Part 6 (1/2)
”Gertie, Gertie, promise me you will love me a little always, and never, never forget me. Promise me.”
And with a weakly glint of winter suns.h.i.+ne turning her hair to gold, and with her head on my shoulder, Gertie promised--promised with the soluble promise of a b.u.t.terfly-natured child.
SELF-a.n.a.lYSIS
N.B.--This is dull and egotistical. Better skip it. That's my advice--S.
P. M.
As a tiny child I was filled with dreams of the great things I was to do when grown up. My ambition was as boundless as the mighty bush in which I have always lived. As I grew it dawned upon me that I was a girl--the makings of a woman! Only a girl--merely this and nothing more. It came home to me as a great blow that it was only men who could take the world by its ears and conquer their fate, while women, metaphorically speaking, were forced to sit with tied hands and patiently suffer as the waves of fate tossed them hither and thither, battering and bruising without mercy. Familiarity made me used to this yoke; I recovered from the disappointment of being a girl, and was reconciled to that part of my fate. In fact, I found that being a girl was quite pleasant until a hideous truth dawned upon me--I was ugly! That truth has embittered my whole existence. It gives me days and nights of agony. It is a sensitive sore that will never heal, a grim hobgoblin that nought can scare away.
In conjunction with this brand of h.e.l.l I developed a reputation of cleverness. Worse and worse! Girls! girls! Those of you who have hearts, and therefore a wish for happiness, homes, and husbands by and by, never develop a reputation of being clever. It will put you out of the matrimonial running as effectually as though it had been circulated that you had leprosy. So, if you feel that you are afflicted with more than ordinary intelligence, and especially if you are plain with it, hide your brains, cramp your mind, study to appear unintellectual--it is your only chance. Provided a woman is beautiful allowance will be made for all her shortcomings. She can be unchaste, vapid, untruthful, flippant, heartless, and even clever; so long as she is fair to see men will stand by her, and as men, in this world, are ”the dog on top”, they are the power to truckle to. A plain woman will have nothing forgiven her. Her fate is such that the parents of uncomely female infants should be compelled to put them to death at their birth.
The next unpleasant discovery I made in regard to myself was that I was woefully out of my sphere. I studied the girls of my age around me, and compared myself with them. We had been reared side by side. They had had equal advantages; some, indeed, had had greater. We all moved in the one little, dull world, but they were not only in their world, they were of it; I was not. Their daily tasks and their little pleasures provided sufficient oil for the lamp of their existence--mine demanded more than Possum Gully could supply. They were totally ignorant of the outside world. Patti, Melba, Irving, Terry, Kipling, Caine, Corelli, and even the name of Gladstone, were only names to them. Whether they were islands or racehorses they knew not and cared not. With me it was different. Where I obtained my information, unless it was born in me, I do not know. We took none but the local paper regularly, I saw few books, had the pleasure of conversing with an educated person from the higher walks of life about once in a twelvemonth, yet I knew of every celebrity in literature, art, music, and drama; their world was my world, and in fancy I lived with them. My parents discouraged me in that species of foolishness. They had been fond of literature and the higher arts, but now, having no use for them, had lost interest therein.
I was discontented and restless, and longed unendurably to be out in the stream of life. ”Action! Action! Give me action!” was my cry. My mother did her best with me according to her lights. She energetically preached at me. All the old saws and homilies were brought into requisition, but without avail. It was like using common nostrums on a disease which could be treated by none but a special physician.
I was treated to a great deal of harping on that tiresome old string, ”Whatsoever your hand findeth to do, do it with all your might.” It was daily dinned into my cars that the little things of life were the n.o.blest, and that all the great people I mooned about said the same. I usually retorted to the effect that I was well aware that it was n.o.ble, and that I could write as good an essay on it as any philosopher. It was all very well for great people to point out the greatness of the little, empty, humdrum life. Why didn't they adopt it themselves?
”The toad beneath the harrow knows Exactly where each tooth-point goes.
The b.u.t.terfly upon the road Preaches contentment to the toad.”
I wasn't anxious to patronize the dull kind of tame n.o.bility of the toad; I longed for a few of the triumphs of the b.u.t.terfly, decried though they are as hollow bubbles. I desired life while young enough to live, and quoted as my motto:
”Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill Too oft gets broken at last, There are scores of others its place to fill When its earth to the earth is cast.
Keep that pitcher at home, let it never roam, But lie like a useless clod; Yet sooner or later the hour will come When its chips are thrown to the sod.
”Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day, When the vessel is crack'd and old, To cherish the battered potter's clay As though it were virgin gold?
Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf, Though prudent and sage you seem; Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf, And mine by the dazzling stream.”
I had sense sufficient to see the uselessness of attempting to be other than I was. In these days of fierce compet.i.tion there was no chance for me--opportunity, not talent, was the main requisite. Fate had thought fit to deny me even one advantage or opportunity, thus I was helpless. I set to work to cut my coat according to my cloth. I manfully endeavoured to squeeze my spirit into ”that state of life into which it has pleased G.o.d to call me”. I crushed, compressed, and bruised, but as fast as I managed it on one side it burst out on another, and defied me to cram it into the narrow box of Possum Gully.
”The restless throbbings and burnings That hope unsatisfied brings, The weary longings and yearnings For the mystical better things, Are the sands on which is reflected The pitiless moving lake, Where the wanderer falls dejected, By a thirst he never can slake.”
In a vain endeavour to slake that cruel thirst my soul groped in strange dark places. It went out in quest of a G.o.d, and finding one not, grew weary.
By the unknown way that the atmosphere of the higher life penetrated to me, so came a knowledge of the sin and sorrow abroad in the world--the cry of the millions oppressed, downtrodden, G.o.d-forsaken! The wheels of social mechanism needed readjusting--things were awry. Oh, that I might find a cure and give it to my fellows! I dizzied my brain with the problem; I was too much for myself. A man with these notions is a curse to himself, but a woman--pity help a woman of that description! She is not merely a creature out of her sphere, she is a creature without a sphere--a lonely being!
Recognizing this, I turned and cursed G.o.d for casting upon me a burden greater than I could bear--cursed Him bitterly, and from within came a whisper that there was nothing there to curse. There was no G.o.d. I was an unbeliever. It was not that I sought after or desired atheism. I longed to be a Christian, and fought against unbelief. I asked the Christians around me for help. Unsophisticated fool! I might as well have announced that I was a harlot. My respectability vanished in one slap. Some said it was impossible to disbelieve in the existence of a G.o.d: I was only doing it for notoriety, and they washed their hands of me at once.
Not believe in G.o.d! I was mad!
If there really was a G.o.d, would they kindly tell me how to find Him?
Pray! pray!
I prayed, often and ardently, but ever came that heart-stilling whisper that there was nothing to pray to.