CHAPTER V. Be Ambitious

BE AMBITIOUS

Many a pen has been used against this inward passion, declaring it a “secret poison, a gallant madness and the mother of hypocrisy.” The great Wolsey cried, “I charge thee, fling away ambition.” Bowes said, “The most aspiring are frequently the most contemptible,” but there are exceptions to the rule. Where there is no aspiration, there is no endeavor. It is not wrong to strain mental and physical energies to succeed, provided it is to be good and to do good. The ambition of Napoleon to lay waste the town of Acre was wrong, that of Wellington to intercept the “scourge of Europe,” right. “To be ambitious of true honor, of the true glory and perfections of our natures, is,” as Sir Philip Sidney said, “the very principle and incentive of virtue.”

One of the customs of the Norsemen was that of wearing a pickaxe crest with the motto, “Either I will find a way or make one.” An adage of the day reads, “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” What one wills to do can usually be done. George Stephenson determined to make an engine to run between Liverpool and Manchester at the rate of twelve miles an hour. The Quarterly Review ridiculed the idea, saying, “As well trust one’s self to be fired off on a Congreve rocket.” He did it, nevertheless. Prince Bismarck’s greatest ambition was to snatch Germany from Austrian oppression and to gather round Prussia, in a North German confederation, all the States whose tone of thought, religion and interest, were in harmony with those of Prussia. “To attain this end,” he once said, “I would brave all dangers—exile, even the scaffold. What matters if they hang me, provided the rope with which I am hung binds this new Germany firmly to the Prussian throne?” And, he did it.

ASPIRE HIGH.

There is nothing wrong in aspiring high. George Washington proposed to carve his name higher than any other on the Natural Bridge in Virginia, and did it. Alfred Harmsworth, “king of the penny press,” said on entering journalism, “I will master the business of editing and publishing.” At twenty-one he had a little capital, at thirty he was a millionaire, and later became head of the largest publishing house in the world.

Emerson once said, “Hitch your wagon to a star.” It is but a natural condition of a healthful life when energies seek an outlet in some lofty activity. Better endeavor if but to fail, than never try at all. “I know,” says Morris, “how far high failure overleaps the bounds of low successes.” The sense of such makes us capable of a grave and holy sense of the real soberness and meaning of life. George Eliot in writing the last words of her most powerful book, exclaims, “It is so much less than what I hoped for.” A great artist was once highly praised for a beautiful painting which he had just completed. “Ah, do not praise me!” he sadly said, “it may be very beautiful, but I aimed at perfection.” When Napoleon started on his campaign he was ridiculed and nicknamed “The Little Corporal,” which cut him to the quick, but it proved to be a goad which stirred him to become a great general. In one of our courts a poor carpenter was once planing a magistrate’s bench, when an onlooker inquired, “Why are you so careful with such a rough piece of furniture?” “Because I wish to make it for the time when I shall sit as judge upon it,” was the reply. And that time came.

INSTANCES OF SUCCESSFUL AMBITION.

In 1805 there was born in London a boy of a hated and branded people. When sixteen years of age he became a clerk in a solicitor’s office, and, to the amusement of his companions, he was wont to say: “I intend to be prime minister of England.” He had no liberal education, yet he won honors of literary skill and scholarship. He was ambitious, and eventually won his way to Parliament. When he attempted to deliver his first speech, his highflown style and extravagant gestures provoked laughter and hisses, so that he took his seat with great mortification. In doing so, he uttered a remarkable prophecy, “I shall sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me.” True to the utterance, that time came to Benjamin Disraeli, when, in Shakespeare’s words he could have said, “People and senators! be not affrighted; fly not; stand still; ambition’s debt is paid.”

Years ago a poor German boy named Schliemann read of the siege of Troy, and made up his mind to find the ruins of that ancient city. He procured books and taught himself six or seven languages. He persevered and prospered until as a merchant he made a fortune. Every step of his study and money-making was taken with the aim of fulfilling the vow of his boyhood. In due time he started eastward with a company of laborers, and for long years pursued his search. At last success crowned his efforts. Troy was discovered and the gold, silver and bronze articles of the Trojan king were dug out of his palace, and placed on exhibition at South Kensington, England.

One day while wandering about Cincinnati a young artist saw a sign which read, “Peter Skinner, Chairmaker.” “Why can’t I make chairs?” he asked himself. He straightway entered the establishment, resolved to ask for a position. In order to get to the office, he had to pass through the paint room, and the sight of several busy workers prompted him to inwardly exclaim, “Anyway I can paint chairs.” The firm wanted a hand, and he was engaged to come the next morning to work in the paint shop. As he wended his way back he tarried a moment to see how the painters did their work. That evening when he reached his room in the boarding-house, he borrowed a brush and an old chair, and began practising. Next morning he was on hand at the chair factory and there continued to work for two months at nine dollars per week. No one ever discovered that he was not an experienced chair-painter. During his leisure time at the boarding-house he made pencil drawings and dropped them carelessly on the floor so that they would attract attention. The landlord, a colonel in the militia, possessed a strong, characteristic face and the artist drew him in uniform, and dropped this picture on the floor of his room. His chief ambition was to return to portrait painting. He thought the drawing would please the colonel, and it did; so much so, that it led to his receiving a commission to paint the portraits of the colonel and his family, consisting of five members, at five dollars each. With this work to occupy him he left the chair factory, and soon the reputation of James H. Beard, the celebrated portrait and animal painter, was made.

History records thousands of those who have pressed their way upward until they were crowned with success in spite of the distressing, discouraging, circumstantial law of gravitation, in which poverty and uncouth ancestry have played an important part. What these have done, any other boy can do, providing he argues not

“Against heaven’s hand or will, not ’bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward.”

THE SPIRIT OF DISCONTENT.

There is, however, a spirit of discontent manifested by many who envy those a few rounds higher on life’s social or business ladder, and who are determined to surpass them at whatever cost. Such ambition is justly foredoomed to disappointment, like Alexander’s, who wept because there were no more worlds for him to conquer; and like Pisistratus, to whom the Athenian law-giver said, “Were it not for your ambition, you would be the best citizen of Athens.”

Ambition that rises from discontent or selfishness is false. It lacks conscience to engineer it. A boy is only fit to go higher as he demonstrates faithfulness where he is. A boy that simply wants to climb without endeavoring to do well in the position he holds is, as Beecher said, “Neither fit to be where he is, nor yet above it; he is already too high, and should be put lower.” “Out of the frying-pan into the fire,” though not his motto, will doubtless be his result.

MASTER OF HIS CRAFT.

Not long ago, at Ellis Island, a large number of immigrants were awaiting examination. Among them was a tall Polish lad with a little black bag under his arm. When his turn came to answer the inevitable question, “How much money have you?” he smiled, and frankly answered “None.” “But don’t you know you can’t come in here if you have no money, and no friend to speak for you? Where are you going?” asked the inspector. “To Fall River first. I have a friend there. Then I shall see the whole country. You will hear of me,” he answered. The inspector proceeded rather sharply, “How will you get to Fall River? Where will you eat and sleep to-night?” “I shall be all right,” replied the lad confidently. “With this,” tapping the black bag, “I can go anywhere.” “What is it?” The Pole laughed, and opening the bag, took out a cornet. It was a fine instrument, and gave evidence of loving care. “Can you play it well?” asked the officer, kindly. In answer the young man stepped out into an open space, and lifting the horn to his lips, began the beautiful intermezzo from “Cavalleria Rusticana.” At the very first note every one in the great building stood still and listened. The long lines of immigrants became motionless. The forlorn waiters in the pit looked up, and their faces became tender. Even the meanest among them seemed to feel the charm of the pleading notes. When the music ceased, there was a burst of applause. Shouts of “Bravo,” “Good boy,” “Give us some more,” came from every side. The physicians, who a few moments before had made their hurried and not over-gentle examination, joined in the applause. The officer who had questioned him so sharply slapped him on the back. The commissioner himself had come up from his office at the sound of the horn, and asked for particulars. When he had heard them, he turned to the agent of the Fall River boats, and said, “Give this lad a passage, including meals, and charge it to me.” “I will charge it to myself,” said the agent, and he took the young Pole by the arm and led him away. “With this I can go anywhere,” showed not only his ambitious spirit, but demonstrated faithfulness in the prosecution of his studies, which now stood him in good stead and made him master of the situation. How true, as Massinger sang,

“Man was marked A friend in the creation, to himself, And may, with fit ambition, conceive The greatest blessings and the highest honors Appointed for him, if he can achieve them The right and noble way.”

HINTS TO SUCCESSFUL AMBITION.

Ambition, to succeed, must seize opportunity by the forelock. “Behind she is bald; if you seize her by the forelock, you may hold her; if suffered to escape, not Jupiter himself can catch her again.” “Do that which lies nearest you,” is an injunction worth obeying, and though not the most satisfactory, may be the stepping-stone to something higher. John D. Rockefeller, who is computed to be worth three hundred million dollars, earned his first money hoeing potatoes, and when thirty-five years of age owned but a thousand dollars. When Edison was a very poor young man, walking the streets in search of work, he happened to step into an office in Wall street. The telegraph recording machine was out of order, and no one could make it work. Instead of pleading his case in general statements, he simply asked if he might try his hand on the balky machine. He was permitted, and was successful. This was the turning point in his career toward fortune. He not only had knowledge and skill enough to make a machine go, but he had wit enough to perceive the opportunity just at hand. Some things are difficult to perceive because they are close to us. But this is all the more reason why we should look for them and with the barest possibility seize them.

Ambition which ennobles, must do well whatever there is to be done. Gladstone’s advice to boys was, “Be thorough in what you do, and remember that, though ignorance often may be innocence, pretension is always despicable.” President Garfield tells of a schoolmate who established a factory for the single purpose of making hammers, which he had brought to great perfection, and in which he took a great pride. The statesman said to his old friend, “By this time you must be able to make a pretty good hammer.” The hammer-maker, who was shipping his wares by the thousands to all parts of the earth, replied: “No, we do not make any pretty good hammers; we make the best hammers that can be made.” “I commission thee, my son,” said an aged artist, whose eye was failing and hand trembling, “do thy best.” The young man hesitated, thinking the duty too vast to finish his master’s work, but the injunction “do thy best” rang in his ears. With prayer for help and high purpose in heart, the young man began. As he wrought, his hand grew steady, his conception cleared, each stroke became a master-stroke until with tearful exultation, the aged artist gave over into the hand of Leonardo da Vinci the task from which his own trembling hand was dropping, which task for da Vinci meant a world-wide reputation.

“I was invited,” said the late D. W. Richardson, “to give an address at St. Andrew’s University, and to listen in the evening to a lecture by another man—like myself, an outsider. I was not personally acquainted with this other man, but I knew that he filled an important judicial office in Scotland, and was considered one of the most able and learned, as well as one of the wittiest men in that country. He chose for his subject ‘Self-Culture,’ and for an hour held us in a perfect dream of pleasure. For my own part, I could not realize that the hour had fled. The lecture ended at seven o’clock, and at eight I found myself seated at dinner by the side of the lecturer, at the house of one of the university professors. In the course of the dinner I made some reference to the hall in which the exercises of the day had been held, how good it was for sound, and what a fine structure to look upon. ‘And did you like the way in which the stones were laid inside?’ asked my new friend. ‘Immensely,’ I replied, ‘the man who laid those stones was an artist who must have thought that his work would live through the ages.’ ‘Well, that is pleasant to hear,’ he said, ‘for the walls are my ain daein’.’ He had the Scottish accent when in earnest. ‘Fortunate man,’ I replied, ‘to have the means to build so fine a place,’ for I thought, naturally enough, that, being a rich man, he had built this hall at his own expense, and presented it to the university. ‘Fortunate, truly,’ he answered, ‘but not in that sense. What I mean is, that I laid every one of those stones with my ain hand. I was a working mason, and the builder of the hall gave me the job of laying the inside stone-work; and I never had a job in my life in which I took so much pride and so much pleasure.’

“While this man was working with his hands he was working also with his brain. He took his degree, went to the bar, and became a man honored throughout the country. We applauded his brilliant lecture; but those silent, beautiful stones before him, which echoed our applause, must, I think, have been to him one cheer more, and a big one.”

Be ambitious, my boy. Embrace every opportunity, for such “is the small end of a big thing.” The small end comes first and may be good as a handle. “My chance has come,” said Commodore Dewey to a naval captain with whom he dined just before leaving Washington to assume command of the Asiatic squadron early in 1898. “You know, Farragut did not get his chance till he was over sixty, but he took it, and—” something interfered with the conversation and the sentence was never finished in words, but the rest of it reverberated around the world from the roar of Dewey’s guns at Manila. Keep your eyes open. Hear, but say little. Count the cost before you bargain. Weigh matters before you buy, and if there is a possibility of success, grasp it. Spare no labor, nor shrink from danger, for in the words of Montrose,

“He either fears his fate too much Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.”