Two or three weeks ago Elinor Glyn called on me, one afternoon, and we had a long talk, of a distinctly unusual character, in the library. It may be that by the time this chapter reaches print she may be less well known to the world than she is now, therefore I will insert here a word or two of information about her. She is English. She is an author. The newspapers say she is visiting America with the idea of finding just the right kind of a hero for the principal character in a romance which she is purposing to writeⒺexplanatory note. She has come to us upon the storm-wind of a vast and sudden notoriety. The source of this notoriety is a novel of hers called “Three Weeks.”Ⓔexplanatory note In this novel the hero is a fine and gifted and cultivated young English gentleman of goodⒶtextual note family, who imagines he has fallen in love with the ungifted, uninspired, commonplace daughter of the rector. He goes to the Continent on an outing, and there he happens upon a brilliant and beautiful young lady of exceedingly foreign extraction, with a deep mystery hanging over her. It transpires, later, that she is the childless wife of a king, or kinglet—a coarse and unsympathetic animal whom she does not love. She and the young Englishman fall in love with each other at sight. The hero’s feeling for the rector’s daughter was pale, not to say colorless, and it is promptly consumed and extinguished in the furnace-fires of his passion for the mysterious stranger—passion is the right word; passion is what the pair of strangers feel for each other, and which they recognize as real love—the only real love, the only love worthy to be called by that great name—whereas the feeling which the young man had for the rector’s daughter is perceived to have been only a passing partiality. The queenlet and the Englishman flit away privately to the mountains and take up sumptuous quarters in a remote and lonely house there—and then business begins. They recognize that they were highly and holily createdⒶtextual note for each other, and that their passion is a sacred thing; that it is their master by divine right, and that its commands must be obeyed. They get to obeying them at once, and they keep on obeying them, and obeying them, to the reader’s intense delight and disapproval; and the process of obeying them is described, several times, almost exhaustively, but not quite—some little rag of it being left to the reader’s imagination, just at the end of each infraction, the place where his imagination is to take up and do the finish being indicated by starsⒺexplanatory note.

The unstated argument of the book is that the laws of Nature are paramount, and properly take precedence of the interfering and impertinent restrictive statutes obtruded upon man’s life by man’s statutes.

MadameⒶtextual note Glyn called, as I have said, and she was a picture! Slender, young, faultlessly [begin page 196] formed and incontestably beautiful—a blonde, with blue eyes, the incomparable English complexion, and crowned with a glory of red hair of a very peculiar, most rare, and quite ravishing tint. She was clad in the choicest stuffs and in the most perfect taste. There she is—just a beautiful girl; yet she has a daughter fourteen years oldⒺexplanatory note. She isn’t winning; she has no charm but the charm of beauty, and youth, and grace, and intelligence and vivacity; she acts charm, and does it well; exceedingly well, in fact, but it does not convince; it doesn’t stir the pulse, it doesn’t go to the heart; it leaves the heart serene and unemotional. Her English hero would have prodigiously admired her; he would have loved to sit and look at her and hear her talk, but he would have been able to get away from that lonely house with his purity in good repair, if he had wanted to.

I talked with her with daring frankness, frequently calling a spade a spade instead of coldly symbolizing it as a snow-shovel; and on her side she was equally frank. It was one of the damnedestⒶtextual note conversations I have ever had with a beautiful stranger of her sex, if I do say it myself that shouldn’t. She wanted my opinion of her book, and I furnished it. I said its literary workmanship was excellent, and that I quite agreed with her view that in the matter of the sexual relation man’s statutory regulations of it were a distinct interference with a higher law—the law of Nature. I went further, and said I couldn’t call to mind a written law of any kind that had been promulgated in any age of the world in any statute bookⒶtextual note or any Bible for the regulation of man’s conduct in any Ⓐtextual note particular, from assassination all the way up to Sabbath-breaking, that wasn’t a violation of the law of Nature—which I regarded as the highest of laws, the most peremptory and absolute of all laws—Nature’sⒶtextual note laws being in my beliefⒶtextual note plainly and simply the laws of God, since He instituted them—He and no other—and the said laws, by authority of this divine originⒶtextual note taking precedence of all the statutes of man. I said that her pair of indelicate lovers were obeying the law of their make and disposition; that therefore they were obeying the clearly enunciated law of God, and in His eyes must manifestly be blameless.

Of course what she wanted of me was support and defenceⒶtextual note—I knew that, but I said I couldn’t furnish it. I said we were the servants of convention; that we could not subsist, either in a savage or a civilized state, without conventions; that we must accept them and stand by them, even when we disapproved of them; that while the laws of Nature—that is to say the laws of God—plainly made every human being a law unto himself, we must steadfastly refuse to obey those laws, and we must as steadfastly stand by the conventions which ignore them, since the statutes furnish us peace, fairly good government, and stability, and therefore are better for us than the laws of God, which would soon plunge us into confusion and disorder and anarchy, if we should adopt them. I said her book was an assault upon certain old and well established and wise conventions, and that it would not find many friends, and, indeed, would not deserve many.

She said I was very brave—the bravest person she had ever met; (gross flattery which could have beguiled me when I was very very young),Ⓐtextual note and she implored me to publish these views of mine—but I said “No, such a thing is unthinkable.” I said that if I, or any other wise, intelligent, and experienced person, should suddenly throw down the walls that protect and conceal his real Ⓐtextual note opinions on almost any subject under the sun, it [begin page 197] would at once be perceived that he had lost his intelligence and his wisdom and ought to be sent to the asylum. I said I had been revealing to her my private sentiments, not Ⓐtextual note my public ones; that I, likeⒶtextual note all the other human beings,Ⓐtextual note expose to the world only my trimmed and perfumed and carefully barbered public opinions and conceal carefully, cautiously, wisely, my private ones. I explained that what I meant by that phrase “public opinions” was published opinions—opinions spread broadcast in print. I said I was in the common habit, in private conversation with friends, of revealing every private opinion I possessed relating to religion, politics, and men butⒶtextual note that I should never dream of printing Ⓐtextual note one of them, because they are individually and collectively at war with almost everybody’s public opinion, while at the same time they are in happy agreement with almost everybody’s private opinion. As an instance, I asked her if she had ever encountered an intelligent person who privately believed in the Immaculate Conception—which of course she hadn’t; and I also asked her if she had ever seen an intelligent person who was daring enough to publicly deny his belief in that fable and print the denial. Of course she hadn’t encountered any such person. I said I had a large cargo of most interesting and important private opinions about every great matter under the sun, but that they were not for print. I reminded her that we all break over the rule two or three times in our lives and fire a disagreeable and unpopular private opinion of ours into print, but we never do it when we can help it; we never do it except when the desire to do it is too strong for us and overrides and conquers our cold, calm, wise judgment. She mentioned several instances in which I had come out publicly in defenceⒶtextual note of unpopular causes, and she intimated that what I had been saying about myself was not perhaps in strict accordance with the facts; but I said they were merely illustrations of what I had just been saying—that when I publicly attacked the American missionaries in China, and some other iniquitous persons and causes, I did not do it for any reason but justⒶtextual note the one:Ⓐtextual note that the inclination to do it was stronger than my diplomatic instincts, and I had to obey and take the consequencesⒺexplanatory note. But I said I was not moved to defend her book in public; that it was not a case where inclination was overpowering and unconquerable, and that therefore I could keep diplomatically still, and should do it.

TheⒶtextual note lady was young enough, and inexperienced enough, to imagine that whenever a person has an unpleasant opinion in stock which could be of educational benefit to Tom, Dick, and Harry, it is his duty Ⓐtextual note to come out in print with it and become its champion. I was not able to get that juvenile idea out of her head. I was not able to convince her that we never do any Ⓐtextual note duty for the duty’s sake but only for the mere personal satisfaction we get out of doing that duty. The fact is, she was brought up just like the rest of the world, with the ingrained and stupidⒶtextual note superstition that there is such a thing as duty for duty’s sake, Ⓐtextual note and so I was obliged to let her abide in her darkness. She believed that when a man held a private unpleasant opinion of an educational sort, which would get him hanged if he published it, he ought to publish it anyway, and was a coward if he didn’t. Take it all around, it was a very pleasant conversation, and glaringly unprintable—particularly those considerable parts of it which I haven’t had the courage to more than vaguely hint at in this account of our talk.

[begin page 198] Some days afterward I met her again, for a moment, and she gave me the startling information that she had written down every word I had said, just as I had said it, without any softening and purifying modifications, and that it was “just splendid, just wonderful.” She said she had sent it to her husband, in EnglandⒺexplanatory note. Privately I didn’t think that that was a very good idea, and yet I believed it would interest him. She begged me to let her publish it, and said it would do infinite good in the world; but I said it would damn me before my time, and I didn’t wish to be usefulⒶtextual note to the world on such expensive conditions.

She wanted to show me her report of our talk so that I could admire the accuracy of it. I said it wouldn’t interest me, still she could fetch it some time or other, if she liked.

Sure enough, her report came! It came several days ago, not by her hand but by the hand of another—by the hand of an American lady who is Mrs. Glyn’s closest friend and most ardent admirer, a lady whom I know and like. She is young; she is beautiful; she has faultless taste in dress, and I know she would be charming if she hadn’t a hobby; but often a hobby so possesses its rider that it sucks all the juices out of the rider’s personality and leaves it dry and feverish and hot-eyed and unwholesome, unspiritual, unwinning, unpersuasive, and I may even say repellent. As a rule, a person under the dominion of a hobby cannot be satisfactorily dealt with. It is the hobby-rider’sⒶtextual note conviction that his own reasonings upon his subject are the only sane ones; it is his conviction that your counter-reasonings are either insane or insincere; they make not the least impression upon him, if he even hears them, which he generally doesn’t, for while you are talking his mind is commonly busy with what it is going to say in reply to these reasonings which it has not been listening to—busy with what it is going to say when you make a temporary halt for breath and give it a chance to break in.

The lady had not been sent by Mrs. Glyn; she had come of her own accord, and without Mrs. Glyn’s knowledge. She had studied Mrs. Glyn’s report of our conversationⒺexplanatory note, with Mrs. Glyn’s permission, with the result that she felt it to be her duty to come and urge me to let it be published. The sense that it was her duty to do this was so commanding, so overpowering, that she was not able to resist it, but was obliged to surrender to its mastery and obey. She added that she was thoroughly convinced that it was my duty—a duty which I could not honorably avoid—to allow this conversation to be published, because of the influence it would have upon the public for good.

I said I was sorry to be obliged to take a different view of my duty, but that such was the case. I said I was so habituated to shirking my duty that I was able now to shirk it fifty times a day without a pang; that is, that I could shirk fifty duties a day without a pang if the opportunity to do it were furnished me;Ⓐtextual note that I did not get fifty opportunities a day, but that I got an average of about that manyⒶtextual note a week, and that I had noticed [begin page 199] a peculiarity, a quite interesting peculiarity, of these opportunities—to wit, that the opportunity to do a duty was always furnished me by an outsider, it seldomⒶtextual note originated with me; it was always furnished by some person who knew more about my duties toward the public than I did. I said I believed that if I should become the champion of every cause that was brought to my attention and shown by argument that it was my duty to take hold of it and champion it, I shouldn’t ever have any time left to punch up the China missionaries or revel in any of the other duties that were of my own invention and that were occupying all the spare room in my heart. “AndⒶtextual note yet,” I said, “if you leave out the China missionaries, and King Leopold of BelgiumⒺexplanatory note, and the Children’s TheatreⒶtextual note Ⓔexplanatory note, I am not working many duties of my own invention, but am mainly laboring at duties put upon me by other people.” I said,

“I am really quite active in fussing at other people’s good causes—Ⓐtextual noteby request. Let me show you—let me give you a list. At present my duty-mill is pretty persistently grinding in the interest of theseⒶtextual note several matters—to wit:

“TheⒶtextual note Fulton Memorial Fund, which has imposed upon me two voyages to Jamestown, several appeal-letters for publication, half a dozenⒶtextual note speeches, and one lectureⒺexplanatory note;

“TheⒶtextual note movement propagated by Miss Holt for raising a large fund to be devoted to the amelioration of the condition of this State’s helpless and unsupported adult blind personsⒺexplanatory note;

“TheⒶtextual note American movement in the interest of those Russian revolutionistsⒺexplanatory note whose hope is to modify the Czar and his blood-kin menagerie, and make life in Russia endurable for the common people.

“HoweverⒶtextual note, the full list would take up too much room. Let the rest go. It is only noon now, yet between yesterday noon and the present noon I have had more opportunities offered me in the way of assisting good causes than I could utilize, even if I should do my very best. For instance:

“SpeechⒶtextual note at the impending banquet in the interest of that great society which is endeavoring to promote more intimate relations between America and France than now exist. I had to decline it;

“InvitationⒶtextual note to take a prominent part in another impending function in that same interest. I had to decline it;

“InvitationⒶtextual note to take a prominent part in still another impending function in that same interest. I had to decline it;

“InvitationⒶtextual note to attend a public meeting whose object is to obstruct the progress of Christian Science in the land. I had to decline it;

“InvitationⒶtextual note to make a speech at a public meeting whose object is to raise funds in aid of another polar expedition. I had to decline it;

“ThatⒶtextual note isn’t the whole list—but never mind the rest. It is a sufficient indication that you have arrived late with your opportunity for me to do my duty toward the public in this matter of yours, and it will suggest to you that when a person gets so many chances, every twenty-four hours, to do good, he is bound to become callous eventually, and feel not a single responsive throb in his heart when a new chance, or a hundred of them, are [begin page 200] offered him. You are very strongly interested in the matter which has brought you to me aren’t you?”

“Yes, my heart is in it.”

“Your whole heart?”

“Yes, my whole heart.”

“It is the same with Mrs. Glyn, isn’t it?”

“Yes, just the same.”

“Both of you have been approached by people whose whole hearts were in other large causes and who wished to secure your sympathy and help in those causes—isn’t it so?”

“Yes, that is true—there have been many instances.”

“IⒶtextual note don’t need to ask you if you declined. I already know you did. It isn’t human nature to feel a working sympathy in every good cause that is brought to one’s attention, and without that warm sympathy in a person’s heart he is not going to take hold of such things merely because somebody whose whole heart is in them wants him to do it. Now no part of my heart is in this matter of yours and Mrs. Glyn’s, and I long ago stopped engaging my mouth in either good or bad causes where my heart was indifferent. You and Mrs. Glyn think it strange that since I have an opinion about this matter of yours I yet refuse to make that opinion public; you do think it strange, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do.”

“You think that if you were in my place you would consider a private opinion a public one as well, and that it was your duty to publish it, and that you could not refuse to publish it without being guilty of moral cowardice—isn’t it so?”

“You have stated it in perhaps harsher terms than necessary, but substantially it is what we think.”

“Don’t you believe that there are often cases where you would do things in private which were without offenceⒶtextual note and yet which you would not be quite willing to do in public? For instance: you are the mother of three children.”

“Yes.”Ⓔexplanatory note