insure +happiness. My experience is according to the +Scriptures at this point—your virtues invite hardship +and persecution. I have observed the very good +carefully. They are noble souls, totally defeated in +this present world by their conscience and their +sacrifices. It takes a spunky spirit to escape the +Job Scriptures. This is my objection to the intimate +companionship of saints. The last one of them has +a martyr tune in him somewhere, and if you encourage +him with either sympathy or admiration, +he will let go and sing it to you in sobbing praise of +himself. I am a trifle that way. More than once I +have known myself to keen my spiritual nose to a +kind friend and chant the tale of some injustice +suffered in the exercise of my nobler qualities. It is +puerile. No matter how virtuous you are, virtue +goes out of you then.</p> + +<p>I take involuntarily a sort of ignoble consolation +in the fact that the very bad are farther from happiness +than the very good, because they have destroyed +the foundation upon which happiness must rest. +It is written that if we repent of our sins the Lord +remembereth them no more forever, which is something +that cannot be said of any mortal man. Even +if he repents of his transgressions, the memory of +them hangs like a shadow in the light of his spirit forever. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>I have seen these swords suspended over the +head of a saint until finally he was slain by them.</p> + +<p>As for me, I have never been able to keep a record +of my virtues, though I have tried hard enough; +but I have never been able to forget one sin. Just +let me get in a weaving way with so much as one +beam of holiness to light my dark places, and some +niggardly little transgression I committed years +ago, or yesterday, lifts its head and licks out a forked +tongue in hissing comment. I defy anyone, however +worthy, to risk himself in the glow of holiness without +having a similar experience.</p> + +<p>This, I believe, is what is meant by the omniscience +of the Almighty. It is in us, a fearful faculty +for seeing ourselves which we cannot escape. And +it reveals each man to himself as a spiritual bungler +every time he frisks within range of his own inner +vision. The effect is salutary, but very depressing. +I am never peaceful, much less happy afterwards.</p> + +<p>It all comes to this: We get wisdom of one sort +and another with fatal facility, because the world is +full of it, a brilliant or dull sort of ignorance deduced +from observation, study, experience, and the prideful +exercise of our rational faculties; but we are +perpetually short on understanding until after it is +too late.</p> + +<p>When I came back to these hills to dress my garden +in the year 1913, I know now that I missed +happiness by the narrowest margin. I was on the +right track. I was at home again upon the earth. I +felt that peace and steadiness of mind we all feel in +familiar surroundings among companions who never +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>change or move away. The same grass and the same +green boughs overhead, the same flowers I had +known in earliest infancy blooming like tiny remembered +faces in every meadow and on the banks +of every stream. The same little footpaths of peace +across every hill, winding according to the minds of +those happy travelers who made them.</p> + +<p>But the most enterprising business man was never +more quickly involved than I was in plans and preparations +for happiness. The old cabin to be restored +and furnished, all about to be cleared and trimmed. +I saw the frost crystals blooming in the gray dawn +of every morning that first winter. The longest day +was too short to accomplish what must be done before +the next day. I was in the woods choosing timber +for more rooms to be added to the cabin. I was +something of a nautilus in those days, without the +sublime indifference of that little sailing mollusk to +the passage of time. I was in a hurry to finish my +house.</p> + +<p>But, like the nautilus, I have gone on adding to it +year by year according to the widening chambers of +my mind. There will be a wall, a pillar unfinished +somewhere when my own end comes. I shall +probably defer death by an effort of mortal will if I +am having another window cut in order to get one +more entrancing view of this valley at the very last. +I do not know whether this is foolishness or not, but +I have left much copy of my mind and spirit written +in stones that will last longer than the monument +Horace raised to himself, ‘more enduring than +brass.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> + +<p>I made a garden and planted it. I was in the +fields from dawn until dusk that first spring, watching +the plows sink deep in the loam of the land. To +me, there is no fragrance comparable in sweetness +to the scent of freshly turned earth. Later I walked +like an impudent little god of a woman down the +rows of young corn. I remember praying for the +corn that year during a long drought, not that I +needed bread so fiercely earned, but because to see +it living and growing was like feeling the green blades +of my own vanity spreading and rustling in the sun.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in this house there is a snapshot made +of me that summer standing up on a load of wheat +sheaves. I am wearing a stiff white frock. I am bareheaded +and the wind is blowing. I do seem to have +a high happy look. There streams across my face +something of the light of youth, keen and strong. +Love alone can so transfigure us. I am in love, you +understand. My heart is embracing this sky, this +meadow, these overshadowing hills. I am feeling +the wreaths of little blue flowers that bloom beside +the streams upon my brow. I am strong and well +again, cured of so many sorrows. My heel has +touched the earth again. Auteas was right about +that—if you believe in your heel and the life of +the earth you can recover strength as he did for the +next struggle.</p> + +<p>I was that child I used to be, let loose like a joyful +energy. So this is something I have discovered +about happiness: It is not a product of energy, but of +chance, a free mind and deliverance from that parsimonious +sense of time which no child ever feels. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>This marked the difference now between the woman +I was and the child I had been. I took every chance +then with a free mind and no sense at all of time. I +was too young to make plans. I met the future as a +lark meets the sky upon the wings of a singing heart. +I was nearer kin to God then and had a wiser sense +of life than I shall ever know again.</p> + +<p>The simpler creatures manage life more gracefully +than we do. I have often envied the birds, not +because they can sing, but because they can fly. +They own everything from the tallest tree top to the +farthest meadow’s rim; but they have no sense of +possession, no baggage to carry. They endure more +hardships than we do and have a better time. The +difference between them and, say, the communists, +is that they are not acquisitive. They do not want +to own everything in common. They are honest +about that, and no man is. He must be either predatory +or competitive. He has an instinct for ownership +which he is determined to satisfy.</p> + +<p>This earth would be settled by squatters if a comparatively +few people did not hold titles to most of +it. The latter are safer neighbors than the migratory +class to which the communists really belong. +They are a kind of human locust swarming over the +earth now, never to be confounded with the earlier +pioneers. I suppose in time we shall get rid of them. +If we do not, they will destroy us. Then they will +turn upon themselves. They are by purpose destructive, +according to some rascally notion of gain. +Their piety is a sort of missionary malice couched in +the noblest deceit of language.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> + +<p>But with all the virtues and aspirations the best +of us claim, it does seem strange that we make such +an awkward art of living. We are more successful +at increasing our capital and decorating ourselves +with worldly distinctions than we are at increasing +our income in happiness. This is essential. I have no +patience with the piety of defeat which yields the +point and declares that happiness was never meant +for us in this present world, but reserved for us in +paradise—a damnable doctrine which reflects upon +the goodness of God as they do who lay their misfortunes +to Providence when they alone are responsible +for them.</p> + +<p>It is we who miss our cue. We suffer from some +blindness of the mind which leads us to mistake the +circumstances that produce happiness. Nothing will +satisfy us but riches, when we know that relative poverty +insures more peace and fewer responsibilities. +We have built a social, industrial and commercial +civilization, so expensive that it cannot be financed. +And the more wealth we get the less capable we are +of achieving our own lives.</p> + +<p>It is the laborers, servants, and professional people +whom we employ that determine the conditions +under which we exist, which is a form of frightful +tyranny. We get the idea or the ideal, then pay +some one else to achieve it. An architect draws the +plans of our house. Carpenters build it. A decorator +chooses the furnishings, and servants keep it. A +landscape artist lays off the grounds and we employ +someone to dress the garden, because we lack the +will and skill to do any of these things.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<p>I do not think we should give ourselves such airs +about art and culture as we do, seeing that we buy +most of the mere effects of these things and that they +are really produced by a class of people with whom +we do not associate. No man is really learned who +speaks his wisdom instead of practicing it. No +woman is really cultured because she is up on art +and music and literature, or because she wears +beautiful clothes designed by a modiste, or because +she lives in a splendid house, or because she is surrounded +by people who think and speak well about +what they know and see and exquisitely feel. She +is merely the living portrait of many arts accomplished +by other people. I should call her the +decadent mollusk of refinement, never to be confounded +with that woman depicted a while ago in +these pages as the more endearing type of Southern +woman. They have their occupations. They are +amazingly executive when it comes to ordering +others to do it. They have taste and piety and +know how to exercise these virtues.</p> + +<p>The effects of the theories about the art of living +which I have been recording in these pages are +plainly visible in this valley. The gaping logs of +the one-room cabin left by the Cherokee Indians +have been restored, and so many rooms added that +it stretches a distance of one hundred and thirty +feet—pieced together with open entries, winged +with a long vine-covered court on one side and a +living porch on the other side. So you may see +through this house to the valley below or the hills +beyond, as one should see through a good man’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>heart to the scenes and Scriptures which account +for his existence. I doubt if an architect could have +drawn plans of a house so satisfying to the spirit.</p> + +<p>There is no color scheme inside. To my mind, a +house furnished in a strictly harmonious manner +seems to be designed for publication and read by +guests, but not to be lived in at ease in your own +private everyday moods lest you break a note by +moving something of a blue shade to that place +which calls for orange-yellow, or by dropping your +old green coat upon the divan covered with iridescent +tapestry. Even the company bedrooms in this +house are so plain and comfortable that a guest +might feel at home in them, clean and fragrant, but +faded; little messy conveniences in every one of +them to delude the occupant into thinking he or she +is not a transient there, but may stay a long time. +And the living-room is such a humanly gifted place +that I may leave my walking shoes on the hearth +upon a winter evening and they will add a note of +peace to the firelit scene, as if they were warming +and drying and resting after a hard day’s walking +out of doors in bad weather.</p> + +<p>Not one thing in this house is to be admired, but +is to be appropriated and used for your ease. You +are to shine and talk, hold a book in your hand to +taste now and then, as in the old days a gentleman +sipped his wine. I have seen very dull people exhilarated +before my fire on a winter evening; I have +also seen very bright ones let go their weary wits +and nod. These are triumphs which color-scheming +hostesses rarely enjoy, because you feel that you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>must sit up with their harmonies and take note or +be damned.</p> + +<p>Besides, these women are never contented for +long with their furniture or draperies. They must +tear them up, send for the decorator and try some +other effect. I do not change my furniture or move +it about. Let the scenes of the world and all fashions +change. I have laid my inside scenes like one of +those prayers for peace and honor to be found in the +Episcopal prayer book written and finished. All you +have to do is recite it. God has been familiar with it +for a long time, and would probably be astonished +to hear a new word or phrase in it.</p> + +<p>There is an old-man chair here which, by all the +canons of art, should never be found in a cabin; +mahogany, with hideously carved legs, toe nails +sticking out, the arms finished with two human +heads, females, but not goddesses—houris, I should +say. The springs in the seat have weakened in precisely +the right place to make sitting in it more restful. +About as often as an old man is barbered, this +chair is rubbed up and the faces of the ladies polished; +but it is never moved from the corner beside +the fireplace. I have observed that the elderly men +who come here invariably choose it as their resting +place. There is a huge couch beneath a long row of +casement windows on the living porch which has +enticed some of the stiffest, most elegant people +known to modern society in this section to relax +upon it and fall asleep, when by all the rules of +polite conversation they should have been erect and +vocative.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>This is boasting—I admit it—but not of my +possessions. I am simply showing the kind of mind +I have toward a house, to fill it with snares of peace +and good will whatever happens to art. It is not a +bad idea. You excite less criticism and confer more +happiness. It cannot be done by an interior decorator. +He has an expensive eye and a furniture collector’s +intellect.</p> + +<p>By the same token, I have declined the services +of a landscape gardener. My idea of a landscape is a +good deal of it, preferably green, and merely frilled +with flowers, with the trees of an original forest +surrounding the whole thing. I planted my flowers +years ago, perennials, with much the same mind the +Lord had when he said to the original creatures and +little leaves, ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ They do. +Poppies, peonies, gladioli, zinnias, marigolds, phlox, +dianthus, snapdragons, like good hardy people of +the soil in bloom, making a thousand wreaths of +loveliness around this green hill in their seasons. No +wet-nursing to keep them alive during a drought, +no coddling to preserve them through the winter. +They die down as we do, and come again, as we shall +do.</p> + +<p>During these first years here I was near the verge +of happiness, at least by anticipation. If my mind +could have rested I might have made it; but what +with writing a book or two every year, conducting +the farm and building everything from barns to +stone walls that popped into my head, I lacked the +leisure to be glad.</p> + +<p>It seems to me now that I indulged in too much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>self-expression without looking for the reward of +gratified vanity such persons usually crave. Comparatively +few people have ever seen this valley or +know what has been accomplished here. I have +occupied it much as I shall presently occupy my +grave, alone, but doubtless with a great deal more +activity than the narrow confines of a grave with a +tombstone over you can possibly afford.</p> + +<p>I cannot think what made me so furiously industrious +laying scenes so rarely to be praised. As to +that, we must always wonder why the Lord required +such limitless spaces for His creation and made so +many unintelligible stars. Fewer would have been +rarer and shown to a better advantage. And what +measly sight-seers of the heavens we make, always +snooping and squinting at His handiwork without being +able to find out anything about it, with no mind +to comprehend the glory of these populous heavens.</p> + +<p>There must be another audience somewhere. +Surely the Almighty has had more encouragement +than we could give Him, more inspiration than our +pathetically inadequate existence affords Him. I +am so religious at times that I can conceive of a +great council chamber of creators located upon one +of the grander stars between burning suns. Not +that I crave more than one Lord to serve. When we +consider the Ten Commandments and the rules +laid down for our obedience in the Scriptures of our +Jehovah, it is apparent that no man could serve +more than one God; but in certain moods one likes +to speculate in gods by way of the most gallant and +adventurous spiritual exercise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>The thing that confounds and depresses me is, +Why are so many of us born? Why is there so much +of everything anyhow, when we can understand and +use so little of anything? And what strange madness +is this in us which perpetually compels us to +add to the sum total of everything? I have had +fearful thoughts along this line—the dreadful fate +we are under to keep on thinking and doing, because +if we stop something happens to us, a slow and monstrous +decay. And at the end of it all, poor old +Solomon—after he had been King of Jerusalem +and ruled a long time, after he had built his golden +temple and won his reputation for being the wisest +man—sitting in his royal robes, tired of his crown, +tired of his wisdom, calling to us down the ages, +‘Vanity, vanity, all is vanity and vexation of +spirit.’</p> + +<p>He gives this conclusion a note of authority by +signing it, ‘Thus saith the Preacher.’ But I have +always felt that if Solomon had been a better man he +might have been a better preacher. Like father, like +son. David was a fine, true singer of the hearts of +men; but I cannot think he set a good example for +Solomon in his youth, which accounts for the depressing +wisdom he acquired by living.</p> + +<p>I never take one of these headers in spiritual speculations, +however, without falling to pieces afterwards. +I seem to suffer from some kind of nervous +prostration of the soul. In these ailing moods no +wise man or great divine could comfort me. I am +longing to hear the Word preached by a simple man +who has lived a good little life and who can pray +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>like a child. It is like taking the shortest, narrowest +path back home by faith.</p> + +<p>I never have believed it is a far journey to the real +kingdom of Heaven. If you start off with great +preparations for a long pilgrimage, you may be sure +you have missed your way. There is in the heart of +every man a fair and lovely land, never betrayed by +his transgressions, never sold to the world and never +darkened by mortal wisdom. I have been there +sometimes, an ineffable place. As a child I lived +there.</p> + +<p>These little old preachers mentioned a while ago +are the only pastors of the children we have been +left among us. They do not know us now, they are +not acquainted with the world in which we have +learned so much; but they know where every man’s +land of Canaan lies, and they have only one Rock +of Ages tune that leads to it.</p> + +<p>Looking back, we can see how smart we were when +at the time we simply followed some instinct in the +right direction.</p> + +<p>For years I went on trying to create my own little +kingdom of Heaven here behind these hills. A place +visible to the naked eye, very deceptive in its loveliness +and silence. I had sense enough to keep the +world out, which was not difficult, since I have +never been one of those popular writers whose +doorsill the people seek. And I was rarely tempted +out into the world.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIX"> + XXXIX + <br> + WAR + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">During</span> the spring and summer of 1914 I put +seventy acres of the valley under cultivation, added +eight rooms to the old cabin, and wrote a serial. The +inspiration of love or of any consuming ambition +greatly augments the powers of even an ordinary +person to achieve. This is the reason why men in +love frequently accomplish so much for a time, then +fall back into their former state of indolence. The +illusion of love has failed. It is by nature a brief +enchantment. This is the reason why the man fired +by ambition frequently accomplishes prodigious +tasks far beyond his normal capacity to achieve.</p> + +<p>I was inspired at this time with the hope of winning +a happy ending to what had been a harsh sentence +in living. I was creating a very small world to fit +me behind the world at large; and this period, I +should say, was about the morning and evening of +the third day at the business. Things were beginning +to turn green. I could see my little herbs of the +field glistening in the early morning dew, and my +sun was shining. I remember a certain notion I had +then, which has remained a part of my personal +definition of the Lord—that besides being almighty +and obviously beneficent He must be a happy +God every time he created another world, divided +the light from the darkness in that place and set up +all the miracles of life there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> + +<p>This notion was not so blasphemous as it sounds +written out in words. One cannot copy His omniscience +or His almightiness, but it does <em>not</em> seem to +me nearly so profane to give one’s self a few airs +about having imitated Him in a small way that +turns out green and triumphant like a field of corn, +as it does to dig down and snoop the heavens with +the idea of proving there is no God at all.</p> + +<p>I had only to take a whiff around the farm in +those days, have an altercation with the carpenters +about another window needed to keep the cabin +from looking too much like a fortress, then retire to +my study upon the farther rim of the forest and copy +the green leaves of my thoughts for the next chapter +of the serial.</p> + +<p>On the third day of August in that year the Great +War began in Europe. The editor of ‘The Saturday +Evening Post’ sent his first batch of war correspondents +across the following week. I was to have been +one of them, but I had promised another serial for +another magazine which was still to be written. The +editor would neither release me from the contract +nor risk me in the war zone until this copy was delivered.</p> + +<p>I suppose it would require one of those latest expositors +of the mysteries human beings are, an +alienist, to explain why disappointment over being +detained brought on the first attack of hay fever I +ever had. There is more psychology than pathology +in our diseases.</p> + +<p>But I was determined to go to France in 1914. I +had been living at such a high tension nervously for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>some time that nothing short of a bloody war could +have quieted me and reduced me to a normal condition. +The motive here confessed was overlaid +with the usual noble emotions; but this is a truthful +record of my mind, which is sufficiently nearly related +to human minds in general for me to risk +the assertion that a great many other people did +valiant service in France who were attracted there +by a similar motive. We seek reactions from what +we are in excitement. The use made of us under +these circumstances proves the shrewd economies +of Providence by employing our lower instincts to +trap us into the performance of the greatest, most +unselfish services, else very few men would volunteer +for military service, and very few women would +have volunteered for canteen service in France.</p> + +<p>I hurried off somewhere, wrote that serial, returned +to New York and sailed for Liverpool all +within thirty days.</p> + +<p>I have written briefly of my impressions during +this harrowing period in ‘My Book and Heart.’ +What we know now is that the most victorious +battles and the most disastrous defeats never settle +the issues involved. The Great War has increased +our debts, doubled our problems and added incredibly +to the moral confusion of our times. Still, if +there should be a call to arms in this country to-morrow, +I doubt if I could bear the mortal ignominy +of being a pacifist.</p> + +<p>There is no sense in war. It is the way we are +made that brings on the red fury of arms. Neither +the ambition of politicians nor the greed of financiers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>could draw a nation into war if the people were +not so easily moved by an invitation to shed blood. +It seems invariably to produce a state of terrific +exaltation, similar to a religious revival. I doubt if +this is due so much to the survival of brutal instincts +in men as to some provision of Providence against +the ultimate emergencies of mankind. When law, +civilization and the artificial restraints of society +fail him, he will still have his fists and a faculty for +believing in God. These two capacities alone should +reproduce men of better quality than the shrinking +creeds of pacifism. Whatever we believe theoretically +about peace, we should always be ready by +nature to fight.</p> + +<p>But another set of youths must grow into the +pugilistic period now before we could actually stage +another World War. My observation has been that +the soldiers who fought in the recent one are more or +less shell-shocked. I have employed more soldiers +here than any other class of men since the war, because +they are more intelligent and better trained; +and no matter how brave the record is they have +left behind them in the Saint-Mihiel drive or the +Argonne Forest, they are more concerned than other +men to avoid personal difficulties. One must think it +out to understand them; their reputation for courage +has been established beyond any shadow of a doubt +so long as history lasts. There is no reason why a +battle-scarred man should prove his courage, which is +probably the chief reason why men fight. They are +the only admirable pacifists in the world; and if it +comes to the test, they will have more to do with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>keeping this nation out of war than a World Court +or any other talking method we can devise, however +wise or diplomatic.</p> + +<p>War, however victoriously ended, is not a profitable +subject to discuss in the retrospect. It dies +down in the emotions of men and passes into history. +After that, the next generation reads history +and discovers what burdens and strange defeats +were entailed upon their future by these victories. +But I am setting down one incident in connection +with my experiences in France by way of proving +a theory I have—that merely by living we fulfil +more prophecies than the seers of the Old Testament +ever dreamed of. We are becoming terrible +predicators of the future.</p> + +<p>It was in October of 1914. A clear starlit night. +A battle was on. News from the front ran through +Paris in whispers all day. Now darkness and silence. +No one could sleep. I came down from my room in +the old Saint James Hotel and stood in the street, +reaching a long look through this tomb of terrors +that had been the gayest city in Europe three +months ago. Not a soul in sight, not the sound of a +voice or the rumble of a wheel, peopled now only +with the shadows of great shapes. Yet in this fearful +stillness these very palaces and spires seemed +to listen, to be waiting for something about to +happen.</p> + +<p>Then from the high distances came a rhythmic +sound, thunder throttled down, stars purring, a +pulse beating faster in the heavens. Now the ominous +roar of motors. Swift as swallows in flight, I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>saw them rise above the horizon and flash by like +great silver birds through the searchlights above +the city—German aeroplanes coming to drop +bombs on Paris! Red blasts, earth-rocking detonations! +This tomb of terrors gave up its dead, a +frightful population of men and women rushed half +clad and disheveled from their hiding places into +the open street. They shrieked, babbled, waved +their arms, milled and circled, frenzied with fear +and hate.</p> + +<p>I stood aside like a mere leaf of life not yet caught +in this whirlwind of dreadful passions. The scene +was no longer linked in my mind with war, but with +something else far back in memory, associated with +quietness and peace. Then it came back to me, that +night so many years ago, the world not yet in sight, +the quiet heavens, father thrusting his arm out in a +gesture like a scythe aimed at all the spaces overhead; +the child I was then, bare feet resting staunchly +upon the toes of his boots, clinging to him, face upturned +to him, feeling like any other young bird +about to be borne aloft upon magnificently gesticulating +wings.</p> + +<p>Through all this uproar of a panic-stricken people, +in a strange city on the other side of the world, +forty years later, I heard again the very tones of +father’s voice: ‘You will live to see airships up there +flying like a flock of birds.’ Then mother’s sharper +tones breaking in upon this rumbling prophecy: +‘Come in and go to bed,’ calling me away from the +temptation of so great an imagination, anxious lest +I should be birthmarked mentally with that mad +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>passion to fly which had frequently cropped out in +father’s family.</p> + +<p>Well, I had lived to see his prophecy fulfilled. +But what a fulfillment! This happens frequently to +the best efforts made by seers. The world twists +the tail of their prophecy and makes it come true +like a disaster.</p> + +<p>On the twenty-third day of December in this +same year of 1914 I was at home again in the valley, +sitting beside my own log fire, very quiet, but not +serene. I was suffering from a curious pallor of the +mind, not due entirely to the dreadful scenes I had +passed through in the war zone. We were homeward +bound from Liverpool when the boat struck a +mine off the coast of Ireland. This catastrophe +happened in the middle of the night, and I was still +convalescing from the peculiarly sickening sensation +of suddenly standing on my head in the berth with +no such acrobatic intentions. I could not forget the +tremors which passed through that ship as if it had +been a living body pierced to the heart, the awful +heaviness with which it settled back into the sea, +the moments like ages of dreadful silence that +followed, then the roar and confusion on deck, the +sibilant sounds of many voices hushed to whispers +by fear, the rush of bare feet along the corridors inside +as the passengers fled for the lifeboats, which +were not needed after all. And I shall never entirely +recover from the recollection of that jagged hole in +the side of the boat, so frailly mended, nor from the +sound of the water pouring in and the rhythmic +strokes of the pumps upon which our lives depended.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>I am wondering if the critics who found ‘My +Book and Heart’ the record of a narrow and monotonous +existence can claim one year filled with so +many varied activities as the year 1914 was for me. +And I am merely offering it as a sample of my years +in general.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XL"> + XL + <br> + WIDOWHOOD + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> older you are the greater risk to your happiness, +and even to your peace, there is in marriage. +I cannot conceive of a husband revolving comfortably +in the widow’s orbit I have measured off and +made for myself. Least of all can I conceive of his +sitting still in it with any peace of mind. I suppose +many other women feel the same way, else there +would not be four times as many widows as widowers +in this country, according to the United States census.</p> + +<p>A widower is probably the most transient manifestation +of man there is among us. I have often +wondered why this is so. I am no alienist, which is +now that supreme authority among us for determining +our character and conduct according to our +glands; but my suspicion is that marriage once contracted +becomes a habit with a man, and that he is +the most invincible habit-forming creature on this +earth.</p> + +<p>You may feed one only three articles of food for +a year and he will stick to them as long as he lives! +I knew one who cured himself of indigestion twenty +years ago by taking a cup of tea and two pieces of +dried apricot for lunch. He has never varied his +midday meal from that day to this. If his wife died, +I suppose he would marry again precisely as he goes +to his club and orders that cup of tea and the preserved +apricots for lunch.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> + +<p>On the other hand, marriage is a state of love for +women—barring the alimony class, of course—and +they are so narrow and personal in their devotion +that they do not so readily transfer their +allegiance to another husband. Apparently they +are not so enterprising or broad-minded in their +romantic emotions as men are, though we seem to be +widening out considerably in these latter years. It +would not surprise me if the time comes when even +widows may become obsolete, and we shall have no +such wisdom among us as a sad, sweet-faced elderly +woman wearing her widow’s weeds and sitting in +the amen corner, or ambling about doing good deeds +in the neighborhood. She may have her second or +third husband and be engaged in a campaign for a +better sewerage system in the city where she lives.</p> + +<p>What I mean is that we seem to be growing more +like men mentally and morally every day and in +every way. I reckon it is all for the best, but it does +feel queer if you are a woman and a widow who +cannot keep up with the quick step of your times +and know yourself to be dwindling away into the +narrow, withered-faced relict of your former husband.</p> + +<p>I remember one day years ago, decorating myself +with such ladylike views as these in a conversation +with Mark Sullivan, who had just refused a story I +offered for Collier’s Magazine. He listened kindly +and patiently until I had probably exhausted my +repertoire of noble sentiments for that day. Then +he seized his hat and made for the door, thought +better of it, paused, looked back at me curiously and +delivered himself of this warning:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> + +<p>‘You may be that good, but if you are, you are +bound to be lonesome.’</p> + +<p>For a moment I experienced some kind of faint +alarm, as sinners must when the preacher gives +them one last chance at the end of a revival to repent +and be free men. It occurred to me that I had +better hurry out while the spirit moved me and do +something rash. But I could think of nothing sane, +discreet, and becoming to do that would also be +rash. I am not so sure it is conscience that makes +cowards of us all. It may be the vanity of self-respect +that holds us in check.</p> + +<p>After all, I have not been so very lonely, only +slightly peeved as I grow older at the implication of +having lived a narrow, dreary life.</p> + +<p>Years ago, after the death of my husband, I +adopted one of the milder sins of our times, much as +my mother, who was a very frugal woman, used to be +wasteful with pins because she insisted that a little +inexpensive extravagance was good for the soul. I +do not know about that; but I am still so ashamed +of my transgression I will not confess it, although +with a discerning eye you may see it for yourself as +one of the complimentary details in the picture on +the frontispiece page of ‘My Book and Heart.’ +Otherwise I am far behind my times in yielding to +temptations.</p> + +<p>If you had only one lover when you were a girl, +and married him, and if you lived very quietly with +him until death parted you, not taking in more than +the spiritual edges of the world, you do not know +men; you know only one man. As to the rest, you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>know some by their reputations—some good, some +not good; some who will lead in prayer. The great +majority are beyond your ken because they will not +lead in prayer, nor contribute to foreign missions, +nor even to the pastor’s salary. If you have been a +preacher’s wife for nearly a quarter of a century, you +entertain a vague suspicion of such men without +having any information about their real characters.</p> + +<p>This is what happened to me as long as Lundy +lived. A man was a sheep or a goat, and that was +the limit of my powers of classification; a very remote +way of thinking about them.</p> + +<p>I do not know how it may be with other widows. +I suppose if they have a competency, and can afford +to employ an agent to look after their affairs, they +frequently retain their social and romantic ideals of +these wonderful beings and remain peacefully ignorant +of their sterner manifestations. But if you +must earn your own livelihood and manage your own +affairs, you will discover that you come face to face +and hand to hand with men every day in every way +upon a totally different basis. You cannot practice +the arts and policies which made you so successful +in managing your dear husband, not if you mean to +be an honest, upstanding widow. Your mourning +veil may appeal to their compassion, but it will have +practically no effect upon loosening up their business +sense in your favor. What is more to the point, +it is a sly, unfair way of playing upon their sex or +your sex to expect concessions in your favor.</p> + +<p>My idea of a ‘widow indeed’ is somewhat broader +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>and more practical than Saint Paul’s. I am not objecting +to his requirements—that she shall have +washed the saint’s feet, if her piety takes this form, +and if she can find the saint; but I do not see why +she should be more diligent than any other woman +in ‘following every good work,’ unless, as I suspect +was the case with the widows in Timothy’s church +at Macedonia, she was a charge upon the charity of +that church and repaid in humble service to the +brethren. The modern widow is not so reduced in +circumstances, even if she is left without means. +She can usually earn a living, though it may not be +so good a living as her husband provided. In any +case, a self-respecting ‘widow indeed’ now is one +who takes a job instead of charity and performs it +with valor instead of tears. The pith of honor in +such a woman is not to play the feminine rôle to any +man for largess or advantage in her affairs. Even +on this basis she is apt to get more than is coming to +her if she deals with the right man. The great +majority of honest men actually shrink from the +responsibility of handling widows’ funds lest some +unavoidable loss occur.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, there is an average, I should +say, of at least ten mite collectors for every widow +in existence. They are easily recognized, however, +by the noble and vicarious disposition they show for +being her financial savior or her Aladdin genius in a +get-rich-quick scheme. Not long ago I had a letter +from such a victim. She is a stranger to me in the +flesh, but I should recognize her in paradise—an +elderly widow, religious, full of kindness, always +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>protected, whose creed is faith in the goodness, +honesty, and kindness of others.</p> + +<p>She wrote to tell me that she had just invested +all she could spare in an oil well. And she asked me +to pray that this money might bring her ten or even +a hundred fold in return. Imagine the Lord babbling +in wildcat oil speculations to answer even two +widows’ prayers! Teach us some sense by not +answering such prayers—which is a thing many people +wiser than widows do not know about the functioning +of the Almighty toward prayers. Maybe +in time we shall learn that the Maker of all laws will +not break one natural or moral law to save us from +either death or bankruptcy. It is no use to call upon +God like a fool to save you when He has endowed you +with the wit to save yourself if you will only use it.</p> + +<p>The last I heard of this widow she was the poor +dear shorn lamb of those oil speculators. Where one +wins her golden fleece, a thousand are clipped clean +of their honest wool.</p> + +<p>After the death of my husband I suffered for the +first time in my life from the inferiority complex. I +was left not merely a widow but strangely benighted, +like a foreigner who is totally ignorant of the manners +and customs of the people with whom he is to +deal. I suppose many women have had this experience, +and may think it is grief. It is terror and +uncertainty. If she survives it honorably, with her +head up and her banners flying, she will be obliged +to shed her widow’s veil and be born again mentally +no matter how soundly she may have been converted +previously to the wisdom of spiritual things. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>will be obliged to study something besides the Scriptures, +and get stout secular doctrines for dealing +with a vastly competitive and acquisitive world. +Clinging to the cross is nothing to the way she must +cling to her own good sense. The Lord encourages +us to cling to that symbol of faith, but it is no +use clinging to the world that way. She must step +around in it with a firm tread and do business with +her spectacles properly adjusted.</p> + +<p>Therefore I am recording it as truth here, hardly +earned, that an up-and-doing widow’s mind is one +of the most remarkable mental phenomena in +existence; and I defy the ablest metaphysician to +analyze the thing. It is made up of feminine faculties, +stiffened, sharpened, sweetened, soured and +tempered to any emergency, and she has ten emergencies +where a man has one, because every one with +whom she deals perceives that she is a woman and +proceeds upon that basis. She is much more of one +than the average woman ever learns to be, but, +good heavens, what a furtive, brave, serpentine, +dove-good use she has got of her little old knitting-needle +faculties!</p> + +<p>I spent three years after the death of my husband +walking softly beneath my widow’s veil, studying +the situation which the world was to me. I worked +hard, made no investments and suffered from one +long nightmare of terror and grief. I know exactly +how it feels to have lost my right hand for achieving +life, to get up cured of the wound, but with only my +left hand to support me, when I had never been +obliged to support myself at all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>Widows deal with men if they earn a living, or +even if they do not. The thing which alarmed me +was the discovery that I knew nothing about men, +and that they are mysterious. Their mental processes +are different from those of women, although +emotionally and every other way the family resemblance +between us is so strong as to be misleading. +They have a different way of planning and +accomplishing their purposes. They have a conscience, +probably a better and more scrupulous +conscience than we have about a few things, but +theirs has a wide-open loose end, through which +they can pass out to achieve without a qualm some +great deed that we would never pay the price in +piety to accomplish.</p> + +<p>I perceived with a sort of terror how able and uncanny +they are, due chiefly to this circumstance. +They have by nature more liberty of action than we +can afford to exercise. This is one reason why many +modern women look so queer and out of drawing. +They are making the experiment. The result is a +parody. No originality, they are aping men, as a +feebler race imitates a stronger race. If I am any +judge of the real moral greatness of women, they will +suffer a revulsion of sensibility presently and take to +their heels. It is safe and honorable to associate +intimately with one’s husbands, sons and father, +and discreetly with one’s Christian brethren in the +Church, though I am wary about that; but my +notion is that it is dangerous, indelicate, frequently +degrading to what we are, to associate too intimately +with men in their political, professional, and other +manifestations.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> + +<p>I may be wrong about this. My opinion may +spring like hypocrisy from cowardice, because I +have not the courage to risk the losses these women +sustain. My only excuse is that I came up in a different +age and had my morals and sense of womanhood +formed under different influences. If the modern +woman does hold fast, and win and prove herself +an asset instead of a liability in this civilization, +I hope to bow my old gray head to her and take off +my shoes before her in reverent recognition of the +fact that she will have become the greatest pioneer +of the ages, against the greatest odds, with the +noblest courage.</p> + +<p>In the meantime I am wearing my shoes, holding +my neck stiff and regarding her over the top of my +spectacles like a harsh, narrow-minded old mother +who would like to snatch her daughters from a +dangerous maelstrom and set them to the tasks at +home that would make men instead of bandits of +their sons, and proper maidens instead of adventurous +flappers of their daughters. The best mother +I ever knew never cast a ballot, but she established +her sons in the way they should go. She has been +dead for years, but she is still voting these men in +every election.</p> + +<p>Maybe I should have omitted these reflections. +When you have survived your own world, and are +now merely the spectator of another world in the +making, you cannot be qualified to pass judgment +upon it. I let that go with this polite apology and +return to the problems which faced me so many +years ago when I became a widow.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLI"> + XLI + <br> + ALL SORTS OF MEN + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">At</span> safe distance I have spent much time observing +men and the world they are making through the +field glasses of my mind. I still prefer it to any world +women can make. This is not an indication of turpitude, +but due, no doubt, to my gender and the association +of ideas. We know that men are strong by +the deeds they have performed, the cities they have +built and the cities they have taken; by the courage +they have shown in war and in the face of wildernesses +to be conquered, and by every hardship +which women endure but cannot overcome. So I +instinctively look up to men.</p> + +<p>I am not defending myself, although women have +made great strides recently in discovering how weak +and unworthy men have always been of the confidence +we reposed in them. I am not reposing much +confidence in them, but I am simply admitting that +the tilt of my gaze toward them is instinctive +and prayerful, not rational, any more than personal +faith in God would be regarded as reasonable by a +materialist. But observe the advantage I have of +the rationalist, who is reduced to the dirt dauber’s +creed of worshiping his own intellect, while I enjoy +the more becoming distinction of spreading +wider wings upward.</p> + +<p>My ideas about men spring from the same shrewd +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>source of financing my future by faith—that +evidence of things hoped for but not seen. I am +determined to remain the weaker vessel and to hold +them to the higher altitude of superior beings. It +is more profitable and the surest way of forcing them +to make good. They are only too willing to part +with their responsibilities to these valiant modern +women who are so anxious to prove their own ability +to assume these burdens and bear them.</p> + +<p>I have no doubt there is a smile up the sleeve of +every man in this country as he watches the return +of his women to servitude, not the old domestic +bondage, but every other kind. Millions of them +bread winners, filling positions at half the price +these positions paid when men filled them. No +wonder men can afford an eight-hour working day. +Enough women are working longer hours to more +than make up the difference in the common-to-all +income. No wonder there are so many strikes. They +can afford the luxury and disturbance on the sweat +of the women.</p> + +<p>In the same way they are serving men in politics, +because they can reach a class of constituents the +male candidate cannot reach, and because they can +practice arts he never had to get him elected. I +am wondering what will happen when these women +discover that they cannot make this a good little +world to live in by amendments, and that all their +labor and devotions have been spent for the promotion +and gratification of men, as usual. My prediction +is that there will be such a shrieking strike as +the whole National Guard cannot put down, because +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>every striker will rush home, and fling herself upon +the bed to do her shrieking.</p> + +<p>I hope I shall live to see that holy day. It will +mark the defeat of men and their return to duty in +a strangely diminished frame of mind. But I shall +never see it. The thing will come to pass so gradually, +one woman at a time coming to her senses, and then +taking refuge in nervous prostration or some other +condition obviously and naturally beyond the power +of men to reach or control her.</p> + +<p>The only man I had ever known was, as it happened, +different from other men. He desired above +all things to be meekly and truly blameless before +the Lord. God was his public opinion. I was +amazed, you may say, to the point of fainting +spiritually to discover that men in general have no +such instinct for piety. In his heart I do believe the +veriest saint among them would shrink from a too +notorious reputation for being merely good and +entirely virtuous, although the least and meanest +one of them wishes to appear great, if it is only to +one woman, no matter how short he is in personal +virtues.</p> + +<p>I believe they are all more spiritually inclined +than we are; but heavens, what unscrupulous +spirituality! It is a sort of noble side line they carry. +They crave as we never do the sensations of power, +exaltation. This, I believe, is the psychological explanation +of why many men take to intoxicants +before they feel the need of artificial stimulants +which the hard pressure of this swiftly moving age +now brings. They want to feel like gods, they wish +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>to enjoy the sensations of being hard-boiled, when +by nature they are polite, timid little fellows. They +wish to feel for a moment the power in their heel to +kick the world around, though as a rule they remain +sufficiently sober not to lift a foot in the actual experiment.</p> + +<p>The fool wants to be witty. The Smart Aleck +wishes to light all his candles at once and watch +himself shine. The man with a bad conscience longs +for the false courage to swank about like a supervillain +and rejoice in his iniquities. And there are +those who drink to drown their sorrows, although +my observation is that they will do it before they +have any griefs or legitimate depressions from weariness +or hardship to overcome. They are really +suffering from that masculine embarrassment in +sobriety of knowing how limited they are in power +and other godlikenesses which all men perpetually +crave. If even all the women in the world would +concede these qualities, humor them with sufficient +admiration and reverence, we should have no need +for the Eighteenth Amendment, seeing that these +several classes of men would be already sublimely +intoxicated.</p> + +<p>They have not made good as gods in spite of +these divine retchings, but they have built a magnificent +world. I will warrant there is nothing comparable +to their achievements on any of the other +planets of our solar system. But you will not find +the mark of one feminine finger upon the architecture +of this one and very few traces of the feminine +imagination in these great accomplishments. We +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>have our good points, but they are not architecturally +or literally constructive. We are, I should say, +at best the patient conservators of what men make, +win, and produce. This is the reason why dissipation +is far less excusable in women than men. They +have their vanities and virtues, but no such boundless +egotism to keep up and satisfy. When we are +forever physically incapable of being the builders +and achievers that men are, I do think it is regrettable +that we should imitate that vice in them which +is merely the mortal weakness of a sublime quality.</p> + +<p>We have our feminine deceits, ten thousand, but +obvious and appealing. Men have another kind, +which also spring from their passion for augmenting +themselves, not endearing themselves. The vainest +woman who ever lived does not crave the admiration +of men as men crave that of women. They want +it whether they want her or her love or even her +property, whether she is young, old or blind. This +is the reason why they cannot be truthful or quite +honest in their relation to us. It is not the desire to +deceive, but to shine, to rule and overcome us with +their minds and their wills.</p> + +<p>I do not think any exercise of our recent rights as +citizens will ever overcome this handicap. The fact +is it is fatal to do so. The moment a man perceives +himself diminished to his true proportions in a +woman’s eyes, she becomes offensive and repugnant +to him, and he is right about that. She was originally +designed by her Maker to be the complimentary +mirror in which Adam might gaze to spoof himself +to greater endeavors.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p> + +<p>When I found out all these things about men it +had a queer effect upon me. I distinctly recall facing +about, thinking Lundy up out of his dust and +reviewing him in the light of this new information. +Had I ever really understood my husband? I never +shall know. That perfect illusion which love is still +clothed him, and I could make nothing of all my +remembered evidence beyond the kindness and patience +and prayers of our life together. I remember +still with pleasure how grand and superior he used to +look when he flared into flames of fine eloquence +that put my light out. But just let any man try +that now! I can see the difference every time between +the mere man of him and his eloquence. I +am not moved. I simply regard him with a listening +eye while I divide the light of his words from his own +darkness, whether real or potential. If I should +be won by his eloquence or his arguments, he has +the advantage. Presently I shall be taking his advice +or adopting his opinions against my own +woman’s judgment, which is bad business, if you +know what I mean.</p> + +<p>As near as I can tell the truth from memory, it +was this instinct of inferiority which led me to earn +my life and my living in strict retirement after my +husband’s death. I perceived that the training I +had had with him in the scriptural simplicities of +living was no adequate preparation for competing +with men in any way. I might hold a candle to them, +but I’d never hold my own with them. And trying +to get a working knowledge of them at the age I was +then would have been like trying to learn a foreign +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>language after you are forty when you were born +with a lisping, stammering tongue.</p> + +<p>There was another consideration that influenced +me. As a wife I had practiced the habits of obedience. +My husband laid the scenes of our life and +controlled our destiny. I simply helped him do that. +I had been confirmed in the womanly attribute of +being guided by his stronger will. What I discovered +at the end of these three years’ thoughtfulness is +that every man’s will is stronger than any woman’s. +She may outwit him, but she cannot outwill him. +It was not my idea to dizzy around as a widow, +being guided by this man or that one in my affairs. +The best thing I could do was to break the entail of +that beautiful attribute of obedience I had as a wife, +tear it up like a scrap of paper, and retreat to a safe +distance. I meant to lay a few scenes of my own +devising and to become the captain of my own fate, +let the Lord do as he saw fit about my soul.</p> + +<p>I was near to being tired of my soul by this time +from worrying with it and straining spiritually for +so many years to the exclusion of all earthly profits. +Later, I did resume intimate relations with it, because +once you have adopted the ideals of a spiritual +life you are meanly impoverished without them. +You are degraded in your own consciousness as +bitter, worm-eaten dust without this sublime reservation +held by faith, that there is eternal life no +matter what griefs you have had or what happiness +you have missed or what an ordinary person you +have been all your life.</p> + +<p>I feel these limitations keenly, and have always +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>been extremely anxious to find out for sure that I +really am extraordinary and immortal and worthy +of my own admiration at the very last. I wish to +die proud.</p> + +<p>This is something that can only happen to us in +the next world, where I hope to forget my mortal +limitations and some of the ridiculous as well as +tragic mistakes I have made here that caricature +me now to myself. For the same reason I am not +inclined to interpret too literally and painfully those +Scriptures which intimate that our memories will be +resuscitated with us. I do hope this is not obligatory. +For I should need no memory to recognize +Lundy or Faith. I should know them as one comes +again in full possession of his mind and heart after +a long sleep. My idea of a happy resurrection would +be to rise from my dust cleansed from every embarrassing +and diminishing recollection, because +this is the only way to be as prideful as one expects +to be in Heaven.</p> + +<p>Grief, however poignant, is like a wound, if you +are not by nature infirm, but a normal person with a +strong mental constitution, you recover from it as +you would from any other wound or sickness. So I +recovered from the death of my husband. The +health of my spirit returned, and with it the idea +of happiness began to freshen in my mind.</p> + +<p>Faith was married by this time. I was alone and +free to live that life of mine which I had wished for +as saints long for immortality. My feeling has always +been that happiness lies somewhere in Genesis, +in those first scenes of man. For this reason I set +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>out for the hills behind the world in Georgia, where +the days come and go much as they did in the beginning, +where human speech is such a rare sound that +the dogs bark when they hear it in this valley, and +where the song of birds is the real language one +hears. It is a place where there is no wealth, no +learning, and much natural wisdom of the woods, +the hills and streams. There are a few people, but +I know them only as one knows a little prose, a +little poetry and a few Scriptures, not personally +nor intimately.</p> + +<p>I have written at some length in ‘My Book and +Heart’ of this old cabin and the surroundings, but +I am setting down now the real reason for coming +here. It was to escape the mind and will of the +world, to practice my own will and mind in living +and so find happiness—that animation of the +mortal spirit which is far more refreshing than +peace.</p> + +<p>It was my way of laying claim to my own life. +I am now in a position to say that I very much +doubt whether there is such a thing as a human life +which belongs exclusively to one person. It is something +we borrow from other men, from books, from +a thousand sources, and something we spend or +lend likewise; but life does not belong to us as it does +to other living creatures, nor even to the grass. We +are the most dependent of all God’s creatures, not +only upon one another, but upon the beasts of the +fields and upon everything that lives. And nothing +we win, even if it is everything, can possibly satisfy +us. I suppose this is one of those terrific provisions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>of Providence to keep us doing and moving toward +some far-off divine event.</p> + +<p>What follows is the record of my adventures in +this business. Launcelot looking for the Holy Grail +never traveled farther or endured greater hardships +than I have in this narrow valley looking for happiness. +I have worn all my virtues to a frazzle and I +am about to grow old in sorrowful defeats without +attaining even the bright rim of the cup of happiness. +And now, when maybe it is too late, I have discovered +the mistake I made. This is scarcely +reason enough to go on with these annals, because +when at the end I prove it and set it down in plain +words, not one who reads this tale can avoid making +it. We are the perpetual victims of an illusion. We +may as well take what comes, whether it is happiness +or not, and avoid the struggle.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLII"> + XLII + <br> + VARIOUS TYPES OF WOMEN + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I suppose</span> women are one of the essential provisions +of Nature, but in our minds we have never been +satisfied with the arrangement. We feel that there +is some kind of imposition connected with it. We +were simply thought of afterwards; we were not an +inspiration of creation, but we were created to meet +a necessity afterwards. This makes a difference. +We are not quite normal as men are. We still have +a futile instinct to escape from what we are. Thousands +and thousands of years have not made us +contented and at home in ourselves. No man ever +wished himself a woman, but ask any one of us and +if she is in a truthful mood she will admit that she +wishes she were a man. I have no doubt Eve regretted +she was not Adam.</p> + +<p>Circumstances have favored us. From winning +privileges, protections and perquisites as we came up +through the ages, we are at last getting some queer +advantages of the situation one way or another. +But this makes no difference. If we obtain the balance +of power we seek, live the lives men live and +do the things they do, we shall still be women, subject +as usual to fits of nerves and tears on account of +the long strain of not being quite normal and at +home in ourselves.</p> + +<p>But when you have been a woman a long time, +and have grown accustomed, you may say by defeat, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>to the sensations of being one, you may look +back through your mind, which is quite different +from looking back through your history, and pick +up much strange information about yourself which +you would never discover except in the retrospect.</p> + +<p>For example, seeing the woman I used to be more +clearly than I could possibly have seen and measured +her then, it occurs to me that I may have been a kind +of idiot, femininely speaking. What I mean is that +I seem to have been almost totally devoid of that +engaging self-consciousness which makes women +noticeable and attractive to men. I am embarrassed +lest my husband may have found me delinquent in +the mere airs of femininity. I do not recall ever +being coquettish or feeling attractive; merely honest, +kind, devoted, and at times freakishly witty +or gravely intelligent.</p> + +<p>Maybe this was due to the fact that I was not +pretty as men see prettiness, and knew it, although +I always felt beautiful, and must have been absurdly +contented with this inward conviction. Still I have +known many a homely woman who was amazingly +attractive, like that heroine in one of Madame de +Staël’s novels to whose ‘bright dark homeliness’ +she refers so flatteringly. That is the point—if you +must be homely it is better to be dark about it. +With black hair, black eyes and even a swarthy +skin you have only to turn on your light from within +to glow. I am too fair, not enough contrast between +my blondness and any brightness of expression I +could turn on. Besides, I have what would be called +a lofty brow in a man, which gives me a damnably +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span>noble look so far as beauty is concerned. During +the thin years of my earlier womanhood it was out +of all sweetly feminine proportion to the lower part +of my face.</p> + +<p>I am only suggesting a probable explanation, you +understand; not that I believe it myself, but hope +some one else will. The feeling I have now is that I +missed part of my conduct as a woman at a time +when it might have contributed some to that +happiness which I have also missed. What I should +like to know is whether women who have flown their +banners in many men’s hearts during their youth +have memories of happiness that I have not got. +Do they recall those episodes with pleasure? Or do +they recall them at all? I have a queer, ruthless +feeling that I could have forgotten many men, and +remembered forever only one. I wish I knew what +so many other women know about this. Maybe it +is idle curiosity, but it feels like lines I failed to recite +in living.</p> + +<p>At this late day I wonder what Lundy really +thought of me. I have observed this—that very +few wives know what their husbands think of them. +I even wonder sometimes with the gravest trepidations +what he would think of me now. I have +grown so sensible. I have almost lost the gift of +doing anything foolish and sweetly feminine, if I +ever had it. And yet the woman I never have been +sits and looks through this bright veil of mysteries, +as we sometimes gaze reverently at the masterpiece +we never could have painted.</p> + +<p>The only consolation I get in such a mood is a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>mean one. The women I have known who enjoyed +all these benefits do not impress me as being eased +by their experiences. I can think of a dozen who +were belles in their youth, who were happily married, +who enjoyed all the distinctions society and wealth +can confer upon charming women. And now, at my +age, they have a curious, beautifully painted, bankrupt +expression, as if they had lost several fortunes +and were facing the direst poverty in their old age. +I may be mistaken about this. They may have +acquired that restless, frantic look characteristic +of them from habit on account of doing things instead +of sitting for years thinking things as I have +done.</p> + +<p>Still, I feel like a stranger among them, as if they +had practiced some kind of feminine wit and dexterity +in living that I do not know. I believe it is +something they learned of themselves which I cannot +learn. They know how to make an attraction of +their modesty.</p> + +<p>Now I have often wondered whether modesty is a +cultivated virtue or a quality of femininity. If it is +a virtue to be attained by taking thought, I have +lacked it through the whole of my life. For I have +never been consciously modest, nor even felt the +need of protecting myself anywhere, nor the least +anxiety about remaining neatly folded and decent to +the last.</p> + +<p>One of the mysteries of feminine consciousness +which I have never fathomed is why so many +women feel in some vague danger from men. Why +do they look under the bed to make sure no man is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>there? Years ago I was going to prayer meeting one +evening in a city accompanied by a spinster. She +was a dear good soul, but you may say almost conscientiously +homely. This was during that period +when we wore broad black leather belts to gear +in our shirt waists and skirts. We were stepping +primly around the corner to the church when my +companion leaped into the air and screamed. Clinging +to me in the wildest terror, she vowed that a +man had seized her by the belt from behind. It +was no use to ask her if she was sure it was a man: +they always know it is a man if anything happens +to them. He alone is the plausible explanation. It +was a fact that she had lost her belt. The buckle +had slipped and it lay directly behind us on the +pavement. Now why did she do that? One might +be tempted to suspect some indelicate lesion of the +imagination if it were not for the fact that good +women, pure enough in heart to see God, are subject +to these vagaries.</p> + +<p>When I had lived alone in this old cabin for ten +years, without ever suspecting it of having a man +concealed in it, a friend came to spend a month with +me. She was seven years my senior, and you may +say the very pincushion of every feminine virtue, +very modest. Nevertheless, every evening before +she retired she would take her candle and go man-hunting +through the house, upstairs, downstairs, +and even into both basements—just to make sure +no man was in it.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in the deeper, darker hours of the +night she would appear like a ghost in my room to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>whisper excitedly that she was sure she had heard a +man in the house. Then we would start forth to +find this wraith of her imagination, two elderly women +buttoned to the chin in our plain middle-aged +nighties, her gray hair and my thin hair skewed so +tightly that it left nothing to be revealed concerning +our faded faces—terrible looking, but harmless +creatures, bearing our quaking candles, thrusting +them into such corners and places as burglars only +inhabit in the feminine imagination. If we had +actually discovered one it would not have been we +but the burglar who must have fainted at the sight +of us.</p> + +<p>She could never realize the absurdity of these +fruitless adventures, but I always felt embarrassed +and apologetic to mankind in general. A woman +must have more presumption than I have ever felt +to imagine herself in any kind of danger from men.</p> + +<p>But that is my point. They are the more womanly +women, and the dearer kind to men. The telepathy +of terror they experience toward this imaginary man +is none the less telepathy when they are not alarmed +if they are in social sight and distance of men. I +suppose in the dark or when they are alone and unprotected +their fears are due to the survival of a +primitive instinct, out of date now, like the appendix +in the human body, but brought up with them from +that far time when women were in real danger of +being seized and borne off by some marauding +knight on his saddlebow.</p> + +<p>I suppose in the daytime, in the parlor or on the +street, when these same women are armed to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>teeth with every charm, it is the same instinct of +self-consciousness in a victorious mood. They are +on the offensive then and more or less irresistible. +For men certainly are more easily attracted by the +self-conscious woman, whether she is shrinkingly or +boldly so, than they are by one who sleeps soundly +unmindful of them and who goes about her business +the next day with no animated sense of them.</p> + +<p>What I mean is that modesty of this kind is the +fine art of self-consciousness, and to be without it is +to be femininely stupid, no matter how much other +sense you have. At my age, I suppose no woman +with a proper sense of dignity would want romantic +attention. It would come to the same thing as +being caricatured. Even at that, I do get tired sometimes +of seeing in every man’s eye with whom I deal +that I have come to do business with him or that he +has come to do business with me. I feel the need of +a little more versatility of manners between us. I +should like to take a pleasant feminine shot at him +as I see other women do, but so far as I know I have +never capered one such glancing remark at a man, +even if I met him upon my own copygrounds, much +less in a business way. And I have wished for compliments, +not aimed at my brains or my diligence, +as other women wish much more fortunately, but +no man ever lies in that beautiful way to me.</p> + +<p>I am not regretting the dignity of my conduct, +nor the awful dignity with which I am treated; but +I am merely intimating that it is dry stuff being a +woman when some dull wisdom in you keeps you +from acting altogether like one. It is a tearful thing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>to know that you will go down to your grave loved +and honored for the good you have done and not for +the sweetness and loveliness of the woman you were +or might, could or would have been if you had used +your mind less and your talents more.</p> + +<p>It would be interesting to know how the modern +woman is coming out at this point. They are bolder +than we were. I read of one lately who left her +husband listening on the front porch while she went +back in the dark house and shot the burglar whom +he was too sensible to face. And it is absolutely +amazing to me how many of them kill their own +husbands upon provocations that formerly drew +only a few tears from a wife. To slay your husband, +no matter what kind of husband he is, seems to me +a frightful kind of suicide. Formerly only men killed +their wives. Now they flunk and desert them. They +have lost some power of endurance they used to +have with all their faults in the married relation. As +near as I can make out, two people who marry now +are not one in the sense we used to be, because from +the start they contemplate no such involving unity. +We are founding a precarious domestic life upon +the grounds of mutual intolerance.</p> + +<p>I do not know how they have managed it, but it +is perfectly clear to an observing person that modern +men are shy of modern women not as fellow sports +but as prospective husbands. Maybe it is because so +many women sue for alimony, when they used to +give up and do the best they could according to their +marriage vows. Maybe it is because so many young +women now will bring suit for damages on account +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>of a breach of promise and prove the latter by the +signature of a love letter.</p> + +<p>In my day, if a girl was jilted she died of a broken +heart, or became an old maid, or married better, and +nothing was said of that earlier affair. Getting +damages evens matters up, but it does seem strangely +gross and unwomanly to do such a thing, as if the +victoress sold her self-respect in the open court for +so many thousand dollars. Can the definition of +self-respect change with the changing times with a +woman? I have often wondered how they feel when +they win such a suit.</p> + +<p>The effect of all this courage in women is to develop +the bump of matrimonial caution in the best +men to the point of absurdity. I remember very +well the first hero we had in American fiction who +dared not write letters like Saint Paul, with his own +hand, to his lady love, lest these should be used as +evidence against him. This was Annixter in Frank +Norris’s novel, ‘The Octopus.’ We thought at the +time that this was a false note in the story. Now the +world is teeming with these discreet young bachelors.</p> + +<p>The fashion of what we are is changing. Women +do seem to have a better working knowledge of men +than they had even a dozen years ago. But I am +wondering how it will turn out. If you are by nature +the weaker vessel, it is a dangerous thing to break +too many of the stronger vessels. We need them. +The safest and wisest way of getting the better of a +man if you are a woman is by sticking to him.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIII"> + XLIII + <br> + MERE MIND + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">The</span> trouble is that I have been too much concerned +in writing the scriptures of human hearts according +to the light of my own heart. One cannot be such an +interpreter and figure at the same time as the sophisticated +heroine of an adventurous and highly +colored existence. Will no one appreciate the delicacy +and courtesy I have shown in failing to reveal his +sins by not recording mine? Then, indeed, I should +deserve the charge of having lived a particularly narrow +and uninteresting life.</p> + +<p>No one will bury me on top of a high mountain in +honor of my brilliant transgressions or make a pilgrimage +to lay wreaths upon my tomb later. Any +respectable person could commit them and get away +with it. I have a temper which perpetually glows +like a coal of fire on my altar. The lies I tell as a rule +are good little lies offered to comfort somebody, or +to shield myself from the snooping eye of the uncharitable. +I have no more conscience about that +than softly closing the door of my chamber when +the devil passes by.</p> + +<p>I am an ungodly, intemperate and uncharitable +woman when it comes to bearing with laziness and +shiftlessness. I still believe an idle brain is the devil’s +workshop. If I exposed some of the convictions I +entertain along this line, they would forever bar me +from polite society. I am so profoundly conscious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>of my own sex that I cannot endure the license of +modern conversation on this subject. Not only that, +but I am so mean-minded that I cannot believe the +people who indulge in it have decent minds, no matter +how high and noble they look at the time or +what excellent diction they use.</p> + +<p>I believe firmly in the fig leaves of language and +that God still walks in the garden in the cool of the +evening, looking for that damned Adam of us all. I +believe the mere minds we have lead to mischief. +They are roguish and unscrupulous. I believe that +we are in touch with something else, spirit, which +leads to righteousness, honor, and things of good +report. I am not pretending, however, to keep up +this connection.</p> + +<p>Just let me make a good resolution, especially to +the effect that I will exercise charity toward all and +malice toward none, and I am sure to fly off the +handle before that day is done to administer mortal +justice merely, you may say, as a public service +against a neighbor who has cheated, or beaten his +horse unmercifully, or started a scandal, or gone +a-fishing while his wife and children remain at home +to work in the fields—none of which is my business. +Still, I will attend to it as if it was.</p> + +<p>I have long since made up my mind that there is +more mortal relief in judging people and taking the +consequences of having the same judgment meted +to me again than sitting like an innocuous saint +with my mouth shut. If that scripture should be +literally and universally obeyed, how could we +develop public opinion? And after all is said and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>done in the name of the law and religion, does not +public opinion remain the strongest moral force we +have for controlling the conduct of men?</p> + +<p>I may be a trifle short now and then in my contributions +to charity, but no one can accuse me of not +being liberal and constant in my contributions to +public opinion. The result is that, so far as I know, +I have one of the worst-weathered reputations in +this section. I am coming to that presently. In the +meantime, if you take my word for it, there is +nothing novel or inflammable in the sins I have +committed.</p> + +<p>I am not excusing myself for the lack of valor I +have shown along this line, you understand; but I +am offering an explanation, which relieves me in a +large measure both from blame or praise in this +matter. When you have had the Ten Commandments +striped upon your conscience with a switch +at a tender age, when you have spent nearly a +quarter of a century practicing the beatitudes in +spite of your own carnal desire to raise the dust +occasionally with an instinct more effective in +mortal affairs than a beatitude, and when you have +spent the remaining years of your life serving a +sentence to hard labor, a flirtation seems a frivolous +waste of time, even if such an affair affords you the +gratification of being a worldly wise and tragically +experienced woman.</p> + +<p>I have contemplated this kind of diversion much +as one considers a wild speculation; but after mature +reflection I have always decided not to invest, because +it seems to me the man gets the diversion and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>the woman gets the black eye, no matter how sweetly +and beautifully and modestly she conducts her romance, +especially if it ends in marriage.</p> + +<p>What I mean is that it is useless to pretend to be +very good or very wise. We cannot be, and overcome +one another as frequently as we do in the long +competition of living. I suppose this is one reason +why righteousness and wisdom make such slow +progress in this world and have had so many backsets. +The sensible thing to do is to choose a life +within your capacity to achieve and do most of +your thinking along the line you have chosen.</p> + +<p>So I have gone on, writing a few books on the side, +but laying the scenes of my mind in the valley. I +can go out any day and trace my real thoughts for +the last ten years. By the looks of them it is easy to +infer that I have no great mind and not much money +to spend. But it is also clear that I was thinking and +planning for happiness, not for riches. The forests +still stand taller and greener than when I came, +though the timber in them is worth three times as +much as my whole estate here. The red hillsides +have been changed into green pastures. It has been +like taking over the care and maintenance of an old, +sick, and impoverished relative to restore the land to +health and vitality. But it is fertile and willing now. +I make no apologies for what it has cost. I have been +too wise to keep books with Nature and the weather. +But I doubt if what I have spent in buildings, dams +and breaks in all this time equals what the average +woman with the same income would have spent on +clothes, operas, motors and journeys from her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>favorite summer resorts to her favorite winter resorts +in half as many years. And I still have my investments, +while she must repeat her expenses each +season if she keeps up her indulgences. It all depends +upon your taste in living and your idea of +pleasure whether you spend lavishly for the splendors +and gayeties of the fashionable world, or +moderately for the long peace of a quiet place, round +quiet days and starlit nights.</p> + +<p>I do not appear to have been brilliant or very +extravagant anywhere; but the only place where I +fail to show at a modest advantage is on the banks +of the creek which flows through this valley, gory +with mud in the spring and winter floods, clear and +sparkling as a happy woman’s eye at other seasons. +Twice every year I contend with this treacherous +watercourse, twice every year it rises and sweeps +over the land. Afterwards there remains not a vestige +of my works along the banks to restrain it.</p> + +<p>Still, this valorous worm of a creek is near to being +my dearest possession. The time was when my +heart was filled with anxieties and fears for those +whom I loved. Now there is no one to love and +nothing to fear. The time was when I was at grips +with poverty and every vicissitude. Now I am no +longer very poor, and I do miss my vicissitudes as a +demoted soldier misses his decorations for gallant +service. And there was a time when the world inside +the Church was fiercely critical of me and my works. +Now the weather has changed and I miss the lash +of the harsher saints. But I have a happy presentiment +that when all my works are finished, and I am +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>a memory grown faint in the minds of men, I shall +still be an aged willful woman in this valley, prancing +majestically back and forth along the banks of +this creek, ordering fortifications raised against its +violence. The world will have passed and I shall +have been reduced to littleness of consequences +there; but I shall have something to do, one last +fight to win. This is something to which to look forward +when you have nothing else to win.</p> + +<p>This record, as truthful as I can make it, must read +like a very well-constructed plan for a kind of happiness +suitable for a person of my age and gender. +But looking back through these years, I cannot recall +any such experiences. It seems to me that I +have always been in an anguish of labor or in a state +of suspense, always looking for more burdens to +bear, giving more bonds for title to my own life and +liberties. It may be that happiness is a state of unconsciousness, +and that I have been too consciously +looking for it; but I am beginning to have a faint +spiritual intimation that I have practiced my Scriptures +to the wrong tune. I am not so sure now that +the key-note of a good life should be self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>I am finally beginning to believe that the Scriptures +were meant to preserve us from too many awful +sacrifices, and that I may have used them too +much like the shroud of my mortal mind. I am +ready to concede that Nature is full of tricks to +serve its own ends; but it does seem beneath the +dignity of the good God to have persuaded the simple +minority to sacrifice themselves for the profit and +comfort of the indifferent and unrighteous majority, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>which is precisely what happens. It is really written +that we shall present ourselves living sacrifices +wholly acceptable to God.</p> + +<p>I wish I had remembered and understood the +meaning of that passage sooner. It would have +saved me much hardship and left more space for +human happiness. It comes to me now that it is less +exhausting to make one’s self wholly acceptable to +the Lord than to those of our fellow men who can +fish for our services with these Scriptures. For they +want as many sacrifices as you can make, and will +give you as many of their burdens to bear as you +will carry; but our heavenly Father only demands a +right spirit toward Him to make us reasonably safe +in our relations to our fellow men—which would +by no means cover the terrific labors and sacrifices +some of us have made along this line.</p> + +<p>I am coming now to the closing scenes of my life +as I have lived it in the past, because I mean to +close these scenes. As a Christian, I have had the +wrong training; as a middle-aged woman, it will be +difficult to go against this training; but I do hope to +have time to make the experiment.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIV"> + XLIV + <br> + ISN’T LIFE EXCITING ENOUGH? + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Why</span> should one take to strong drink because this +is now a fashionable perversity practiced against the +prohibition amendment, as ill-bred people disregard +other people’s respect for law and decency? We +depend too much upon artificial stimulation. There +used to be a home-brew known as fine conversation +which was much more delightfully intoxicating than +any brand of bootleg liquor now known to polite +society. Lacking conversation here, I have frequently +risen to a state of happy inebriation by +following a particularly entrancing train of thought.</p> + +<p>This is one thing I have observed about gambling—it +renders a man or a woman sinister and silent +when other people present are obvious and vocative. +They are mortgaged mentally by a fixed idea. In +this connection I recall a visit made years ago to +Monte Carlo. I missed the thrill. All my life I have +been such a desperate gambler against fate, adversity, +and the weather that the games I saw played +there seemed childishly inadequate so far as gratifying +an adventurous spirit is concerned. Men and +women simply pawned themselves for a little gold, +lost it or doubled it in a moment, and then repeated +the experiment indefinitely. My notion about such +people is that they lack the courage to sit in the +long game of life and play it according to the rules.</p> + +<p>I am something of a piker, financially speaking; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>but I have always entertained the conceit that I +might have done very well in Wall Street if I had +not been more profitably engaged. My dealings +have been chiefly with the earth and editors. Both +are frightful risks. A flood or a drought may destroy +your harvest. The forensic mind of the editor may +have changed while you are writing the thing he +thought he wanted, or you may have missed your +cue and produced something he never dreamed of. +My rule is never to kick against the pricks. What is +the use of adding wounds to your misfortune, because +if you push one of them he can give you +reasons frightfully diminishing to your vanity for +turning down your copy. They are the most convincing +men on earth at that business.</p> + +<p>I recall only one triumphant exception in my +twenty-five years’ experience with them. In 1915 +I had a contract to deliver three short stories to be +published in a New York magazine. When they +were delivered, the editor wired me that he would +take them, since he was obliged to do so under the +terms of the contract, but that he did not want them. +The implication was not complimentary. Two days +later I arrived in New York, called the editor of +another magazine and offered him the same stories +at an advance of two hundred dollars each on the +original price. He agreed to take them sight unseen. +I hurried off to call on the other editor who held the +manuscripts.</p> + +<p>He was astonished, and obviously not glad to see +me. But my manner was so regretful and apologetic +that he recovered his more vehement faculties at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>once. Never have I heard such a scathing criticism +of literary composition. But I let him do his worst; +I urged him on to speak yet more contemptuously +of the things until words failed him.</p> + +<p>I do not remember ever feeling meek in the presence +of mere man, but any woman can look meek. +I folded my hands and regarded him like a shorn +lamb in a cold wind.</p> + +<p>He accepted the compliment and relaxed. He +said he regretted the necessity of being perfectly +frank, but he thought under the circumstances it +was his privilege to tell the truth about those stories. +He was willing to keep the things, but they were not +worth the price he had promised to pay for them, +and so on and so forth. Oh, certainly not, I agreed; +they were not worth anything to him, but to me, +everything. My honor was involved; I could not +think of allowing him to keep them, and so on and +so forth, in a sad, low tone.</p> + +<p>This contest lasted an hour before I was at last +obliged to fling off my sheep’s clothing, give him a +glint of my real mind and demand them. He +yielded then only on condition that I send him +another story within the year. I agreed on condition +that he should pay for it at once in advance, for no +other reason that I can think of than to see how far +I could go, seeing that I had started so glibly on this +adventure.</p> + +<p>I delivered the three condemned stories to the +other editor, having told him the scandal connected +with them, and returned to my hotel with checks +amounting to nearly four thousand dollars.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span></p> + +<p>This indicates that I have some natural talent +for speculating, but I am thinking my career as a +writer has lasted longer because I have had the +shrewdness not to develop the gift.</p> + +<p>There is a wideness of the mind not dependent +upon the experience of a broad manner of living, if +you know what I mean. But let that go; I suppose +after all is said that can be said one way or +the other, a man’s point of view about such matters +depends upon his quality and his taste. Many +people mistake jazz for joy, a loose life for a full +life, successful selfishness for the survival of the +fittest and the rationalism of a dirt dauber’s intellect +for wisdom. Mine tend toward the great simplicities, +whether they are actually to be attained or +not. I prefer to clothe my egotism according to the +nobler scriptures defining immortality rather than in +the less expensive worldly vanities.</p> + +<p>This is a mean advantage to take of those critics +who lack the spunk of such divine egotism without +ever being able to prove immortality is an illusion +of the mortal mind inspired by the fear of death. I +have my anxieties about the traveling passports of +saints in the next world; but if it is possible to obtain +a furlough from paradise, I shall apply for one +as soon as I am incorruptible and spirit-proved, +return to this world and pinch a few friends and +critics who now look askance upon my professions +of faith. If I shall have developed no more than one +wing, I mean to spread it in a smile, rustle it triumphantly +in their ears by way of whispering, ‘Thou +fool!’ But I do not suppose this will make any difference. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>It has already been written and proved +that ‘even if one rose from the dead’ they will not +believe.</p> + +<p>So my years have gone by. If you have read this +record so far you will have perceived that these +last ones lack the glory and loveliness of those +earlier years. I am better known in the world and +not so dependent in spirit as I used to be upon the +angels in Heaven. I have not outgrown their ministrations; +I seem to have lost them. Sometimes at +night in this lonely house, lying awake, I remember +the child I used to be in the little room at home, when +I literally believed in my own guardian angels, one +at the head and one at the foot of my bed.</p> + +<p>What sublime experiences children have, and how +serenely they accept them! I used to fall asleep +nonchalantly conscious of these angels and their +protection. Now if for one fleeting moment I could +be aware of such hallowed companionship, I am +certain my corruption would put on incorruption +and I should rise from that bed a spiritual body. I +should be young and lovely; and the next morning, +though I might look the same, I should be changed. +I should have the heart of a child, know no evil, +believe everything and draw all men to me.</p> + +<p>Very few people enjoy the privilege of laying the +scenes of their own minds. They are controlled by +circumstances, conventions, and that windy weather +of other people’s minds known as the spirit of the +times. If a man conceives the ambition to do such +a thing, the easiest way is to climb into an attic, +close the door and write out the scenes of his mind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>on paper. And this is pure fiction so far as he is +concerned, even if he produces a volume of the profoundest +philosophy. He has not lived it; he has +merely thought it.</p> + +<p>This is the reason why I have never bowed my +dizzy old head to the greatest thinker of them all. +I have done too much active living between the +devil and the deep blue sea to be petrified into a +state of admiration by a mere system of thought. +Let him try out his theories on the land, in the street, +in the commercial or industrial world, in society, +even in the Church, and find out how long they will +last.</p> + +<p>But watch the philosopher! He keeps out of the +ructions of real life, which is the only personal +evidence he shows of being one. All that stuff he has +written is for you to practice. I never heard of an +up-and-doing ubiquitous philosopher. He may lecture, +but he does not live; he only exists. His books +are popular or unpopular, but the man as a man +would prove ineffective if he should be put to the +tests the simplest of us must pass in order to matriculate +as serviceable scholars in the real arts of living. +I should be willing to match one of my narrow circuit +rider’s days in living, or a half of one of my +own days spent in this green attic of the hills, with +one of Herbert Spencer’s days anytime; not that I +know his private life, but I have my suspicions that +there was not much of it. He was too entirely absorbed +in recording his ideas to have had the energy +and initiative to dramatize his thinking into deeds.</p> + +<p>The more one reflects upon the business rather +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>than the theories of living, the more do creeds and +philosophies shrink in importance. It is like starting +on a long and arduous journey burdened with luggage. +You are handicapped by too many doctrines +and complicated systems of thinking, which interferes +with that moral elasticity so essential to courage +and a good conscience. You may become famous for +your piety or your wisdom, but you do not arrive. +Respect for a doctrine or for logic trips you at the +very moment when you might have made the grade. +You may found a transient school of thought, obtain +the flighty tail of a following; but there is no profit +beyond that of gratified vanity in such an adventure. +The world will presently swing through the lightening +dust of your great mind and go on its way as +if you had never happened—as this earth would +scarcely be spattered by radiance if it passed through +the flame tail of the brightest comet.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLV"> + XLV + <br> + AS WE SEEM TO OTHERS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">It</span> is a queer experience to gaze into the crystal ball +that your mind really is and behold there the image +of the woman you were and are and ever shall be, in +spite of everything you have done and can do to +glorify her.</p> + +<p>The life you live never reveals the person you are +by nature; only the kind of person you have drifted +into being or have been constrained to become. So +your autobiography, however intimately written, is +not the record of you, but of your feelings and performances +under the circumstances, what happened +to you by the day or by the year; what you lost and +what you won. All of it is history manufactured by +you in living, but not you. Some luminous dust of +your trials and triumphs obscures your vision and +makes the record shine at a time when no one who +knew you then noticed the faintest rim of a halo +above you.</p> + +<p>It is your nature to put your best foot foremost if +you can get so much as the toe of it in print, so you +instinctively drop the curtain on this scene or that +one in your life because one hint of it would give the +reader a glimpse of you, not garnished for the moment +by your good deeds or extolled by your rhetoric +of these performances.</p> + +<p>I do not suppose any one who reads ‘My Book and +Heart’ will ever suspect what a commonplace person +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>the author of that record really is. I was frequently +moved to tears and laughter while I was writing the +thing. Sometimes for whole days I felt translated +into the good words and the noble ones I used to set +down merely the things I had suffered and achieved.</p> + +<p>But you have only to observe the impression you +are making upon the people who see you every day +and know your literal expression, your disposition, +the cut of your eye, to have the soaring wings of your +vanity as an autobiographer clipped. Very few of +us would recognize one another by our scriptures, +but we do it by the personal impression we make. +For example, I have never felt that I should have +been personally attracted to George Washington, +although I respect and admire him as the Father +of his Country. I do not think I would have invited +him to a dinner party at my house even if I had been +in a position to do so, because I have a very strong +feeling that he would have been a short circuit +socially. The conversation would have had to be adjusted +to him. Our minds would have had to be +the obsequious footmen to his outrageously noble +soul. I do not believe tradition is responsible for this +notion I have of him, but some intuition of the man +which not even history can obscure.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, I have a vaguely regretful feeling +that I might have enjoyed dining with Abraham +Lincoln. And I am certain that I should have felt +comfortable and blessed on merely the rim of the +presence of Robert E. Lee. He would not have +missed me even if I had been a very plain and undistinguished +person in the darkest corner of the room. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>He would have contributed a glance of simple human +recognition. I have the feeling that if I looked +very insignificant he might have made the space between +us with a fine complimentary air of having +just seen some one with whom he particularly +wished to pass a few pleasant words. I have had +that happen to me more than once in the course of +my life.</p> + +<p>When you have never learned to sit gracefully +like a lady lyre in your chair with your draperies +drawn close at exactly the right place; when you +have a motionless countenance socially and a blunder-buss +mind, and you are kept busy putting out +the fuse of it lest the thing should go off with the explosion +of an idea too loud for such an occasion—I do +not know of any more gratifying experience than to +be suddenly soothed by the recognition of a truly +great man or woman who apparently does not suspect +what an awkward person you are in that +company. Such people are never moved by mere +manners; they perform an act of social piety to +you which springs from the gallantry of a kind +heart.</p> + +<p>I remember once, before I ever dreamed of such +an extravagance as an afternoon frock, I received +an invitation to a very fashionable garden party. I +wore a shirt waist and skirt. The latter was long +and trailed, I hoped, elegantly behind me. But getting +my foot caught in it as I descended caused me +actually to tumble from the hack in which I arrived +directly upon the fluttering edge of that garden +party.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<p>This was an abrupt way of entering the social life +of a large town where I had been a stranger for +seven years. But I made it, due entirely to one circumstance. +A lovely woman, distinguished for her +social graces, caught sight of me sitting upon a +bench pathetically removed from the gayety of the +occasion. She said she had been looking for me. +Had I had any punch? Innocent stuff, a kind of +sublimated lemonade. Did I know many of these +people?</p> + +<p>I had had no refreshment, and I did not know any +of these people. I might have added that my knees +were still trembling from having fallen out of the +hack, but I made out to accompany her. It was like +walking in a rainbow of smiles and good will. Presently +I came to my other self, a woman I had never +been before, a social creature at ease. I had liberty, +and remembered making several bright remarks, +not droll, but neatly and prettily funny, at which +every one laughed and looked at me as if I were a +pleasant surprise.</p> + +<p>I caught the tune, even the step, of that occasion. +I remember mincing from one group to another, +holding up my skirt with an air, as conscious of the +lace in the frill of my petticoat as any other woman +present was of her rustling silk petticoats, accompanied +through the whole afternoon by that gracious +woman who anchored me with a look or a +smile until my poor tight-fitting lid as a preacher’s +wife came off and I was near to being a song which +was not a hymn. I may have been ridiculous for all +I know, but I felt very light in my heart. Maybe +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>this was happiness. If so, it was a long time ago, +and I am by social functions now as literary critics +are by a new novel. I am too learned in the things; +I know too much about how they are made and what +they cost in jealousies and competitions to enjoy +them as I did that first garden party I attended in +Nashville so many years ago.</p> + +<p>But what I started out to prove was that as one +person to another person we are not the same character +as we seem to be in history or even a conscientiously +written autobiography.</p> + +<p>After the publication of ‘A Circuit Rider’s Wife,’ +my attributes as a good Christian woman were +severely damaged by some of the whispering brethren. +Quite inadvertently, the records of that book +reflected upon a few of the inside workings of the +Church; and Lundy being so tragically dead, these +brethren dared not defend themselves by attacking +his memory. The only thing left to do was to discredit +the witness who had given damaging testimony +concerning these matters.</p> + +<p>This was how I lost my reputation the first time—an +entirely satisfactory item of expense to me so +long as the crown I had written above Lundy’s head +had remained untarnished.</p> + +<p>I kept silence, not by way of turning the other +cheek, which is a form of piety unsuited to my disposition; +but looking back now, I believe I was +thinking out a few Scriptures. When you have +nothing to lose you have everything to gain. I was +in this grand state of destitution at that time. I +had lost my husband; I had also lost my reputation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>under the same frightful circumstances. But the +moment I began to revolve that excellent Scripture +in my mind which says, ‘Judge not ... for with +what judgment ye judge ... it shall be measured +to you again,’ I began to perk up. I had been most +unmercifully judged, and here was the Lord’s own +permission to return the compliment.</p> + +<p>I had several million readers by this time, which +was considerable advantage to have gained in the +scrimmage. I wrote three more circuit-rider stories. +Besides having struck a rich vein of the finest human +nature, I may have been inspired by some +retributive sense of justice, according to the Scripture +quoted above. Certainly my motive was not +without mortal guile to guide it. But I have known +very few effective people who stuck themselves up +with a noble motive under fire. My idea is to whip, +even if you perish in the fight. I am always willing +to perish, knowing well that I shall rise again every +time, everywhere according to the Word; but I am +teetotally opposed to being defeated. If you do not +take too many of the meeker Scriptures without +balancing them with the fiercer elder Scriptures, it +will be perfectly apparent to any sensible person +that the Lord does not sanction submission to any +unfriendly fate.</p> + +<p>I stuck to my text honorably, however, and confined +my revealing wit to certain regrettable methods +in the government of our church, and I may have +touched lightly upon one or two doctrines which I +believed to have been doubtfully derived from the +Word. But no man’s reputation suffered in these +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span>stories as mine had suffered at the hands of some of +the brethren.</p> + +<p>Strange as it may seem, my reputation began to +improve in the churchly silence which followed the +publication of these later stories. I do not know +whether I have reëstablished some kind of pop-eyed +confidence in my own piety and character, or if I +have been merely forgiven. I remain warily and +politely on the outside, not knowing what service I +yet may be inspired to render this church, which is +infinitely dear to me. But I have been comforted +with the hope that it has grown more tolerant of me, +as I have become less intolerant of its shortcomings. +I am beginning to realize how difficult it is to maintain +any Christian organization in a world which +specializes in worldly values without using secular +methods. More courage and more faith are needed +than modern Christians seem to have in order to +comprehend that the glory of a church does not consist +in its wealth and earthly power, but that God +alone is the glory of the Church. I have a feeling +that if Jesus should suddenly appear among us, +clothed once more in our minds with divine authority, +He would say to all these churches of whatever +denomination, ‘Sell all thou hast and follow me.’</p> + +<p>It depends upon where you lay your scenes in +living what kind of reputation you get, and how you +lose it, in case that happens. If you lay them like a +good little Dorcas, in the church, somebody will defeat +you for the presidency of the missionary society +because you are the most efficient woman for that +place. If you stretch them like a climbing Jacobess +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>in women’s clubs, a certain clique in that club will +pull the social ladder from under your aspiring feet +and elect you to the office of kitchen manager for +the afternoon refreshments. If you move a trifle +briskly in smart society, you are in danger of losing +your reputation on the front page of the daily paper +on account of having done something newsy the +night before the morning after. I know a splendid +old gray-haired widow who will not dim the snap in +her fine eyes, nor break her habit of having small +feet beautifully shod, nor even change the contours +of a figure outrageously youthful for her years. One +morning this summer she appeared in the striding +togs of a smart lady pedestrian and stepped vigorously +past a dear friend on her way out.</p> + +<p>‘Where are you going?’ the dear friend called out.</p> + +<p>‘For my morning walk,’ she returned, swinging +youthfully down the steps into the street.</p> + +<p>‘She is doing nothing of the kind. She is going to +meet a man!’ the friend informed me.</p> + +<p>‘At her age?’ I protested.</p> + +<p>‘Age has nothing to do with her. She has resigned +from her last ten years,’ was the indignant retort.</p> + +<p>‘Still, at this innocent and halcyon hour of a +summer morning, a man cannot be such a doubtful +person to meet,’ I suggested.</p> + +<p>The sense of sex has changed its location. It no +longer exists merely as a sacred natural instinct, but +it has become a conversational feature of the modern +mind, leading to the wildest social and intellectual +speculations. And there is literally no way of escaping +its damaging enterprises.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> + +<p>In any case, if you retain the delicacy of your +sensibilities, it is difficult to determine which is the +more embarrassing—to have lost the reputation +you were so careful to make for yourself or to endure +the one imposed upon you by others.</p> + +<p>This is precisely what has happened to me. Somewhere +along the way during these last ten years I +have lost my reputation again. A second growth, to +be sure, but one which I fondly believed to be normal +and more becoming to me than the one I lost to +the brethren. And not enough time left to build up +another one before I pass forever out of the zone +where all earthly reputations are made!</p> + +<p>Imagine the situation—an elderly woman who +discreetly retired from the world years ago to spend +the remainder of her days in a remote place, basking +in the grace of God without making a fuss about it; +showing her head once in so often above the horizon +with a few neat laurels on her brow; doing a little +good here and there, giving herself the airs of a beloved +woman—only suddenly to awaken to the +realization that she is a terrible old woman, autocratic, +overbearing, who has set up a very small but +clearly visible empire over which she reigns regardless +of the manners, customs, and convictions of her +friends and neighbors—when all this time I thought +I was minding my own business and dressing my +own garden to the profit and delectation of everybody +who passed by!</p> + +<p>These dear good people have been speculating in +my attributes, revising them privately according to +their amazingly vigorous but uncouth imaginations. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>They have not left one pretty soft feminine sin +sticking to me. If I had entered one of the modern +professions of banditry or bootlegging, I should +have needed less courage than would be required to +play the rôle assigned to me. It calls for buckram +breeches, two guns, a club and the vocabulary of a +sailor on shore leave. The news of my deeds in this +amazing disguise have percolated far and near.</p> + +<p>We are hard to please. I have frequently pitied +women who were criticized for the way they dressed, +rouged, or smiled, not knowing how vulnerable +many people are to vivid coloring and a Mona Lisa +sweetness of expression. Now I could find it in my +heart to envy them. It is less embarrassing to be so +suspected than to be shorn of one’s dearer charms +and vanities as a woman, and to be accused instead +of setting upon strong men with sticks. You wonder +painfully if you actually have faded and toughened +so much in the estimation of your neighbors that +you have passed beyond the pink and glorified pale +of a more delicate feminine transgression.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Virginia Woolf, novelist and critic, recently +made this statement in an article published in the +‘Criterion’: ‘On or about December, 1910, human +character changed.’ One must envy her perspicuity, +even if she does not mention the exact day of the +month when this transformation took place; but I +cannot imitate it about so intimate a thing as my +own reputation. I do not know how long this primitive +artistry in changing it has been going on; but +my suspicion is that it began the day I set foot in +this valley and started spinning literary rainbows +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>above the heads of these simple folk who share the +attic life of these simple hills with me.</p> + +<p>Six busy years passed in love and charity with +them before I had the least hint of what was going +on. When at last I came face to face with my local +likeness I was confounded. Long afterward the +explanation occurred to me—in dealing with +other people it is a mistake not to take into account +the furtiveness of human nature and the guarded +indirectness of the mortal mind. Wearing creeds +and civilization like garments, we still practice +within many of the traits of our primitive ancestors. +A man is frequently on guard or on the offensive +when we approach him in a friendly tail-wagging +spirit, all unconscious of his bristling attitude, due +to some weakness in himself of which you are not +aware, or to a competitive animosity which you do +not feel.</p> + +<p>I have learned this too late in life to practice a +corresponding discretion in my association with +other people. I seem to have an infernal gift for telling +what is going on in my mind or feelings. This is +the quickest way possible to kick the skylights out +of your own reputation. But I do not regret it, having +had a grander time telling on myself than most +people ever have concealing themselves. I have +told the truth too much. It makes you free, but you +pay for it. I remember hoping at the time that the +scandalous caricature of my virtues might be a compliment +inadvertently implied. One must protect +himself before his immediate public either with conceit +or with resignation. I use both as the occasion +demands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>After this experience, I resolved to have done +with my various reputations. They are nowhere +required of us in the Scriptures. On the contrary, +in the second chapter of Philippians, it is recorded +that he ‘made himself of no reputation.’ I have +willed mine to the world, which makes them and +takes them away. They are too ephemeral and too +expensive to keep up. If you have caught the wind +of the world in your sails, you have only to do your +work to insure your fame—a drastic business, but +not nearly so difficult as maintaining your own personal +reputation if you have become one of the +assets of the public mind.</p> + +<p>Besides, the older you grow the less comfortably +does any reputation fit you. It is like a garment you +used to wear, now out of style with your thoughts +and your aspirations, which are stretching away +like dreams beyond the mind of this world. There +was a time, for example, when it troubled me to be +regarded as a tightwad, because instead of contributing +in the conventional public-spirited manner +to movements, memorials, monuments and notorious +charities, I have done my alms in secret. And +though my heavenly Father who seeth in secret +has not yet seen fit to reward me openly as they are +praised who do good accompanied by a press agent, +I am beginning to feel more solvent morally and independent +spiritually by disregarding these character +prints, good or bad, left in passing upon the +minds of other people. The image depends too much +upon the quality of the mind that receives it to be +always reputable or veracious.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p> + +<p>But whenever you become truly philosophical, +you never are quite truthful toward your own +humanness. I may write convincingly concerning +this noble ideal of myself. It is held, you may say, +on principle; I have never been able to live up to it +except by fits and starts. The fact remains that I +frequently suffer like a sinner under conviction over +the impression made upon a friend, knowing how +I have touched up the crooked lines of his character +so that it will shine in a sentence more becoming +to him. When he reads this sentence later in the +book, he never seems to recognize himself. He never +comes to clasp me by the hand and regard me with +tear-dimmed eyes of appreciation. But just let me +write out a fault, and forty men and women of my +acquaintance will take offense, when my innocent +purpose had been to dramatize one of my own secret +shortcomings!</p> + +<p>The greatest inconvenience I experience comes +from the constant effort to repress my friendly instincts. +I have a talent for loving people and would +like to use it, but my flare of affection is put out +when I perceive myself mirrored in the eye of that +man or this woman as a fearsome person, liable to +explode an opinion which will reflect upon his dearest +prejudice or outrage her most sacred fallacy.</p> + +<p>I am not complaining, you understand; I am +simply indicating how much worm-and-dust wisdom +of this world is required to finance a reputation even +for sweetness and light, and that it does not pay if +you have any safer way of employing your talents.</p> + +<p>We permit conscience to make cowards of us all. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>Then by instinct we turn upon the highest everywhere +to reduce it to the level of our own conduct. +We cannot even get far enough away from our own +transgressions to believe in the Almighty. We condemn +ourselves to dust and despair, and we cover +the whole ignoble performance with flubdub philosophy +and think we get away with it. But we do +not. We live best by faith, not by what we know or +the uttermost that we can think; and certainly not +according to our reputations, because very few people +know what kind of reputations they have.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVI"> + XLVI + <br> + FITTING INTO LIFE + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">Growing</span> up year after year in a place like this requires +more studious application than taking a master’s +degree in a university, where you attend lectures +and have a course of reading to defend you +from thinking your own thoughts on that subject. +It is a fact which you discover for yourself under +the circumstances that ‘knowledge comes, but +wisdom lingers.’ We are at best no more than the +imitators of wisdom. We borrow it, show off in it; +but I have yet to see the faintest trace of natural +wisdom in man, though the lower animals seem +gifted with enough of it not to worry about their +fate, whatever fate it is. I reckon this is the reason +they remain lower, the damned harnessed victims +of their content, as we are the more aspiring victims +of our discontent, doubts and anxieties.</p> + +<p>I do not think, for example, that a man ever lived +who could have conceived the idea of peace. That is +something handed down to us by inspiration and +tradition from the great beginning. The Lord alone +knows what peace is, and He declared it—‘On +earth peace, good will toward men.’ We have been +repeating that Scripture for ages as children recite +verses without the mind to comprehend the meaning. +This is not hypocrisy on our part; it is our very +nature to be incapable of peace.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<p>After a while you get to the clear place in mind +where you can see through so many theories and +philosophies, even professions of faith, you know +that they are no more than the defenses we throw +up against our own weaknesses and fears. One of +the touching revelations of this kind to me has been +the shrewd way we shift for ourselves at the very +last. We get a marvelous confidence in the goodness +of God then. We come clean and do see Him, whether +we were ever before pure in heart or not.</p> + +<p>The last deathbed I attended was that of a notoriously +wicked man. No saint could have been +more serenely at peace so far as his immortal future +was concerned. He had worked hard and sinned +fiercely. No man, it seemed, was his brother; but he +lay there upon his dingy pillows beneath his ragged +quilt with the innocent eyes of a child. He had done +with guilt. He was out of pain so far as the Lord was +concerned. Lying so wanly weak, never again to +move hand or foot, he assured me that he was ready +to go. The idea that he would be off presently upon +an immeasurable journey was fixed in his mind, accompanied +by no fears.</p> + +<p>They who stick to their creeds and the meaner +mortal facts we all produce in living cannot comprehend +the courage of a man like this. In considering +his case they remember their favorite damnation +doctrines, but never their own transgressions. Nothing +will convince them that the Lord is not a theologian, +but a Creator; and that a history of His will +would be a history of the one fundamental law, not +as we understand law, but what He has made it, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>followed whether you keep it or break it by inevitable +consequences.</p> + +<p>This man had broken it in his flesh, and was dying +for that reason as surely as if he had cut himself +down. But now he was forced at last to keep that +last most important part of it. With the vision of a +child he had learned the meaning of God. He rested +serenely upon what we preach and so rarely have the +courage to achieve—real faith in God, and it had +turned out precisely as the Scriptures promise—eased +him of every fear. His sins had been removed +as far from his consciousness as presently his body +would be. I felt very close and soothingly kin to +him, and reverently amazed at this perfect miracle +of faith; also glad that he would die and escape that +pit of himself into which he surely would have fallen +if he had survived.</p> + +<p>When you get far down your slope of time, however, +and care less than you used to care about being +the heroine of your life dolled up in your best deeds, +then you can take a look at yourself according to the +mind you have now calmed and cooled by the years, +and you may come into that last and greatest of all +vanities—the boldness to portray the person you +really are.</p> + +<p>Most people think they do that when they confess +their sins; the worse they are the better they are for +this purpose. My notion about that is if you must +boast, it is more polite to proclaim your virtues. I +have always been very courteous to others about +that. But the queer thing is that I have never felt +that my virtues really belong to me. Lecky’s ‘History +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>of European Morals’ knocked the last ray of +conceit out of me about being even a chaste woman. +First one virtue and then another seems to have been +thrust upon us according to the self-protecting instinct +of men against frauds in paternity or some +other economy for their comfort and peace of mind.</p> + +<p>I am not complaining, you understand. It has all +turned out for the best long ago; but I am just saying +how queer I feel about having had decency and +honor thrust upon us like foreordination by men, +instead of choosing these distinctions for ourselves +according to the word and will of God as we think +we do. I have wondered if other women feel the +same way about this. But I have never had the +courage to ask the question point-blank. I have a +sort of premonition that most of us are so ignorant of +the processes by which we become virtue-bearing in +an unvirtuous world that almost any woman might +resent the question.</p> + +<p>But I suppose our sins do actually belong to us. +However, there is practically no originality about +them. We can only commit two or three, the others +are mere variation of the same perversities. My +notion is that there is not much satisfaction to be +had from exposing them. If you make an art, a literature, +or a science of your vices, the result is some +kind of puerile decadence, not entertaining to normal +people.</p> + +<p>In any case, I have been a very dull person along +this line. To the best of my knowledge I have never +committed an interesting sin, nor one that even held +my own attention for longer than the moment it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span>took to get rid of it by prayer and repentance. For +this reason I am obliged to confine myself to the +moderate activities of that narrow and monotonous +existence already mentioned with becoming heat in +these pages.</p> + +<p>Looking back now through the mirror of my mind, +the thing that astonishes me most is that nothing +seems to have changed me. I made my little history +of courage, honor and sacrifices, and from start to +finish I can trace the silent, invincible child I was +through all the women I have become in various +periods of my life. I lived the whole of it with a +curious mental reservation which was myself. I +still love with a stronger passion the things that +child loved—the earth, the sky, the living things +that do not speak, but know and mean so much +more than we can think or even tell with all our +living or dead languages.</p> + +<p>There is a speech in the wind that we do not know, +a heroism in Nature that we do not comprehend, +some wisdom of beauty in the grass and the faintest +flowers that bloom which we shall never achieve, a +kind of fearless liberty to live to which we shall +never attain with all our ideals and declarations of +independence. We only believe that all men are +created free and equal and entitled to the pursuit of +happiness, but it is something we have never experienced +because our minds constrain us. These +verdant boughs have no mind, so they live in perfect +liberty without our poor fears and transient +knowledges. The seeds of the grass that is cut down +and withers to-day will spring green above our +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>graves to-morrow with not one memory of pain or +death. As a child, I could not have said what drew +me to the earth, but it was this feeling of being closer +there to life that neither fears nor perishes.</p> + +<p>I am poorer in faith than that child was, but I +still believe wearily in the same Providence in which +she rejoiced. As she went silently about her affairs +regardless, so have I gone on doing the thing I +meant to do with a determination that will not be +defeated. I made no appearance at this business, +and do not now attract the least attention at working +my will; only the thing accomplished is seen and +read, not me. What I mean is that I am literally an +unobtrusive person by nature. No one would recognize +me except by name. I remember the same shyness +as a child at being noticed. I have played my +little tunes on the heart of the world, but I never +craved to be identified by my strut with my works.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVII"> + XLVII + <br> + FACTS AND TRUTHS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I love</span> truth, although I shall die hating mere facts, +because they are misleading. They are the weapons +and defense of literalists, strangely mean-minded +people in my opinion who have caused much trouble +and strife in the world. But I have the same happy +talent the child I was had for prevaricating. Let +me have some wisdom of the truth even if it is no +larger than a mustard seed and the sensation inflates +me. I cannot set it down in the little raw +words of mere veracity. I must garnish it and spread +it like a rainbow above my mind.</p> + +<p>Some people would call this lying. I think they +have done it, but I am not embarrassed or convinced. +My notion is that it is a very precious kind of inebriation +of the spirit. I remember lying myself +into a state of happy intoxication as a child, even if +I had to go out behind the house to do it where no +one could hear me. I think this is one reason I live +concealed behind so many hills now. The occasional +excursions I make into the world bring me face to +face with so many confusing and depressing facts +which I cannot endure and cannot deny. Here, +there is nothing to deny. All is an affirmation of the +old order of things as in the beginning. It is only +my mind that travels. Sometimes then I see visions +of the future like Cassandra. But I try to be sensible +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>about this and remember that it is the weariness of +the years which darkens the glass.</p> + +<p>The world is not really whirling to destruction. +It is we who are old and no longer able to keep pace +with the times and who must pass away. Everything +will go on as usual when we are out of it. And I shall +not be scared up out of my grave, disheveled and +demented by the din of some fearful battle going on +above me. Such thoughts I do have for the moment, +and am mastered by them as I used to be enchanted +when I was young by a star-blossoming night. But +presently I take a sort of recumbent comfort in the +situation; nothing is really changed that should remain +fixed by His almighty will—the same bright +days, the same kind nights, the same seasons; only +I have grown older.</p> + +<p>As to facts, I have always been a faithful interpreter +of the truth as my mind finds it; but I never have +been able to stick to facts. In my opinion they are +among the most misleading things we have to contend +with in this present world. A fact is something +somebody finds out about you that is not true, one +of those capital-letter deeds you performed in a high +mood or a low mood which is not characteristic of the +man you really are. Personally, I had much rather +be judged by the life I have lived than by the books +I have written. In both places I have said things or +done things that outrage the fact-tacking genius +of critics. But on the whole I have come out very +well.</p> + +<p>My idea of Heaven is a place where there are no +hard and fast facts of mortality sticking to us, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>we shall be what we really are, true hearts at last, +easy to know and easier to believe, no reasons left to +envy one another or to suspect one another. I have +a faint impression that this may reduce mental activity +among us beyond endurance, but I am willing +to try it for a while.</p> + +<p>I am not opposed to facts, you understand; but +my point is that we attach too much importance to +them as evidence. Facts make war; they are used by +ambitious men and greedy men to sway the minds +of people. Does any one believe now that there +would have been any Great War if the common +people who furnished the cannon fodder for it had +known the real truth underlying the conflict? I +doubt it.</p> + +<p>I should like to get back to that honest feline +normalcy of being just a woman with the ordinary +exercise of my give-and-take disposition. I would +spare more time for living instead of working. I +wish above everything else to indulge more in inconsequential +conversation about just pleasant things. +What has become of all the natural, cheerful little +topics we used to discuss? I rarely ever hear a conversation +now that does not turn out for the worst +instead of ending in a gale of laughter.</p> + +<p>Am I wrong, or is there a note of sinister wisdom +in laughter these days? Is there some dreadful quality +in the knowledge we are getting which changes +innocent merriment to cynical hysteria? I must be +wrong about this; but when you live alone most of +the time, and only go abroad occasionally in the +world, you do notice things like that—the eyes of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>people not so trustful of one another as I remember +them long ago, a fearful wit, and that queer triumphant +note in laughter like a comment indulged at +the world’s expense.</p> + +<p>I am merely setting down my thoughts about all +this as one thrusts out his hands in the dark and +feels his way toward the door. What actually happens +is that I spend most of my days alone here in +this cabin with a companionable fire upon the hearth. +Usually I get away with it; but if I am in a particularly +keen mood, the illusion fails. I know it is only +a bright combustion of heat and wood in the fireplace. +No real sense to the crackling of these blazing +logs. I read some, walk abroad with the dogs, and I +have my usual look at the stars, as a poor lonesome +shepherd may watch his flock a long way off and +beyond his reach, but his sheep still. So are these +stars mine. The heavens above this cabin are familiar +to me like a garment I have worn a long time +upon my heart.</p> + +<p>But I have never seen an angel ascending or +descending! That keeps one strained up too much—no +respite from this business of believing what +you cannot see with the naked eye. I am not denying +that it is good for the soul, but sometimes I +have wished for something that was just good for +me.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVIII"> + XLVIII + <br> + BOOKS: MY OWN AND OTHERS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">When</span> the harvests are in and all the summertime +guests are gone and a crisper, cooler silence begins +to blow through this valley, I settle down to a nine +months’ stretch of living alone here in the best company +to be had. What I mean is that you can lay +the book you are reading on the shelf without being +obliged to think about what you will serve to the +hero and heroine for dinner that evening. But after +dinner you can take it up again and resume your +companionship with the author and these characters +which are frequently more interesting than real +people, because they are derived from human nature +at large and are the composites of many men +and women. Also, there is the country in which +they live, which may be on the other side of the +world from where you live. So, sitting in your chair +before your own fire, you enjoy all the benefits of +travel without the inconvenience and confusion.</p> + +<p>To read any one of Balzac’s stories is like spending +an evening in France, even if you have never been +in France and cannot pronounce one single fluted +word of that language. And to read Victor Hugo is +like spending one half the evening among the sobbing +stars and the other half of it amid scenes of the +direst poverty made by the meanest minds.</p> + +<p>Hugo was the dramatist of human emotions at +their highest pitch and lowest ebb. He had the gift +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span>of being vicariously sublime in a character like that +of the old communist or Jean Valjean, but I doubt +if he himself possessed the attributes of any kind of +permanent character. I have the feeling that he was +an irresponsible person with a histrionic conscience +and practically no modesty of morals. Otherwise +it is not clear to me how we can account for the +serial romances of his own life, or his description of +the Battle of Waterloo, or the fact that he took his +morning ablutions in a glass bathroom on top of his +house. The sun was, indeed, above him, but the +populace was also in attendance in the streets +below.</p> + +<p>As for Balzac, he was a literary comedian who +handled the tragedies of the human heart with a wit +kin to the irony of fate. He could never have interpreted +any other people but the French. He is +peculiar to them, a medium through which the +France of his day still lives, loves, sins, and suffers +with a charm and a talent for indecency which it +probably never had in reality. The art of a master is +required to lift the squalor of the lowest lives and +the grandeur of the noblest lives into imperishable +scenes on paper, because in life they do change and +fade into forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>I recall one of his heroines, a stupid moron who +could impart no animation to her immorality. He +finds her reclining on a couch and spends ten thousand +words describing her figure. I can spend a fascinating +hour under that splendid spray of language, +reading the mind and nature of the author. +There is something idiotic in French genius of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>first water like the artless simplicity of a defective +person going about with his clothing disarranged.</p> + +<p>Before he has done making images of this woman +she has ceased to exist except as a feminine mollusk +of beauty. Then I am invariably moved to mirth by +his efforts to get her off the couch and induce her to +say something or do something bad enough or sufficiently +entrancing to justify his description. Only +an author who has struggled with a stubborn or +stupid character in a story can appreciate his dilemma, +and the fiasco when she finally sits up and +sobs, with no visible explanation of the sob. The +reader is left in suspense until the next chapter +reveals the cause of her grief, which is not grief at +all, but the French hysteria of passion. It is clear to +the envious like me that he cannot bear to sacrifice +one sentence of the marvelous description he has +written of her and that she can never measure up to +it in actual performance.</p> + +<p>I remember having a similar experience years ago +with one of my own heroines who turned out to be +another kind of fool. Nothing was further from my +expectations when I introduced her with a few complimentary +sentences. I must have got the idea from +an old valentine card. Anyway, she was standing +beautifully gowned beside a tall fluted column on +the veranda of a magnificent old Southern mansion. +I managed to give the reader the impression that +she was rich, handsome, thirty, not married and +vaguely unhappy.</p> + +<p>She stood regarding the gently rolling landscape +with this expression, which was as far as my talents +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>as a struggling literary genius could carry her. I +knew what would happen to her next day, but by +no flight of my imagination could I fathom the +thoughts that should be passing through her sad +spinster mind at that moment. Neither could I +move her from her gracefully leaning pose against +the column. She became cataleptic. I labored with +her frantically through three blistering hot summer +days without ever persuading her to so much as +turn her head.</p> + +<p>Finally, in desperation, I sent her an anonymous +note by a messenger couched in the language of a +bold lover, saying that he would see her presently +and settle a few old scores. She had run through +with many lovers in her earlier youth, and could +only perceive that the chirography of this note was +vaguely familiar. It was a disgraceful thing to do, +but the effect was electrical. From that time to the +end of the story I have never had a more elastic +heroine. Every author must have similar experiences, +but very few of us would dare Balzac’s insolence +to the reader’s intelligence and get by with +the performance.</p> + +<p>Certain books are more interesting to read than +others in a place like this. There is nothing in the +sublime propriety of these trees, the wide skies +above and this earth so innocently green below to +finance the erotic in fiction. It gives the impression +of decadence artificially conceived in circumstances +so old and decent.</p> + +<p>Scott’s novels go like a singing charm. So do +Stevenson’s stories. And it is the most pleasant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>place imaginable to read Addison’s papers. But +not Christopher North’s ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’; too +much scholarly wit flashing between North and his +brilliant companions in these ambrosial nights. My +own experience is that, living alone with the stars +by night and with the hills by day, the mind of the +heavens and the earth overcome you and you cannot +think of anything very smart or funny to say to +yourself. I have never understood that great man +who went off one summer, settled himself like a hermit +in the midst of an immense landscape and wrote +an essay on the ‘Sense of Humor in Jesus.’ That +which always impressed me more about Jesus was +his sense of man, who is the tragic figure in all creation.</p> + +<p>The one book stimulating beyond all others in a +place like this is the Bible. No matter how great a +theologian a man may be, I doubt if he could come +anywhere near comprehending the wisdom and the +majesty of the thirty-eighth chapter of Job unless he +has spent years in the wind and weather of a quiet +place.</p> + +<p>‘Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, +and said, Who is this that darkeneth counsel +by words without knowledge?</p> + +<p>‘Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand +of thee, and answer thou me.</p> + +<p>‘Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of +the earth? declare, if thou have understanding.’</p> + +<p>Job makes no reply.</p> + +<p>‘Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou +knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> + +<p>‘Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? +or who laid the cornerstone thereof;</p> + +<p>‘When the morning stars sang together, and all +the sons of God shouted for joy?’</p> + +<p>Job remains silent.</p> + +<p>‘Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake +forth, as if it had issued out of the womb?</p> + +<p>‘When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and +thick darkness a swaddling-band for it,</p> + +<p>‘And brake up for it my decreed place, and set +bars and doors,</p> + +<p>‘And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: +and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?’</p> + +<p>Job hangs his old gray head.</p> + +<p>‘Hast thou commanded the morning since thy +day; and caused the dayspring to know his place;</p> + +<p>‘That it might take hold of the ends of the +earth—’</p> + +<p>When you consider that these are the unthinkable +thoughts of the Almighty which must be delivered +by the tongue of a mortal man and that the trace of +his emotion and simplicity run through them like a +weakness, it is amazing how near he caught the +majesty and meaning of what he had to tell. Nothing +ever written compares with the last five chapters +of the Book of Job and the first five chapters +of Genesis, and the authors of these books were the +popular writers of their day. Compare their works +with the works of modern poets, novelists, or historians. +Let any modern scientist answer the questions +the Lord put to Job, and observe how reduced +in manner and substance his answers are. He gets +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>the stuff out of his mind, but these Scriptures were +blown across creation to the minds of the men who +recorded them. They have a roll and a rumble mortal +intelligence can never impart, and they contain +more hints of scientific truth than the wisest among +us have found out, though they labor in that direction.</p> + +<p>We are still wrinkling our noses and squinting +through a telescope at Mars, disputing about that +one little bright speck in the heavens. If this planet +had been mentioned by a single prophet in the Bible, +we should know more about it than the astronomers +will ever find out, just as there is more information +about creation as applied to this earth in Genesis +than has ever been translated into the terms of +science.</p> + +<p>I have long since accepted the heavens and the +earth as a part of my future scriptures and let it all +go at that.</p> + +<p>But what I am trying to do now is to indicate the +way I have passed the time for so many years in this +quiet place. One cannot work all the time, and I was +never one of those worms that inhabit books written +by others. If it is a particularly entrancing tale, I +close the book and envy the author. I pace the floor +and wring the neck of my spirit in grief because I +shall never write anything as good. There are stacks +of little ragged notebooks scattered in the dusty +corners of this study which carry the record of these +idle hours. Rarely ever a diary note in them of my +own performances, but they contain studies of men +and women.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> + +<p>At that hour of the evening when mother used to +pick up her knitting and pass into a peaceful trance +of industry, I reach for one of these headless blank +books and write characters from memory. Maybe of +one dead long since, but I recall her with a comprehension +I never had when she was in the flesh. The +copy she has left behind her is cleared of the fog +which living casts over us. Or it is of one whom I +never knew, but I have heard or read a news item +concerning him which omits every personal detail. +I piece him together as you construct a mastodon +from the bones he left behind him. I have some +grand portraits of the prophets made this way, intimate +and terrible like the Scriptures they left behind +them. Sometimes I get the whiff of a man’s reputation, +compare it with his deeds and deduce a character +which is finer or worse than either the one or +the other. After this it is easy to draw the features +of his face, the length of his legs, the cut or sag of +his eye. Presently I have a hero or a knave put together, +respiration as good as Adam’s, who may +come in handy for copy.</p> + +<p>There is one whom I always wanted to put into a +tale, but could never set up a situation sufficiently +noble and stupid to contain him. He is old now and +coming to his end; but in the days when I knew him +he was a great man who had no manner or sensibility +about achieving greatness—homely, with +what you might call a country-town smile, which is +an expression of facial simplicity. He had a splendid +figure and wore his clothes as if he hated clothes. +He walked as if he were stepping over dead bodies. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>I do not know why, because he was by nature singularly +merciful. He worked indefatigably and rose +to the top of his profession without distinction.</p> + +<p>This vicious stride he had was an offense his fellow +men would not forgive. His unpopularity was cumulative. +He did not need to boast to get it; he had +only to be seen striding along the street to his office, +down the aisle of a church, or even as a pall-bearer +at a funeral, to add fury to these flames that never +consumed him. He loved music and had no talent +for it, but he always kept mute musical instruments +in his house, as some people keep a Bible on the center +table which they do not read. He loved learning +and had no learning, but he had the finest private +library in the city; not to show his friends, because +he had no friends, but probably by way of brushing +shoulders with poets, philosophers, and historians.</p> + +<p>The queer thing was that he read these books, as +you perform a wearying task. Every evening for +twenty years he would sit down in this library, +cross his legs, lean back like a tired man and get +through as many pages of a volume as he could endure +before bedtime. He never referred to this prodigious +labor, and no one ever heard him quote an +opinion or passage from one of these books. He +made his own opinions and maintained them without +citing authorities to uphold them.</p> + +<p>I seem to have filled a notebook with speculations +half touching, half humorous, on the character of +this man; but it appears from the record that I +could not determine whether he formed this habit of +reading as a lonely person sometimes plays solitaire +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>to pass the time, or whether it was a terrific duty he +performed toward himself. In any case, I record the +sequel. He finally simmered down to silence and +fishing. His conscience was clear. He had read +every volume in that populous library and now +reads no more.</p> + +<p>Follows a very good paragraph on the quality +of valor peculiar to noble stupidity. It shows up +cleaner than the makeshift courage of smarter people. +But I must have been by this man as Lundy used to +be by the great textbook he would write for teaching +Greek. He had the idea, as entrancing as any fiction +could be, but he did not write the book. Such a romance +of the rudiments of a language was really +beyond any man to achieve. Just so, you will not +find a trace of this valorous dunce so carefully +thought out in any story I have written. Evidently +I could not find the deeds to dramatize him.</p> + +<p>Many writers probably practice their art in this +manner, as those of us who are not writers practice +the oral art of gossiping. I have sometimes wondered +if an author’s sketchbook might not read better +than an artist’s sketchbook looks. But it is unusual +to be reduced to talking to yourself with a pen +about people whom you have actually known or +suspected by way of entertainment.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIX"> + XLIX + <br> + CHANGE AND CONFUSION + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">I suppose</span> the shortening of human life is really a +blessing. This may be why so many men and women +look forward to immortal life. That would not only +involve an incredible change of scenes but of conditions. +We should be relieved of both our virtues and +vices, and that wearing monitor inside, conscience; +of appetites, indigestion and every other vicissitude +of the mortal mind and the mortal body. Certainly +we do tire of any existence we work out for ourselves +if we keep an active mind, because the mind no less +than the spirit of man is migratory. So he migrates, +or endures all the hardships of a sabbatical year, or +he changes his business, or he retires from business. +The point is that we are made so that we cannot stay +put, as the saying goes, without disintegrating.</p> + +<p>Lately I have contemplated the adventure of sailing +forth into the world as one goes to meet a good +old comrade. But the more I think about it, the more +it seems to me that I might meet a stranger not +suitable to my years or habits of thought. The mind +and character of the world I knew has changed.</p> + +<p>When I left it in 1912 to take up my residence in +this valley, nearly as many people in Nashville +attended prayer meeting on Wednesday night as +went to the theater on other evenings. Now prayer +meetings are about to become obsolete. A popular +preacher was a good pastor, but never the sensational +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span>feature of the Sunday morning paper. The Methodist +Church had not lifted the ban on worldly amusements, +and we had only a few earthly amusements, +like playing flinch and croquet. As a Church, it was +lenient toward penitents on principle, but not nearly +so lenient as it is now toward the world. Nobody +would have dreamed of putting on a drive for seventy-five +million dollars for Christian education. +The price of salvation and education have advanced +more than worldly luxuries since then.</p> + +<p>Women were still in hot pursuit of culture if they +were particularly worldly minded. Otherwise they +were the handmaidens of the Lord as usual. Polite +social gambling was limited to a very small set, and +was not recognized as a respectable diversion. Now +these same women are citizens, politicians, and reformers. +They have the same brains, the same +natures, the same nervous systems they have always +had, which are differently tempered from those of +men; but they are running neck and neck now with +men in civic virtue and public service. Even more +of them are testing out these vices which formerly +were supposed to be peculiar to men. They are +much more easily deceived by their own emotions +and by the flattery of politicians than the simplest +maidens ever were by the eloquence of false lovers. +I suppose when they realize that they have caught +the bull by the horns they will retire from public +life, go home and pay more attention to their yearling +sons and daughters. Right now it seems to me +that there are too many delinquent mothers broadcasting +noble thoughts as mere citizens.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> + +<p>I shrink like a criminal from a nearer approach to +these women. I have neither the rostrum mind nor +the qualities of courage suitable for bearing banners +in a parade. I must vote because it is my duty now +to do so, but this is taxing to my moral nature on +account of the character of the candidates put up. +When it comes to choosing a politician for office I +am a conscientious objector. I am an impractical +Democrat who would prefer to vote for a Republican +if he proved more nearly competent. I have barely +sense enough not to follow my conscience in this +matter and must always keep out of the way or +stand among more valiant women a cubit short of +the correct political stature. This keeps me silent +when I should like to write a few pertinent political +paragraphs for publication, especially before elections.</p> + +<p>Crime has become an intellectual pursuit and a +profitable profession these latter years. Formerly +only rascals and defectives became criminals; now +learned men and youngsters choose criminal careers. +The youths are criminally insane because they have +not received the training and discipline necessary to +insure moral sanity. The passing of parents is a +tragic circumstance. Formerly they exercised control +and commanded obedience of their children. Now +they do not. I know many families where the elder +sons and daughters were brought up, you may say, +under the old dispensation of parental authority, +while the younger ones have grown up under the new +order since the spirit of the times has changed. They +matriculate into the streets, then into an adventurous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>school life, and finally into the universities, +where they are provided with funds and speed facilities +that would turn the head of a wise man, besides +being made subjects for intellectual experiments +by professors who have theories to prove.</p> + +<p>The contrast between the characters of the older +and younger sons and daughters in these families +is frightfully significant. The first are morally sane, +the others are not. Even if they commit no crimes, +they practice a license in conduct and thinking which +leads to the disruption of society.</p> + +<p>This is the reason why the defense of these young +criminals depends upon the testimony of alienists +rather than upon the evidence of witnesses to their +crime. They have managed in this sentimental age +to struggle beyond the control of parents and beyond +the reach of judges and juries. They are voluntary +moral idiots with intellectual leanings toward every +vice. My feeling is that we wait too long to send for +the alienist. One should be employed to visit these +boys and girls like any other health officer, so that +we may be warned in time of sprouting criminals.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in this confusion men and women are +passing out into the light of great achievements. +Maybe the time will come when the science of medicine +will have advanced so far inoculation will take +the place of morals in eradicating the physical effects +of vice. But to what end? Nature is a better economist. +She condemns the depraved to death. Disease +is her quarantine method against every excess. +Maybe in time we shall have more and more machinery +to do the work of the world. Machines will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>not strike or join a labor union, but neither will they +work without a man’s brain and aid to guide them. +In any case, what is to become of the surplus man +power?</p> + +<p>This is not a happy moment in the world’s history. +Never was there such a smoke screen between us and +the future. I have a great wish to travel out there, +at least to the edge of it, not as a tourist, but as a tired +pilgrim who has come a long way in bad weather +lifts his eyes and sees through the darkness a light +shining, the open door of a house warm with peace +and kindness. I want again at the very last the +faith and hopes with which I started life. I remember +that feeling, a sort of winged lightness of the +heart. But I may never find the way. Something +seems to be turning to ashes on my lips; not this +valley or the scenes I have laid in it for happiness, +but it is because I have no power of happiness now +in me.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="L"> + L + <br> + CAN WE BE HAPPY? + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="chapter-text"> + +<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap">At</span> the risk of offending many people, but with the +hope of helping a few who are making the same mistake, +I am venturing at the very end of the record to +set down the only explanation that occurs to me: I +believe I have totally misunderstood the Scriptures +by which I was guided during the formative years +of my life. I had in the beginning a natural gift for +the simplest, most innocent happiness. I needed +no more than a bright day and a long path winding +across the hills and through the fields. I had a mind +which retained the lacy shadows leaves made upon +the ground. Now I seem to have lost the will to +take these little idle paths to peace and happiness. +I could weep sometimes when at this season of the +year the wind blows a shower of yellow elm leaves +twinkling like gold high in the sunlight because I +can only see them. I do not feel the loveliness of the +sight.</p> + +<p>The reason is that I have spent my life and +strength in service and sacrifice according to the +way the Scriptures have been heaped upon me by +preachers and my own dear saint who died a martyr’s +death to such teachings. If I had had the +courage to interpret them according to my own +good senses, provided especially by the Lord for +that purpose, I should have known the doctrines +precisely as He promises.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span></p> + +<p>How many sermons I have heard from this text, +‘Bear ye one another’s burdens,’ but not one +preacher ever interpreted them to mean, ‘Do not +bear the other fellow’s burden unless he will bear one +of yours.’ Therefore this bearing of other people’s +burdens has contributed more to damnable selfishness +in this world than any other Christian virtue. +Here is another one, ‘Seek, and ye shall find; knock, +and it shall be opened unto you.’</p> + +<p>I got the right cue on that one long ago. When +Lundy was in mortal need of some earthly blessing, +I used to go out and seek it with both hands and +knock on every door until the right one opened to +him. But I lacked the time and sense to practice +the same wisdom for myself. I have earned more +than I deserve, Heaven knows, but I have not +sought sensibly the little things I needed for happiness. +I have wasted too much of my time for others, +without having the spiritual gumption to ask them +to pay it back. There is no telling how much moral +damage I have done in this world practicing the +religion I have been taught, which I now know was +a puerile and spiritually illiterate interpretation of +the Scriptures. I have had my share of blame in +making whimpering parasites of honest people in +the name of the Lord. It was blasphemous, and my +hope for forgiveness is repentance and a determination +to reform.</p> + +<p>I shall never be able to face what remains of the +future properly without weaning myself of this +inglorious and sentimentally spiritual past. Therefore +I must change my scenes, as a bad man sometimes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>goes off to escape the temptation of evil companions. +At the present moment I am in bondage +to all manner of charitable habits and false obligations +which would read like the calendar of a saint’s +deeds if I should set them down here, but they are +really the tax I pay upon a wrong interpretation of +the Christian life.</p> + +<p>This is what I have discovered—that there is no +way to satisfy a sentimental conscience. It is the +thief in your breast. The more you give, the more +will it urge you to give; the more you sacrifice, the +greater sacrifices will it demand of you. I am determined +to stop gratifying my conscience. I am far +more honorable and sensible than it is. I shall be +guided by my sense. And that points directly to +casting off every weight that besets me and looking +about for the fair weather of happier days.</p> + +<p>My idea is to prove the Scriptures by seeking and +finding happiness. I am late starting off on this +adventure, and I have no very definite idea about +the direction in which happiness lies, but that very +uncertainty has a sort of sparkle in it. My feeling +now is that I shall need only to get away from my +dreadful past to find it changing me to some easier +goodness of mind, a place where I can sit down and +not be responsible for anything or anybody, where +I shall feel light on my feet and ready to travel +a long way in bright silence to another country. +Sometimes it seems to me that I may be thinking of +the kingdom of Heaven.</p> + +<p>We do grow up at last somewhere, but not in this +present world. We invariably pass out of it trying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>to add another cubit to our stature, topping it off +with a poor little deed of no importance to any one +but ourselves. I doubt if any man or woman, however +old, is really ready to give up his ghost. There +is something he had not time to say or to finish before +this chill came on and this shortening of the +breath. Maybe it is a blessed illusion with which we +instinctively finance our feeling of worth and importance +when we are no longer of any worth or importance, +but I do not think so. My idea is that it may +be a sort of a dull intimation of immortality, a feeling +of incompleteness, as if there must be much more +life in which to finish up things; not the things we +started here, but other cubits to be added later. I +have always thought of saints as being exceedingly +tall spirits, probably a trifle top-heavy as to their +countenances.</p> + +<p>As I have grown older I am more and more convinced +that I have not grown up, that my powers +have not come to me, not my real wisdom to do and +achieve the right thoughts. I lack some dear grace. +I cannot seem to steady down and get the single eye. +There is a curriculum in living which I have not +studied. This may be happiness. I want to know it; +I should feel better prepared for immortality. I do +not wish to arrive fagged at last and a bit slipshod +in the spirit, as if I had a hard time all my mortal +life. It is not complimentary to God. I wish to +come up before His face in a high mood as if I had +tasted all His benefits. I wish to be clothed in the +bright garments of my human happiness, more +colorful than the glistening white robes of the merely +redeemed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span></p> + +<p>I have an intimate feeling of God that this is a +bright idea, and that at least it is permitted one +may seek happiness even if at last he must sink into +the defeat of mere peace.</p> + +</div> + + +<p class="mt3 center">THE END</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter-head"> + <h2 class="nobreak"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="transnote"> +<p>A few inconsistencies in hyphenation have been reconciled, +and minor printing errors in punctuation have been silently +corrected.</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78847 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78847-h/images/colophon.png b/78847-h/images/colophon.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5aee07d --- /dev/null +++ b/78847-h/images/colophon.png diff --git a/78847-h/images/cover.jpg b/78847-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bfd407 --- /dev/null +++ b/78847-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78847-h/images/frontis.jpg b/78847-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8236fc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/78847-h/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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