The advocate. [volume], March 28, 1894, Page 2, Image 2

About The advocate. [volume] (Topeka, Kan.) 1894-1897

Image provided by: Kansas State Historical Society; Topeka, KS

                
TiailS ABVOOATB.
COPYRIGHT.!
The
By GIDEON
CHAPTEK XIX.
THE LUXURY OF DOING GOOD.
The bravely dumb that did their deed,
And scorned to blot it with a name.
Such lived not in the past alone.
But thread to-day the unheeding street,
And stairs to sin and famine known
Sing with the welcome of their feet.
Lowell.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent.
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below.
A heart whose love is innocent. Byron.
Were T writing a novel, some of the
incidents of the last two chapters and
some of which are to follow,' would
doubtless bring the clubs ''of critics in
high dudgeon, about my old head.
"How ridiculously improbable! Shows
how little' his author knows of the
proprieties observed by people in polite
Laine whoever he may be to go out
of his priestly study awhile and learn
something of the world before attempt
ing to knock another novel together."
And so on, till the poor author would
be ashamed to show his foolish face in
public.
But, fortunately, I am not writing a
novel. I am not making fictitious peo
ple act as I think they should. 1 am
relating how real people actually have
acted, and if their conduct was in
' artistic, it is no business of mine to
make the truth lit my notions of pro
priety. Historians, as a rule, do not
altogether approve of the St. Bartholo
mew massacre; but not even the most
artistic writer of history has yet pre
sumed to recast the events to suit his
notions of how such a massacre ought
to be managed. Neither shall I make
over real people into mere fictions in
order to make their conduct seem prob
able because conventional. These peo
ple acted just as I have related and
just as I shall relate, and whether or
not they acted properly or wisely is not
my affair. Besides, let critics remem
ber what Aristotle has said on this
same subject of probability, and the
lines he quotes from Agatho
"Even this, it may be said, la probable,
That many things improbable should happen
In human life." m , . . . , .
Suppose I should weave into this
narrative such an incident as this:
John Thompson, a boy about 11 years
of age, walked into police headquarters
and said to the sergeant:
"I want you to Jock me up. I'm a
thief. I've stolen seven Hour sacks full
of wheat from the cars at Chestnut
street and sold it for chicken feed, and
1 want to be locked up."
"What did you steal it for?" asked
the sergeant.
So 1 could get arrested."
'What makes you so anxious to be
locked up V"
M stole the wheat so I could get sent
to the reform school. That's the only
way I can get an education, and that's
what I'm going to have."
Some literary gentleman having read
this in the privacy of his sanctum
would have dashed down my work, and
in polished indignation and disgust,
would have remarked " 1" two or
three times, perhaps in rapid succes
sion. Yet I have taken the incident
from a newspaper of recent date, and
it occurred at Leavenworth in the state
of Kansas. You see, in real life people
are not always studying dramatic pro
priety; and, hence, a real narrative of
occurrences in the lives of real people
may contain many improbable things
improbable from the standpoint of the
hypocritic. The critics had better let
me alone. I have thrown olT this little
essay on probability only to show these
meddlesome folk what I might do
should I be provoked. If they are dis
satisfied with the construction of this
storv, they have my permission to work
it over as Thackery did "Ivanhoe," till
they get it to their liking. At present
I am writing it my way. Let us pro
ceed. For some reason the memory of Lena
Graham's face haunted John Cotterell.
He Beemed all the time to see her sym
Dead Line.,
LAINE, D. D.
pathetic eyes looking up at him as dur-
I at . 44- v : . , ,.i
Illy LI1H.L 111 It'.l llllf I V KW A I If I ins iri.nin
that night; and he was afflicted with a
r.onsnminc desire to see her onoeapnin.
No woman had ever before disturbed
him thus. He tried to summon his
nhilosoDhv to his assistance, but. for
some reason, his philosophy, which had
; i .1 t. : i. . js .i i
never laueu njui Deiore, seemeu 10
have no application to this case. In
vain wouVri he, sav to himself? "I'm
only, a blacksmith, and she is the gen
eral manager s aaugnier. vvnat n i
should meet her again; what of it?
She probably wouldn't even recognize
me." Lena's eves went riffht on
haunting him just the same. What
ailea himr Doubtless some oi my
readers, he.inff this side of W. are still
youthful enough to guess. At any
rate, John correctly aiagnoseu nis case
at last, although the remedy was not
apparent, ana he was ternneu at me
startling discovery that he had become
the slave of so hopeless a passion. That
he should ever be so mad as to fall in
love with so inaccessible a being as the
general manager's daughter would,
previous to its actual occurrence, have
been scouted by John Cotterell as an
impossible absurdity.
1 ,et. the reader understand, however.
that John did not feel thus because of
any lack of self-respect. He knew, as
men of intellectual strength always
know, that he was the superior of the
mediocre men wno moved in miss
Graham's own social sphere, and either
of them, upon any occasion calling for
such instruction would have learned
this fact so thoroughly it would never
have been forgotten, in this world, at
least. When John considered his love
hopeless and absurd because of the dis
tance between him and Lena, he meas
ured that distance as society measures
it. llisrellectionwas: "What would
people what would even Mrs. De
forme, with all her lirst-century social
ism sav if the truth were known or
even suspected, that a blacksmith in
the railway shops was in love wiin me
railway manager's daughter?"
But what would have been his aston
ishment at that moment had he known
that the general manager's daughter
was under a similar speii, anu mat
everv man she saw she iudeed bv his
resemblance, or lack of resemblance, to
the blacksmith she had met at .airs.
Delorme's. Tier situation was worse
than his, for her meeting with him
produced an immediate practical effect
upon her life, while no change of rela
tions came to John as a consequence
of his fascination. Lena had a lover
who was an almost understood bride
groom when she left home for this
fateful visit,. She did not love ihim;
she had not hitherto known love at all;
but he was eligible, moved in the best
society, ana was uie piusctuYoucn
of much wealth: so her father had re
peatedly urged her to accept the young
clod should he propose, and that he
was about to do. This "love affair,"
no nnnvpn tional societv has agreed to
call a negotiation preceding the sale for
so much money and position of all the
poetry out of a young woman s me,
iron miitft well known in the family.
and Mrs. Delorme had been told all
about it. Hence, atter the departure
of the Daughters of Joanna the night
after Lena's arrival, her aunt very nat
urally alluded to this "love ailair.'
"By the way, Lena, how are you and
Charley getting along?" .
"Oh, I just despise the little imbe
cile. I can't endure him. But papa
expects me to marry mm ana naa al
most persuaded me to accept him when
I begged to come on this trip."
"Has he proposed t
"Not to me. He has proposed to
papa, and leaves papa to do me rest, i
suppose. The callow youth's father
has also talked it over with my pater
nal parent; but I haven't had the honor
of a proposal as yet. It is a commercial
transaction, you know. Hearts, rom
antic love, ana such oia iogy tnings are
not good form any more. I told papa
the other day that if I should marry
Charley, or, rather, it l should be mar
ried to him, I meant to stipulate that
the minister should make a slight
change in a portion of the ceremony, so
as to make it lit the facts. I hate hy
pocrisy, ana i am not a blasphemer; so
the minister should skip the God part
iod isn t in it in such a marriage and
say: 'What cash hath joined together,
let not love for some real man put
asunder.' I am old-fashioned enough
to believe that a woman should love
lirst, instead of marrying first and then
hunting a lover afterwards. Still, I had
no friend at home to whom I could talk
freely, and papa has been so persistent
that 1 was on the eve of yielding. I
wished to see you, for you seem so dif
ferent from the rest; and so I came
here before taking the fatal leap. I am
glad I did, for I am strong now, and 1
shall tell papa plainly that he must
never mention the subject again or I
shall leave home."
"My inlluence must indeed be re
markable," said Mrs. Delorme with a
smile, "if simply being a few hours be
neath the same roof has so braced your
will. So far as I am aware, 1 have as
yet said not a word on the subject. But
why do you dislike Charley so, and why
do you feel as you do? Do you love
somebody else ? Is that it ? If so, my
experience bids me tell you to marry
the man you love or never marry at
all."
" Your experieuce.Aunt Hallie ? Why,
did you not marry the man you loved?
Had you a romance a broken dream,
as it were? Tell me about it, Aunt
Hallie. Then I shall feel that you can
sympathize with me."
Mrs. Delorme, saying she would re
turn in a moment, went to reconoitre
possible eavesdroppers, then went to
the sacred drawer which held her dearest
keepsakes, and returning handed Lena
an old minature of the fashion of years
ago a daguerreotype in a black double
case.
"That is the picture of the only man
I have ever loved, and old as I am get
ting, I love dear Tom as I did when I
was a girl. He was a young lawyer,
and a bright one, too, but he was very
poor, U4id my father forbade him the
house or rather made me do so. some
time before my brother Marshall had
married against my lather s wishes,
and his conduct toward Marshall was
so dreadful that it terrified me, and I
dared not disobey. So I married to
please my father, not myself. Tom left
Virginia, and 1 have never heard of
him since. I wonder if he ever thinks
of me as I am always thinking of him.
Oh, Lena, it is a hell on earth to live
such a lie as my married life has been.
Don't"
And seizing the minature convul
sively, Mrs. Delorme kissed over and
over the pictured face of her old lover;
and throwing herself upon Lena,
sobbed as if her heart would break.
Lena was startled at such an unwonted
burst of tears of passion in her usually
placid aunt, and in terror at her own
danger cried:
"Oh, help me, Aunt Hallie! Save me
from such a fate! You know how
bitter it must be. I do not love Charley.
I know 1 shall really love somebody
else. Help me, won't you?"
Mrs. Delorme, roused by Lena's evi
dent agony of dread, recovered her own
composure as soon as possible in order
to calm her niece, and it was well, for
scarce had she regained apparent se
renity when Major Delorme entered
and conventionally greeted his niece
previous to entering upon a course of
interesting remarks about the weather
past, present and to come. This put
an end to the conference upon a more
interesting subject, and Lena soon re
tired. Ah, my reader! There is, even in
these days of hard cash, a lesson for
others than Lena Graham in the hidden
bitterness of Mrs. Delorme's wedded
life. Shape it and repress it as you will,
woman still will have a heart. A heart
that is dormant, perhaps, but still a
heart. It lies there in dead silence, like
the organ in some cathedral when no
hand runs over the keys. But to the
organ after awhile the master comes,
and Iteneath his touch it throbs and
sighs with sad wails of symphony that
fill the vast catheral with their sweet,
plaintive melody. So to the woman's
heart there sometime comes its master,
in some unexpected moment, and it
quivers and throbs like a thing gone
mad, with a feeling never dreamed of
before. She has met her doom the
masterful passion of her life has come
and the world is no longer the world
of yesterday. Happy for her and for
those about her if this great soul-awakening
come not after her marriage, for,
come when it will, no matter what
family ties, may bind, it will rule her
destiny like a tyrant and all other alle
giance will be disowned. This is what
makes deserted homes, ruined women
and blasted lives. Ah, if divorce courts
should reveal the real causes of matri
monial unhappiness instead of the mere
legal excuses for separation which the
court records reveal, how the lesson I
am trying to teach would be impressed
upon even a "business" world! W oman's
soul is a beautiful poem, which few can
read, still fewer appreciate. Its musi
cal rhythm can never be translated into
the chilly language of the commonplace
world. He who would revel in its en
chanting cadences must learn the lan
guage of the soul; it must be read in
the original. What most men call a
woman's love, is but a literal transla
tion of this poem bereft of all that
makes it beautiful, and, so, many
women go through life with their hearts
unreveaied even to themselves. What
wonder that when some true student
of the heart teaches wroman to read the
beautiful idyl hidden in her own nature,
all the common ties of life are snapped
asunder, all other thoughts are aban
doned, and she gives herself entirely to
listening to the sweet, mysterious mel
ody of romantic love! Some beautiful
things not even wealth can utterly de
stroy. When his daughter elopes with
his coachman, or his wife deserts him
for some poor artist in a garret and is
happy there, even the millionaire has
cause to reflect that though with his
mills and factories he may pollute the
rippling streams and mar the loveliness
of landscapes, his power stops this side
the soul; he may bury it beneath his
cold conventionalities, but he can
neither slay nor sully it let it awake,
and all its beauty will be there and all
its sublimity, too.
Nevertheless, let not my maiden read
ers conclude too hastily to wed and be
poor. Love must live in an atmosphere
of freedem from sordid care. It agrees
not with too much "business," nor with
abject poverty. "Love in a cottage" is
all well enough if you own the cottage,
if it has no mortgage on it, and if your
living is assured; otherwise, the romance
loses its glamour. Hence, John Cot
terell was right; a poor man, working
for wages, hardly dare let himself know
he has a heart. Is it not astonishing
that poor young men who actually have
hearts and who have to work for wages
and try to forget there is such a thing
as love, home and children, should go
on, year after year, voting to make do
mestic joy forever impossible for such
as they? The young man who de
nounces socialism, or who votes against
it, is simply doing all he can to make
woman's love and the prattle of chil
dren luxuries he must never hope to en
joy, and every young woman so un
fortunate as to be acquainted with him
should shun the wretch. Let him bring
forth fruits meet for repentance by vot
ing for a new state of things for men
and women, before he shall ever again
be tolerated by the sex he insults by his
stupid malignity. But, see how we
have wandered! Let us return to out
story.
John and Lena did meet again soon.
Their meeting came about in a way
which neither of them could have an
ticipated, and which gave each of them
a more exalted opinion of the other.
At the next meeting oi the Daugh
ters of Joanna after that which had
been held at Mrs. Delorme's, Lena
overheard another lady telling her aunt
about the condition of a destitute fam
ily out in the suburbs beyond the shops,
where many workingnien lived. The
husband, a laborer, was ill, and his wife
had both him and a babe to take care
of, so the household had no bread-winner
at all. In her extremity, the poor
woman had gone to the poor commis
sioner for assistance; but that humane
otlicial ("a consistent member of the
church," by the way) had said to her
gruffly:
"Let that worthless man oi yours get
out and go to work, and you give
your baby to somebody else that can
afford to have children and go out to
work yourself. Then you won't need
any help."
And the monster had retusea to give
her food or fuel! Had Lena Graham