The world said that he was a young man to have achieved so notable a
Success. And he was. But years have, really, little to do with a man's
age. It is the use that a man makes of his years that ages him or
keeps him young.
This man knew that he was a man. He knew that manhood is not a matter
of years. And, knowing this, he had dreamed a man's dream. In the
world he had found something to do--a man's work--and from his
Occupation he had gained Knowledge. He had learned the value of
Ignorance and, behind the things that men have hung upon and piled
about it, he had come to recognize Religion. He knew both the dangers
and the blessings of Tradition. He had gained the heights that are
fortified by Temptation and from those levels so far above the
lowlands had looked out upon Life. Death he knew as a fact and through
Failure he had passed as through a smelting furnace. It is these
things, I say, that count for more in life than years. So, although he
was still young, the man was ready for Success. He was in the fullness
of his manhood strength. The tide of Life, for him, was just reaching
its height.
I do not know just what it was in which the man achieved Success. Just
what it was, indeed, is not my story; nor does it matter for Success
is always the same. My story is this: that the man achieved Success
while he was still young and strong to rejoice in the triumph.
The dreams that he had dreamed on the hilltop, when first he realized
his manhood, were, in part, fulfilled. He was looked upon by the world
as one not of the common herd--as one not of the rank and file. He was
accepted, in the field of his work, as a leader--a master. He was held
as one having authority and power. The world pointed him out to its
children as an example to be followed. The mob, that crowds always at
the foot of the ladder, looked up and cursed or begged or praised as
is the temper of such mobs. His name was often in the papers. When he
appeared on the streets or in public places he was recognized. The
people told each other who he was and what he had done. He was
received as a companion by those who were counted great by the world.
Doors that were closed to the multitude, and that had been closed to
him, were opened readily. Opportunities, offered only to the few, were
presented. The golden stream of wealth flowed to his feet. By the
foolish hangers-on of the world he was sought--he was offered praise
and admiration. All that is called Success, in short, was his; not in
so great a measure as had come to some older than he, it is true; but
it was genuine; it was merited; it was secure; and, with the years, it
would increase as a river nearing the sea.
And the man, as he looked back to that day of his dreams, was glad
with an honest gladness. As he looked back to the time when he had
asked of the world only something to do, he was proud with a just
pride. As he looked back upon the things out of which he had builded
his Success and saw how well he had builded, he was satisfied. But
still in his gladness and pride and satisfaction there was a
disappointment.
In his dreams, when he had looked out upon the world as a conquering
emperor, the man had seen only the deeds of valor--the exhibitions of
courage, of heroism, of strength--he had seen only the victories--the
honors. But now, in the fulfillment of his dreams--when he had won the
victory--when the honors were his--he knew the desperate struggle, the
disastrous losses, the pitiful suffering. He had felt the dangers grip
his heart. He had felt the horrid fear of defeat striking at his soul.
Upon him were the marks of the conflict. His victory had not been won
without effort. Success had demanded a price and he had paid. Perhaps
no one but the man himself knew how great was the price he had paid.
The man found also that Success brought cares greater than he had ever
known in the days of his struggle. Always there are cares that wait at
the end of the battle and attend only upon the victor. Always there
are responsibilities that come only when the victory is won--that are
never seen in the heat of the conflict.
Once let it be discovered that you have the strength and the
willingness to carry burdens and burdens will be heaped upon you until
you stagger, fainting, under the load. Life has never yet bred a man
who could shoulder the weight that the world insists that he take up
in his success. And, when the man could not carry all the burdens that
the world brought because his strength and endurance was only that of
a mortal, the world cursed him--called him selfish, full of greed,
heartless, an oppressor caring nothing for the woes of others. Those
who had offered no helping hand in the time of his need now clamored
loudly for a large part of his strength. Those who had cared nothing
for his life in the times of his hardships now insisted that he give
the larger part of his life to them. Those who had held him back now
demanded that he lift them up to a place beside him. Those who had
shown him only indifference--coldness--contempt, now begged of him
attention--friendship--honors--aid.
And from all these things that attended his success the man found it
impossible to escape. The cares, the burdens, the responsibilities
that Success forced him to take up rested heavily upon him. So heavy
indeed were these things that he had little strength or will left for
the enjoyment of that which he had so worthily won.
And the victory that he had so hardily gained, the place that he now
held, the man found that he could keep only by the utmost exertion of
his strength. The battles he had fought were nothing in comparison to
those he must now fight. The struggle he had made was nothing to the
effort he must continue to make. Temptations multiplied and appeared
in many new and unexpected forms. The very world that pointed him out
as an example watched eagerly for excuse to condemn. Those who sought
him with honors--who praised and flattered him, in envy, secretly
hoped for his ruin. Those who followed him like dogs for favors would
howl like wolves on his trail if he turned ever so little aside. Those
who opened for him the doors of opportunities would flock like
vultures to carrion if he should fall. The world, that, without
consideration, heaped upon him its burdens, would trample him beneath
its feet if he should slip under the weight. Nor had he in Success won
freedom. His very servants were freer than he, to come and go, to seek
their peculiar pleasures.
The chains with which Success had fettered the man were unusually
galling and heavy upon him that day, when, on his way to an important
appointment, his carriage was checked in a crowded street. The man's
mind was so absorbed in the business waiting his attention that he did
not notice how dense was the crowd that barred the way.
Impatiently--with overwrought nerves--he spoke sharply, commanding his
man to drive on.
The man begged pardon but it was impossible.
"Impossible," still more sharply, "what's the matter?"