Theodore Dreiser

Jennie Gerhardt Theodore Dreiser

The spirit of Jennie-who shall express it? This daughter of poverty, who was now to fetch andcarry the laundry of this distinguished citizen of Columbus, was a creature of a mellowness oftemperament which words can but vaguely suggest. There are natures born to the inheritance offlesh that come without understanding, and that go again without seeming to have wondered why. Life, so long as they endure it, is a true wonderland, a thing of infinite beauty, which could they butwander into it wonderingly, would be heaven enough. Opening their eyes, they see a conformableand perfect world. Trees, flowers, the world of sound and the world of color. These are the valuedinheritance of their state. If no one said to them "Mine," they would wander radiantly forth, singingthe song which all the earth may some day hope to hear. It is the song of goodness. Caged in the world of the material, however, such a nature is almost invariably an anomaly. Thatother world of flesh into which has been woven pride and greed looks askance at the idealist, thedreamer. If one says it is sweet to look at the clouds, the answer is a warning against idleness. If oneseeks to give ear to the winds, it shall be well with his soul, but they will seize upon his possessions. If all the world of the so-called inanimate delay one, calling with tenderness in sounds that seem tobe too perfect to be less than understanding, it shall be ill with the body. The hands of the actual areforever reaching toward such as these-forever seizing greedily upon them. It is of such that thebond servants are made. In the world of the actual, Jennie was such a spirit. From her earliest youth goodness and mercyhad molded her every impulse. Did Sebastian fall and injure himself, it was she who struggled withstraining anxiety, carried him safely to his mother. Did George complain that he was hungry, shegave him all of her bread. Many were the hours in which she had rocked her younger brothers andsisters to sleep, singing whole-heartedly betimes and dreaming far dreams. Since her earliest walkingperiod she had been as the right hand of her mother. What scrubbing, baking, errand-running, andnursing there had been to do she did. No one had ever heard her rudely complain, though she oftenthought of the hardness of her lot. She knew that there were other girls whose lives were infinitelyfreer and fuller, but, it never occurred to her to be meanly envious; her heart might be lonely, buther lips continued to sing. When the days were fair she looked out of her kitchen window andlonged to go where the meadows were. Nature's fine curves and shadows touched her as a songitself. There were times when she had gone with George and the others, leading them away to wherea patch of hickory-trees flourished, because there were open fields, with shade for comfort and abrook of living water. No artist in the formulating of conceptions, her soul still responded to thesethings, and every sound and every sigh were welcome to her because of their beauty.