To Sybyl Marchmont

_Concerning Her Determination to Remain Single_

It is with genuine regret that I learn of your determination to send my

nephew out of your life. Wilfred is a royal fellow, as that term is

employed by us. He is what a man of royal descent in monarchies rarely

proves to be,--self-reliant, enterprising, industrious, clean, and with

high ideals of woman.

Eight years ago I declined a request of his for a loan, and told him my

reasons--that I believed loans were an injury to our friends or

relatives. My letter seemed to arouse all the strength latent in his

nature, and he has made a remarkable record for himself since that time.

I have known that he was deeply in love with you for the last two years,

and I had hoped you would listen to his plea. He tells me that you

imparted your history to him, and that you say it is your intention to

remain single, as you would not like to bring children into the world to

suffer from the stigma upon your name. He has shown me your letter

wherein you say, "I am not in fault for having to blush for the sins of

my parents; but I would be in fault if my children had to blush for the

blemish upon the name of their grandparents. I do not feel I could meet

their questioning eyes when they asked me about my parents. I can better

bear the loss of the personal happiness of a home and a husband's love."

Wilfred is just the man to protect you and to keep the world at a

distance, where it could not affect your life by its comments. He

regards your birth in the same light that I do, and would rather

transmit your lovely qualities of soul and mind to his descendants than

the traits of many proudly born girls who are ready to take him at the

first asking: for you must know how popular he is with our sex.

I can not believe you are insensible to his magnetic and lovable

qualities, but, as you say, you have been so saddened by the sudden

knowledge of your history that it has blunted your emotions in other

directions. I can only hope this will wear away and that you will

reconsider your resolve and consent to make Wilfred the happy and proud

man you could, by becoming his wife.

_Never forget that God created love and man created marriage_.

And to be born of a loveless union is a darker blight than to be born in

love without union.

But what I want to talk about now, is your determination to live a

single life and to devote yourself to reclaiming weak and erring women.

You are young to enter this field of work, yet at twenty-four you are

older than many women of thirty-five, because you have had the

prematurely ripening rain of sorrow on your life. I know you will go

into the work you mention with the sympathy and understanding which

alone can make any reformatory work successful. Yet you are going to

encounter experiences which will shock and pain you, in ways you do not

imagine now.

You are starting out with the idea of most sympathetic good women, that

all erring souls of their own sex fall through betrayed trust, and

broken promises, and misplaced love. Such cases you will encounter, and

they will most readily respond to your efforts for their reformation.

But many of those you seek to aid will have gone on the road to folly

through mercenary motives, and this will prove a vast obstacle.

When a woman sells to Mammon, under any stress of circumstance, that

which belongs to Cupid, there is something left out of her nature and

character which renders the efforts of the reformers almost useless. You

know all real, lasting reform must come from within. The woman who has

once decided that fine apparel, and comfort, and leisure, are of more

value to her than her virtue usually reaches old age or disease before

the reformer can even gain her attention. You will find many such among

your protégées, and you may as well leave them to work out their own

reformation, and turn your energies to those who long for a better life.

It is that longing which means real reformation. To paraphrase an old

couplet--

The soul reformed against its will

Clings to the same old vices still.

I do not believe in a forced morality, save as a protection to a

community. I believe in it as a legal fence, but it possesses no value

as a religious motive. It helps to save society some annoyance, but it

does not materially improve the condition of humanity. Such improvements

must come from the desire of men and women to reach higher standards.

So, after you have planted a little seed in the mind of the mercenary

Magdalene which may in time sprout and grow, pass on, and find those who

have gone wrong from other causes, and who are longing for a hand to

lead them right.

And of all things do not expect a girl who has lived in the glare of red

lights, and listened to the blare of bands, and worn the ofttimes

becoming garb of folly, and stimulated her spirits with intoxicants--do

not expect her, I say, to suddenly be contented with quiet and solitude,

and drudgery, and cheap, unlovely garments, and goodness. Give her

something to entertain her and to occupy her mind, give her something to

live for and hope for and to be pleased over, besides the mere fact of

reformation. The opium victim, you must remember, can not at once

partake of wholesome food and be well and happy in the thought that he

has given up his drug. Neither can the folly victim. The standards of

happiness and contentment which the moral woman has always found

satisfactory, she too often considers sufficient for the sister who has

wandered from the path. But they are standards which, once lost, must be

gained step by step, painfully and slowly. They are not reached by a

bound. As much as possible keep your reformed sister's mind from

dwelling on the past, or from talking of her mistakes and sins. Blot

them from her memory by new and interesting plans and occupations. The

way to live a new life is to live it.

And our thoughts and conversation are important parts of living. Instead

of praying aloud to God to forgive her sins, show the God spirit in

yourself by forgiving and forgetting and helping her to forget.

And now a word about yourself.

You are twenty-four, lovely, sympathetic, fond of children and animals,

wholesome and normal in your habits, without crankiness, and popular

with both sexes. While there are many wives and widows possessed of

these qualities, there seems to be some handicap to the spinster in the

race of life who undertakes to arrive at middle age with all the womanly

attributes. Almost invariably she drops some of them by the wayside. She

becomes overorderly and fussy--so that association with her for any

length of time is insupportable--or careless and indifferent. Or she may

grow inordinately devoted to animal pets, and bitter and critical toward

children and married people.

She may develop mannish traits, and dress and appear more like a man

than a feminine woman.

She may ride a hobby, to the discomfort of all other equestrians or

pedestrians on the earth's highway. She may grow so argumentative and

positive that she is intolerant and intolerable. And whichever of these

peculiarities are hers, she is quite sure to be wholly unconscious of

it, while she is quick to see that of another. Now watch yourself, my

dear Sybyl, as you walk alone toward middle life; do not allow yourself

to grow queer or impossible. It was God's intent that every plant should

blossom and bear fruit, and that every human being should mate and

produce offspring. The plant that fails in any of its functions is

usually blighted in some way, and the woman who fails of life's full

experiences seems to show some repellent peculiarity. But she need not,

once she sets a watch upon herself; she has a conscious soul and mind,

and can control such tendencies if she will.

It is unnatural for a woman to live without the daily companionship of

man. The superior single woman must make tenfold the effort of the

inferior wife, to maintain her balance into maturity, because of her

enforced solitude. As the wife-mother grows older she is kept in touch

with youth, and with the world, while the opportunities for close

companionship with the young lessen as a single woman passes forty,

unless she makes herself especially adaptable, agreeable, and

sympathetic.

And this is what I want you to do. At twenty-four it is none too soon to

begin planning for a charming maturity.

If you are determined upon a life of celibacy, determine also to be the

most wholesome, and normal, and all around liberal, womanly spinster the

world has ever seen.

Peace and happiness to you in your chosen lot.

A Woman of the World: Her Counsel to Other People's Sons and Daughters · 第 62 / 85 题