kings of destiny; which, indeed, lie far more in the thoughts
that arise in our mind as we look at the men around us, at the woman we
love; as we dwell on the feelings within us; as we fix our eyes on the
evening sky with its crown of indifferent stars.

94. A woman of extraordinary beauty and talent, possessed of the rarest
qualities of mind and soul, was one day asked by a friend, to whom she
seemed the most perfect creature on earth: "What are your plans? Can
any man be worthy of your love? Your future puzzles me. I cannot
conceive a destiny that shall be lofty enough for a soul such as
yours." He knew but little of destiny. To him, as to most men, it meant
thrones, triumphs, dazzling adventures: these things seemed to him the
sum of a human destiny; whereby he did but prove that he knew not what
destiny was. And, in the first place, why this disdain of to-day? To
disdain to-day is to prove that yesterday has been misunderstood. To
disdain to-day is to declare oneself a stranger, and what can you hope
to do in a world where you shall ever pass as a stranger? To-day has
this advantage over yesterday, that it exists and was made for us. Be
to-day what it will, it has wider knowledge than yesterday; and by that
alone does it become more beautiful, and vaster. Why should we think
that the woman I speak of would have known a more brilliant destiny in
Venice, Florence, or Rome? Her presence might have been sought at
magnificent festival, and her beauty have found a fitting surrounding
in exquisite landscape. She might have had princes and kings, the elect
of the world, at her feet; and perhaps it had needed but one of her
smiles to add to a great nation's gladness, to ennoble or chasten the
thought of an epoch. Whereas here all her life will be spent among four
or five people--four or five souls that know of her soul, and love her.
It may be that she never shall stir from her dwelling; that of her
life, of her thoughts, and the strength that is in her, there will
remain not a trace among men. It may be that her beauty, her force and
her instinct for good, will be buried within her: in her heart and the
hearts of the few who are near. And even then, and if this be so, the
soul of this woman doubtless shall find its own thing to do. The mighty
gates through which we must pass to a helpful and noteworthy life no
longer grate on their hinges with the deafening clamour of old. They
are smaller, perhaps, than they were; less vast