y who make the
nobility for themselves. Phryne of Athens, Helen of Troy, Catherine
of Russia, Mary of Scotland--these are women who have ennobled
themselves without aid of eulogy. Personality has been theirs
without necessity for the robe of virtue to grace them in the eyes
of the world. But with the seemingly lesser women, the women of
seemingly no vast account--with those whose whole individuality
depends upon the invaluable possession of their virtue, no great epic
can well be sung, no loud paean sounded. You may find just a lyric
here, a rondel there, set to the lilt of a phrase in an idle hour
and sung in a passing moment to send a tired heart asleep. But that
is all. Yet they are the women upon whom the world has spent six
thousand years in the making; they are the women at whose breasts
are fed the sons of men. The whole race has been weaned by them; every
country has been nursed into manhood in their arms. But they are too
normal or they are too much a class to have men sing of them. There
is not one mother of children in the vast calendars of history who
stands out now for our eyes to reverence. Upon the stage of the world
their part is played, and what eye is there can grasp in comprehensive
glance the whole broad sweep of power which their frail hands have
wielded? Only upon that mimic platform of fame, raised where the eyes
of all can watch the figure as it treads the boards, have women stood
apart where the recorder can jot their names upon a scroll of history
for the world to read. There is no virtue essential here; virtue
indeed but adds a glamour with its absence.

There is some subtle attraction in a Catherine of Russia or a Manon
Lescaut which tempts the cunning lust of men to cry their praise for
the nobility of heart that lies beneath. But what elusive charm is
there in the mother of children whose stainless virtue is her only
personality? None? Yet to the all-seeing eye, to the all-comprehending
brain--to that omniscience whom some call God, be it in Trinity or in
Unity, and others know not what to call--these are the women who lift
immeasurably above fame, infinitely above repute.

So, therefore, rob them of their virtue and you prize a jewel from
its setting, you wrench a star from the mystery of the heavens and
bring it down to earth, you filch from the generous hand of Nature
that very possession which she holds most dear. For without virtue,
these women are nothing. Without virtue, you may se