The Daughters of Danaus | Page 3

wandering idly by, and unfasten, undo, relax, disintegrate all that has
been effected by the force and vigilance of their betters. This
distinction is carried into even the most trivial things of life. Yet
without that organization and coherence, the existence of the destroyers
themselves would become a chaos and a misery."

The oak table over which Hadria bent forward towards her audience,
appeared to be applauding this sentiment vigorously. It rocked to and
fro on the uneven floor with great clamour.
"Thus," the speaker went on, "these relaxed and derivative people are
living on the strength of the strong. He who is strong must carry with
him, as a perpetual burden, a mass of such pensioners, who are scared
and shocked at his rude individuality; and if he should trip or stumble,
if he should lose his way in the untrodden paths, in seeking new truth
and a broader foundation for the lives of men, then a chorus of censure
goes up from millions of little throats."
"Hear, hear!" cried Algitha and Fred, and the table rocked
enthusiastically.
"But when the good things are gained for which the upholders have
striven and perhaps given their lives, then there are no more greedy
absorbers of the bounty than these same innumerable little throats."
The table led the chorus of assent.
"And now," said the lecturer slowly, "consider this in relation to the
point at issue. Emerson asserts that circumstance can always be
conquered. But is not circumstance, to a large extent, created by these
destroyers, as I have called them? Has not the strongest soul to count
with these, who weave the web of adverse conditions, whose dead
weight has to be carried, whose work of destruction has to be
incessantly repaired? Who can dare to say 'I am master of my fate,'
when he does not know how large may be the share of the general
burden that will fall to him to drag through life, how great may be the
number of these parasites who are living on the moral capital of their
generation? Surely circumstance consists largely in the inertia, the
impenetrability of the destroyers."
Ernest shewed signs of restiveness. He shuffled on his chair, made
muttered exclamations.
"Presently," said the lecturer reassuringly.

"Or put it in another way," she went on. "A man may make a
thing--circumstance included--but he is not a sort of moral spider; he
can't spin it out of his own inside. He wants something to make it of.
The formative force comes from within, but he must have material, just
as much as a sculptor must have his marble before he can shape his
statue. There is a subtle relation between character and conditions, and
it is this relation that determines Fate. Fate is as the statue of the
sculptor."
"That's where Hadria mainly differs from you," said Fred, "you make
the thing absolute; Hadria makes it a matter of relation."
"Exactly," assented the lecturer, catching the remark. "Difficulties need
not be really obstructive to the best development of a character or a
power, nor a smooth path always favourable. Obstacles may be of a
kind to stimulate one person and to annihilate another. It is not a
question of relative strength between character and circumstance, as
people are so fond of asserting. That is mere gibberish. It means
nothing. The two things cannot be compared, for they are not of the
same nature. They can't be reduced to a common denominator."
Austin appreciated this illustration, being head of his class for
arithmetic.
"We shall never be able to take a reasonable view of this question till
we get rid of that ridiculous phrase, 'If the soul is strong enough, it can
overcome circumstance.' In a room filled with carbonic acid instead of
ordinary air, a giant would succumb as quickly as a dwarf, and his
strength would avail him nothing. Indeed, if there is a difference, it is in
favour of the dwarf."
Ernest frowned. This was all high treason against his favourite author.
He had given his sister a copy of Emerson's works last Christmas, in
the hope that her views might be enlightened, and this was the
disgraceful use she made of it!
"Finally," said Hadria, smiling defiantly at her brother, "let us put the
question shortly thus: Given (say) great artistic power, given also a

conscience and a strong will, is there any combination of circumstances
which might prevent the artistic power (assuming it to be of the highest
order and strength) from developing and displaying itself, so as to meet
with general recognition?"
"No," asserted Ernest, and there was a hesitating chorus on his side.
"There seem to me to be a thousand chances against it," Hadria
continued. "Artistic power, to begin with, is a sort of weakness in
relation