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83 pages

English

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. For the sake of girls who are just beginning life, let me tell the stories of some other girls who are now middle-aged women. Some of them have succeeded and some have failed in their purposes, and often in a surprising way.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819940159
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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GIRLS AND WOMEN
By E. CHESTER
(Harriet E. Paine)
I.
AN AIM IN LIFE.
For the sake of girls who are just beginning life,let me tell the stories of some other girls who are now middle-agedwomen. Some of them have succeeded and some have failed in theirpurposes, and often in a surprising way.
I remember a girl who left school at seventeen withthe highest honors. Immediately we began to see her name in thebest magazines. The heavy doors of literature seemed to swing openbefore her. Then suddenly we heard no more of her. A dozen yearslater she was known to no one outside her own circle. She wasearning her living as book-keeper in a large five-cent store! Sheled the life of a drudge, and that was not the worst of it. She wasa sensitive woman, and there was much that was mortifying in herposition. All her Greek and Italian books were packed away. Sheknew no more of science than when she left school. At odd minutesshe read good novels, and that was all she had to do withliterature. Those who had expected much of her thought her life wasa failure, and she thought so too.
Yet there is another side to the picture. The aimshe had set for herself in life was not to be an author, thoughthat idea had taken strong hold on her, and she tried to realize itin spite of great discouragements. This was her minor aim, but thegrand aim with her had always been to lead the divine life atwhatever cost. It proved to cost almost everything. Her utmost helpwas needed for her large family, which was poor. Unusual as hersuccess with editors had been, no girl of seventeen could depend ona large income from magazines. A good salary was offered her asbook-keeper, and she accepted it.
She tried to continue her favorite occupation byrising early, but she was not strong enough to go on long in thatway. She sometimes had an hour in the evening, but when she saw thewistful look in her mother's face she would not shut herself upalone. At the rare times when she was still free to choose she wentback to her books and her pen, but she could not do much, and atlast she felt it would be better not to try. It was simply a sourceof vexation, and she needed a serene mind above all things.
The only way her life could open towards beauty orhappiness at all was by putting the true spirit into her dailywork. With a resolute heart she did this. No books were ever morebeautifully kept than hers; every figure was clear and perfect;every column was added without a mistake. In short, she did herwork like an artist.
To the sales-girls she was like a guardian angel.She might have written good stories all her life without helpingothers half so much. Little, weak, frivolous girls became strong,fine women simply from daily contact with her. She did not realizethat. She only knew that she loved the girls and that they lovedher. She did know that she helped her family— with her money. Herspirit helped them unconsciously still more.
When at last she gave up the minor aim of her life,and no longer tried to be learned or famous, she had her energiesset free for many little things which had previously been crowdedout. It was easy now to find a leisure hour to help any one whoneeded sympathy. There was time to watch the beauty of the sunsetor of the falling snow. If she had no time to scramble through avolume of a new poet, she could still learn line by line somefavorite old poem, and let it sink into her heart, so that it didits work thoroughly. If she could not find time to learn thehistory of all the artists from the time of Phidias to the last NewYork exhibition, yet when a beautiful picture was before her shecould look at it thoughtfully without feeling that she must hurryon to the next. In this way, perhaps, she gained a more absoluteculture than in the way she would have chosen, a culture of thoughtand character which told on every one who came near her.
She was always climbing up towards God, and his helpnever failed her. The climbing was hard, yet the pathway wasradiant with light. Those who were stumbling along in the darknessby her side saw the light and were able to walk erect.
I cannot say she was altogether happy with so manyof her fine powers unused. Perhaps she was not even quite right insacrificing herself completely. Sometimes she fostered selfishnessin others while she tried to cast it out of herself. But so far asshe could see she had no choice. If she had refused the sacrifice,it would have been by giving up the grand aim of her life. Herminor aim was good in itself, but it conflicted with somethingbetter. Those who did not know her life intimately thought it afailure. Those who saw deeper knew that her utter failure in whatwas non-essential had been the condition of essential success.
I remember another brilliant girl who did win herway. She was poor and plain and friendless, but she won wealth andfame and friends, and then, with all this success, she blossomedinto beauty. She had a struggle, but she came out victorious. Ithink she was happy. She was glad to be beautiful and to be loved.She had music and pictures and travel in abundance, and sheappreciated these things. She liked to give to the poor, and shedid give bountifully and with a grace and sweetness better than thegift.
She painted pictures which everybody admired, andthat pleased her. She had dreamed of all this when a child. She hadgenius and she had perseverance. Her aim was to be a famous artist,and she did not flinch from any work or sacrifice which would helpher to that end. So far all was well, and she reached the goal. Asthere was nothing to prevent her carrying out secondary plans atthe same time, she could be cultivated and charitable withoutgiving up her great object.
She wanted to be good besides. She neverdeliberately decided for the wrong against the right. And yet anoble life was not first in her thoughts. When she was aschool-girl she had a lover who was like a better self. By and byhe chose to study for the ministry, while she went to the city totry her fortune. So far they shared every thought and feeling andhope. She knew she was a better woman with him than with any oneelse. But at last he was called to a remote country parish, and forhimself was satisfied with it. But she— how then could she be hiswife? Her heart was torn in the strife. Some women whose vision wasless keen would have married him, hoping that in some way theymight still carry out their own ambition. But she was at a criticalpoint in her career and she knew it. She had just begun to be knownpersonally to influential people, and her name was beginning to beknown to the public. She dared not risk leaving her post. She wroteher lover a charming letter, — for she did love him, — and told himhow it was. “When I have won my victory, ” said she, “I shall be afree woman. And you will love me just as much when I have more togive you than I have now. But now I have my little talent confidedto me, and I dare not fold it away in a napkin. ” Her lover agreedto this, though it was hard for him. They worked apart year afteryear. At last she was a free woman, with money enough to livewithout work at all, and with fame enough to work when and whereshe pleased. But gradually she cared less and less for the objectsof her lover's life. She would not own to herself that she hadfailed in constancy to him. She always thought she was glad to seehim when he came to the city. But he felt the difference in her,though he tried not to see it. She was far more beautiful than whenhe had first loved her; but in the days when she was so plain andhad worn shabby dresses there had been an expression about hermouth which he missed now. The lovely face was still eager withlonging, but it had lost the look of aspiration. Reluctantly, headmitted the change in her. At last he told her what he felt, thatshe had ceased to love him. She had deceived herself so far thatshe had not realized how idle her excuses were for putting off themarriage from year to year. When the separation came she felt asharp pang— as much of mortification at her own failure as ofwounded love. Yet she consented to the separation, and she seemedto be happy after it. She thought her life had been tragic, andthat she had made a heroic sacrifice of her love to the necessitywhich her genius laid upon her to do a certain work in theworld.
I should be afraid to say that she was altogetherwrong. There are, no doubt, some women who are meant to serve thewhole world rather than the little domestic circle. And yet she didgive up what she had believed the best part of herself. And herpictures, though they were admired, lacked an indescribablesomething of which her first crude sketches had given promise. I donot think that, after all, they did very much to interpret beautyto the world. She had two aims in life, both good, but she placedthe first second, and the second first. Perhaps, on the whole, shewas happier for the choice she made. But she missed somethingbetter than happiness which is always missed by those who make thelower aim their object— she missed the aspiration for higherhappiness.
I have seen many successful lives led by women whoas girls showed very moderate abilities, simply because they hadone definite aim. I knew a girl who became an excellent actress.She was a pretty girl with a little talent. She was not poor, butshe had an ambition to be on the stage. She had the good sense tosee that she was not a genius, but she also had courage enough topersevere in using the ability she had. For the first ten years shemade so little apparent headway that even among her acquaintancesmany people did not know she had ever acted at all. In the meantime she had studied hard. She knew many popular plays by heart,and had carefully watched other actresses. She was acquainted witha number of theatrical people. She had always been at hand when amanager wanted an extra peasant girl, or when a waiting maid wasill. She had joined a small troupe traveling through the