Lydia Leavitt - Bohemian Society
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Lydia Leavitt >> Bohemian Society
BOHEMIAN SOCIETY.
BY
LYDIA LEAVITT.
BROCKVILLE:
TIMES PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY.
BOHEMIAN SOCIETY.
"She was not fair,
Nor beautiful,--those words express her not,
But, O, her looks had something excellent
That wants a name."
In a country house near the city of B---- lived a lady of cultivated
mind and manners, "a noble woman nobly planned." Well read and familiar
with such writers as Tyndall, Huxley, Spencer and other scientists, and
being rather cosmopolitan in tastes, liked to gather about her, people
who had--as she termed it--_ideas_. At times there was a strange medley
of artists, authors, religious enthusiasts, spiritualists,
philanthropists and even philosophers. On the evening of which I write
there was the usual peculiar gathering, and each one is expressing his
or her views freely and unrestrainedly.
* * * * *
The visionary and dreamer said: "Let me describe a modern Utopia of
which I have often dreamed and thought.
In a fertile valley, surrounded on all sides by high mountains, lived a
community or body of people who had never been outside the valley. To
them the mountains proved an impassible barrier and they had no wish or
desire to penetrate beyond. For generations they had lived in this
peaceful retreat happy and content. The ground yielded sufficient for
their wants and needs. No one in this little world was richer than his
neighbor and if one of the community fell ill each contributed something
from their own supply for his or her support. They knew nothing about
the value of money, for here it was useless. No one dreamed of
possessing more than his neighbor, but each and all must share alike.
Time dealt kindly with these simple people, for they dealt kindly with
time, and life flowed on smoothly and pleasantly. Men and women of
seventy years were hale and hearty, for it is not so much the _number_
of years we live that leave their traces, as the events which transpire
in those years; each event, each sorrow, each disappointment making an
era and each one leaving a trace. For the inhabitants of the valley
there were few disappointments and fewer sorrows. If the angel of death
entered and took one of their number, each and all took the sorrow home
for it was looked upon as a personal calamity when any one of the little
community was taken from them.
The sun seemed to shine brighter, the water to be clearer and more
limpid, the foliage more brilliant in this little world than elsewhere.
Perhaps because the eyes of the people were undimmed by sorrow, perhaps
because their souls were unclouded by sin, or perchance they were in
complete harmony with nature and were able to see all her beauty, each
charm enhanced by something within themselves.
Nowhere else did the earth yield such abundant harvest. The wheat bent
its yellow head from over weight. The trees were laden with fruit and
here again nature seemed to be in sympathy with her children. No sordid
motives, no love of gain, no thought of barter and sale entered their
minds while sowing their fields or reaping their grain, but every one
labored that each and all might be benefitted. The men were strong and
self-reliant, the women contented and happy, the children rosy and
healthy.
Every Sabbath morning the old church bell rang a sweet summons to meet
together to worship God. One church was sufficient for all. They knew
nothing about heresies and schisms but assembled together to hear a
simple story simply told. The venerable clergyman, with white hair and
beard, in the dimly lighted church resembled the pictures of the
martyrs, his face telling the story of a simple, true, pure life. His
sermons were eloquent from their very simplicity; no need there of
learned dissertations, for the people would not have comprehended had he
been able to give them, and had they been able to understand, their
pastor was unable to teach. It was a pleasant sight, the old men, young
maidens, happy matrons and rosy children assembled together in their
quaint old fashioned dress, simple in the extreme, listening to the
teaching of their minister.
Their amusement and pleasures were simple with no unnatural craving
after excitement. The ever changing sky and clouds; the mists on the
mountain top; the purple hills and yellow waving grain; the running
brook; all these were sources of pleasure and amusement. To a few, the
world out side the valley, the numerous conjectures as to the people who
inhabited it, gave food for thought.
At eventide the sun is setting, throwing a golden glow over the valley,
from a cottage near is heard the cradle song of some happy mother
lulling her child to sleep; in the distance can be heard the tinkling
cow bell, and on the purple hill side the sheep have lain down to rest.
The sun has gone down a little lower and the shadows of the mountains
have lengthened until they stretch almost across the valley; the sounds
of life have almost ceased; the child is asleep and the lullaby ended;
the tinkling of the bells is scarcely heard; the birds have gone to
their nests, and up from the valley has risen a white mist that has
hidden and completely covered the last sign of life. Surely a beautiful
covering for such a valley, a fitting mantle for so pure a people.
* * * * *
The morning broke dull and cloudy over the last happy day of the
peaceful valley.
A stranger from the outer world, about which they had speculated so
much, appeared in their midst. Seeking a number of young men he soon
engaged them in earnest conversation, arousing their curiosity by
telling them of the strange and wonderful things which transpired in the
world beyond the mountains; telling them of the wonderful discoveries of
science; the fame of many brilliant men and women, telling them of the
advantages of communication with the outer world, of the uselessness and
folly of spending their lives in so simple a manner, ridiculing their
simplicity, telling them that the mere youths of his country could teach
the venerable grandsires of the valley things of which they had never
dreamed, telling of the advantages of extended thought and education.
After many days spent in persuasion, he gained the consent of some to
erect a large college which was immediately begun. Some of the older
ones shook their heads and asked each other the question, "Were we not
happy? What more can be required?" Thus the first seeds of discord were
sown where all had been harmony. Laborers came from afar to aid in the
erection of the college, and day by day the work progressed and children
stood and gazed in open-eyed wonder at the place where they were to gain
a world of information. The work was finished; teachers came from
foreign lands, masters of languages, teachers of science, and
metaphysicians to puzzle the heads of the old and weary the brain of the
young. Teachers of music with massive organs for the music rooms of the
college arrived, teachers of piano and harp, all of which were a
revelation to these simple people, who could not conceive of any sweeter
music than the song of the birds, their mothers evening hymn or the soft
sweet notes of the happy wife as she crooned her babe to sleep. The
children were sent to the college and and in a short time the strife
began, each one trying to excel the other. No more time to study the
effect of the misty mountain tops, no more time to listen to the songs
of the birds, for here within these four walls were to be found and
learned stranger things than they had ever thought of. After a few years
the youths who went to the old church could scarcely be recognized. The
same sweet welcome was given by the old church bell but how changed were
the people who assembled together! Where all had been love and faith
before, there was now doubt and discord. For had they not dabbled in
science? Some of the more learned ones even whispered that the old
clergyman should be replaced by a younger man, one more advanced in
culture and training. True his head was bent and very grey, his hands
shook and voice trembled and at times it was almost difficult to
understand him, his prayer was so weak and broken. But at the bed-side
of the sick he was always welcome, the infirmities of age were forgotten
there. For over half a century he had held himself in readiness to
attend the bedside of all who might call upon him to speak cheering,
hopeful words to the dying. But now our little community has become
educated and they are able to criticise. As we look around the church we
are lost in wonder as to what has come to the people. The older ones are
sadder and a spirit of unrest seems to have seized upon the middle aged,
while the very children have lost something of their charm.
In a short time factories and manufactories are running; clouds of smoke
ascend from the valley to the mountain top which had never been touched
by anything less pure than the rain from the cloud or the mists from the
valley below. Nature itself was making a silent protest against the
invasion of her solitude. The trees which had borne abundant fruit
before were barren now.
The older people shook their heads and attributed the cause to the
doubts and unbelief which had arisen in their lovely valley. The more
learned ones assigned the smoke from the factories to be the cause.
Death was of more frequent occurrence to the inhabitants than formerly.
This dread visitor came at rare intervals and to the very aged before
the advent of education and commerce. But now the little children and
youths were frequently stricken with strange diseases, which baffled all
skill.
And after a time enterprise steps in and a railroad is built, and with
it every vestige of the happy valley disappears. The old church is torn
down, and a new one of grand proportions and elaborate workmanship is
built on the old spot. The venerable head of the clergyman has lain low
for many a year, and in his place stands an eloquent divine, with all
the modern ideas, who, in trying to prove the doctrines of his church to
be the true faith, leaves the doctrine of Christianity out--and that too
has gone; buried beneath the ruins of the old church and in the grave of
the old clergyman.
Now let a person pass through the valley and they will look in vain for
a vestige of the once beautiful spot. There is a-hurrying to and fro. On
the faces of the young can be seen lines of care and thought. The
innocent faces and sweet manner of the young girls have given place to a
look of consciousness. The pretty, quaint dresses have gone and fashion
has sway. The quiet, dreamy look and manner of the young men has given
place to a worldly air. The mists which arise from the valley are mixed
with the foul smoke of the factories and engines, and where all was
peace and quietness; chaos reigns supreme.
* * * * *
An enthusiast is saying:
Philanthropists in many ages and many lands have put forth great and
noble efforts for the benefit of mankind and as we advance in knowledge
and civilization the ways and means chosen have undergone many
modifications. It has dawned upon philanthropists that they must have
some knowledge of the religion of humanity before the change can be very
marked, in the lives of those they would assist. The religion of
humanity is the noblest, the grandest of all religions. It is the one
which our Saviour taught while on earth; the one which he taught his
disciples to follow; one which requires no trained intellect or
cultivated mind, but simply an understanding of the human heart, the
human mind, and human passions. In it there are no creeds to learn, no
dogmas to understand, but the simple lesson of "Do unto others as you
would they should do unto you," which is the foundation of genuine
religion. Phariseeism is the curse of modern times, "Stand aside for I
am holier than thou," is the spirit too often shown among--so
called--Christians. The teaching of our Saviour; his life and good words
mean little with many persons. The story of Mary Magdalen is simply a
story, and conveys nothing to their minds. A supplication from such a
one as she would meet with no return. The drawing of the skirts aside
for fear of contamination, the cold looks and averted gaze, prove that
at least, one noble lesson has been disregarded.
In the German town of Andernach there is a huge wooden image of the
Saviour on the cross. And this is the legend which all the simple
peasants believe.
"One stormy night a poor, sinful creature was wandering about the
streets with her babe in her arms, and she was hungry and cold, homeless
and friendless, and no one in Andernach would take her in. And when she
came to the crucifix, she sat down on a stone at the foot of the cross
and began to pray, and prayed till she fell asleep with her poor little
babe on her bosom. But she did not sleep long, for a bright light shone
full in her face, and when she opened her eyes she saw a pale man
standing before her. He was almost naked, and there was blood upon his
hands and body; and great tears stood in his beautiful eyes and his face
was like the face of the Saviour on the cross. Not a word did he speak,
but he looked at the woman compassionately, and gave her a loaf of
bread, and took the babe in his arms and kissed it."
No need to talk of spiritual things to people who are suffering from
hunger and cold. If the moral nature of the poor is to be reformed,
their surroundings must be improved. "The mind becomes that which it
contemplates." It would be impossible for any one surrounded by crime
and poverty to understand or be made to comprehend the loving kindness
of a God who placed them in such a condition and amidst such
surroundings. No one, unless they were fanatics, would think of
distributing religious tracts to the poor half starved ignorant portion
of a large city. The _human_ portion of their natures must be benefitted
before any great results in moral improvements can be attained. Commence
at the beginning. Teach them the laws of hygiene: teach them their duty,
not from any reward which they may expect in the next world, but for the
sake of right and the happiness it will afford them in this world.
I am often struck with the idea that the religion which is taught from
our pulpits frequently helps to nourish all that is most selfish in our
natures. We are taught that for every kind act we perform, we may expect
a reward hereafter. In worldly matters we would have a poor opinion of a
friend--or one calling herself such--who for every small act of kindness
shown us, was constantly thinking of the benefit she was to derive from
it. Why will the reasoning not apply to spiritual matters? Such teaching
develops all that is lowest in human nature. And again we are told that
by doing certain things which are sinful in the sight of God, we may
expect punishment hereafter; consequently many people are deterred from
wrong doing, simply from fear; not because of any inner consciousness of
wrong doing, but for fear of the consequences of their sin. Would it not
be well to teach and train the human mind to the belief that any act
committed which is injurious to ourselves or our fellow creatures is
wrong, because the act in itself is wrong and not because we are to be
punished in the future.
Imagine a prisoner, a dangerous character, who conducts himself properly
while under the eye of the keeper and in sight of the lash, compelled by
fear to conform to rules, does the work appointed him, not from a
consciousness of doing right, not because the doing right is a pleasure,
but through fear of the consequences if he disobeys. He serves his time,
is discharged, but what kind of a citizen does he become? If fear only
restrains him from wrong-doing what object will he have in doing right?
Leave out the doctrine of reward and punishment, teach and train the
mind to something higher and holier than mere personal gratification.
The religion of humanity is a grand, a noble belief. To remember that
each and every one has some claim to consideration, that the way to
restrain from wrong-doing is through the human heart. A warm hand clasp
and a sympathetic tear will do more to strengthen ones belief in heaven
than all the tracts which were ever written. Can we believe in the
goodness and loving kindness of God, when we see nothing but coldness
and selfishness in our fellow creatures. Ah believe me, the chords of
the human heart are very tender and if touched by a sympathetic hand
will produce sweet sounds but if touched by the unfriendly hand of
coldness and indifference, the sounds will be harsh and discordant.
There is no one so low, so ignorant, so fallen, but has claims upon our
sympathies. The Turks collect every scrap of paper that comes in their
way, because the name of God may be written upon it. Deal tenderly with
every fellow creature, for all are made in the image of God. A few kind
words have saved many lives from shipwreck. Phariseeism says to itself
after hearing of the sin of some poor mortal "I am holier than that
person. I have never sinned in that way," forgetful of the fact that
they have never been tempted in the same way. The religion of humanity
says "here is a poor mortal who has been sorely tried and tempted, we
will show him his error and help him to do right." Phariseeism sends to
the boy who has been arrested for stealing a loaf of bread, a tract with
"Thou shall not steal" in large letters. The religion of humanity says,
"the boy was hungry and we will feed him." Phariseeism says to the poor
shivering outcast, "the Lord chastiseth those whom he loveth." The
religion of humanity takes her in and clothes, feeds and warms her. To
the poor woman who is struggling for daily bread, each day sadder than
the last, Phariseeism says, "bear thy burdens meekly." The religion of
humanity says, "we will do something to lighten her sorrow."
Phariseeism sees nothing to condemn in itself, forgetful that the sins
they are committing may be greater in the sight of God than the sins
which they are condemning in others.
I have often thought if a magician would wave his magic wand over a pool
of water so that, not only the features but the mind, the motives, the
passions were reflected, what consternation it would produce in the
minds of the Pharisee.
O be charitable even as Christ was to the sins of humanity, be
sympathetic even as He was to the sufferings of mankind; be kind even as
He was to the poor; be merciful even as He was to erring women, speak
comforting words even as He did to the weak hearted; speak cheerful
words even as He did to the weary and sad.
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Again the voice of the dreamer is heard. Let us, from a slight
elevation, watch the busy life of a large city. At early morning can be
heard the rattling of the carts and the merry whistle of the
drivers--the red-faced market woman is arranging fruit temptingly in
front of her stall; the shopman in a small street is lowering shutters
from his windows; the little old wizened woman has seated herself on the
curb stone with a small supply of apples and candy; the one armed beggar
has taken his accustomed place; the shop girls are hurrying to their
places behind the counters, the brawny workman with muscles of iron,
strides along to his days labor, and all the work-a-day world is alert.
A little later on the business portion of the city is abroad, the banker
is being driven to his counting house, the wealthy shop keeper hurries
to his place of business, and farther on the little flower girl with
fresh violets, still wet with dew, can be seen with her basket, offering
to the passers by the sweet contents. Now the great city is thoroughly
awake. The miser and the beggar jostle each other on the crowded
pavement, the little children are taken out for their morning airing by
the white-capped nurse, a black robed nun glides along on some errand of
mercy, with a face like a mediaeval saint, jostling her as he passes can
be seen the excited face of the gambler who has staked his all and lost,
and again another flower-girl bearing her bright burden, now seen and
again lost sight of, looks like a bright humming bird as she flits
along, moving hither and thither in this strange medley of human beings.
A group has gathered around some Italian street musicians; little ragged
urchins are dancing in time to a merry waltz, and now the tune changes
from gay to grave. Watch the expression of the dark-eyed harpist while
he plays, surely his thoughts have flown to his sunny Italy, so sad, so
dreamy is his look. Even this picturesque looking street musician may
have a romance and may be dreaming at this moment of some sweet voiced
Italian maiden.
Later in the day all the fashionable world is astir. Elegant carriages
with gaily dressed occupants are dashing along. There is a carriage with
the paint scarcely yet dry and seated within is a red-faced vulgar
looking woman, the carriage, the horses, the woman, all painfully--_new_.
At the same time hurrying along in shabby dress and mean attire is a
fragile delicate woman whose garb shows evidences of much mending and
patient darning, but the shabby dress cannot hide the fact that here is
a _lady_, as with easy grace she moves down the street.
The afternoon is somewhat advanced and the occasional glimpses which we
get of the flower girl show that her basket has been replenished but she
does not move quite so quickly as in the morning. Her limbs are getting
weary, and there is a pathetic little note in her voice now as she
offers her flowers for sale.
But see! on the bridge is the figure of a woman. No need to hear her
history, the face tells its own story of sin and misery. She is looking
down at the river which flows sluggishly on; down perhaps at her own
reflection in the water, down perhaps deeper still into her own soul.
The face is hardened and set and there is scarcely a trace of womanly
likeness left. A life of sin and shame has almost obliterated all that
is good in her nature, almost I say, for no one, no matter how low or
degraded, can be wholly bad. But here it is difficult to discern one
soft look, as she leans wearily over the railing of the bridge--a
silent, sad, sin-stained creature. Soon there is a sound of wheels and
gay laughter and a carriage rolls by, and there can be no mistaking the
nature and errand of the occupants. A young girl, with sweet, pure face,
all in white, with white flowers in her hair and carrying a bouquet of
white flowers in her hand, is being driven towards the church. Passing
the solitary woman on the bridge she picks a beautiful flower from the
bouquet she is carrying and tosses it at her feet, for she wishes to-day
to make all whom she sees as happy as herself. A little of the hard
look leaves the woman's face as she stoops to pick the flower.
Mechanically she follows the carriage, with stealthy steps and bated
breath she enters the church, choosing a dark corner where she will not
be observed, she sits listening to the clergyman as he proceeds with the
marriage rites and not until all is over and the lovely bride is passing
down the aisle on the arm of her husband, does she dare to raise her
eyes, and as she does so they meet the pure frank gaze of the lovely
girl who smiles in her face as she recognizes the woman to whom she
threw the flower.
The woman sits in her dark corner. Of what can she be thinking? Her head
is bowed and on her face is a look of agony. What a hell has arisen in
her breast! Her thoughts have wandered to her country home which she has
not seen for years.--To the time when she was as pure as the young girl,
who just pronounced her marriage vows; to the mother's blessing as she
saw her young daughter depart for the great city; to the early days when
she first arrived and worked honestly for her bread; to the pride she
felt over the first money she sent home to her old mother. Her thoughts
wandered back to the time when men and women turned to look at her fresh
rosy face on the street, wondering at her beauty which partook so
largely of the wild rose and mountain daisy. Could this be the same
woman, with the hardened face and form covered with rags? It seemed so
long ago. Then came the thoughts of striving with temptation, then the
promises made and broken, of ruin and shame, then of the long illness,
of dreadful poverty, and at last she sees herself as she is, a ruined,
homeless, sin-stained creature. Oh the misery, the agony! What hell can
be greater than this! While she is still sitting there the bell begins
to toll, and soon there is a procession moving slowly up the aisle and
four young boys are carrying a little coffin. It too is covered with
white flowers, placed there by loving hands. In the coffin is a little
waxen form almost covered with the same beautiful flowers.
