The Crown of Wild Olive
puzzle ourselves, it is our own fault. And we may always be sure,
whatever we are doing, that we cannot be pleasing Him, if we are not
happy ourselves. Now, away with you, children; and be as happy as you
can. And when you cannot, at least don't plume yourselves upon pouting.
FOOTNOTES:
[151] Quartz is not much harder than epidote; the strength is only
supposed to be in some proportion to the squares of the diameters.
LECTURE VII.
_HOME VIRTUES._
_By the fireside, in the Drawing-room. Evening._
DORA. Now, the curtains are drawn, and the fire's bright and here's your
arm-chair--and you're to tell us all about what you promised.
L. All about what?
DORA. All about virtue.
KATHLEEN. Yes, and about the words that begin with V.
L. I heard you singing about a word that begins with V, in the
playground, this morning, Miss Katie.
KATHLEEN. Me singing?
MAY. Oh tell us--tell us.
L. 'Vilikens and his----'
KATHLEEN (_stopping his mouth_). Oh! please don't. Where were you?
ISABEL. I'm sure I wish I had known where he was! We lost him among the
rhododendrons, and I don't know where he got to; oh, you
naughty--naughty--(_climbs on his knee_).
DORA. Now, Isabel, we really want to talk.
L. _I_ don't.
DORA. Oh, but you must. You promised, you know.
L. Yes, if all was well; but all's ill. I'm tired, and cross; and I
won't.
DORA. You're not a bit tired, and you're not crosser than two sticks;
and we'll make you talk, if you were crosser than six. Come here, Egypt;
and get on the other side of him.
(EGYPT _takes up a commanding position near the
hearth-brush._)
DORA (_reviewing her forces_). Now, Lily, come and sit on the rug in
front.
(LILY _does as she is bid._)
L. (_seeing he has no chance against the odds_.) Well, well; but I'm
really tired. Go and dance a little, first; and let me think.
DORA. No; you mustn't think. You will be wanting to make us think next;
that will be tiresome.
L. Well, go and dance first, to get quit of thinking; and then I'll talk
as long as you like.
DORA. Oh, but we can't dance to-night. There isn't time; and we want to
hear about virtue.
L. Let me see a little of it first. Dancing is the first of girl's
virtues.
EGYPT. Indeed! And the second?
L. Dressing.
EGYPT. Now, you needn't say that! I mended that tear the first thing
before breakfast this morning.
L. I cannot otherwise express the ethical principle, Egypt; whether you
have mended your gown or not.
DORA. Now don't be tiresome. We really must hear about virtue, please;
seriously.
L. Well. I'm telling you about it, as fast as I can.
DORA. What! the first of girls' virtues is dancing?
L. More accurately, it is wishing to dance, and not wishing to tease,
nor hear about virtue.
DORA (_to_ EGYPT). Isn't he cross?
EGYPT. How many balls must we go to in the season, to be perfectly
virtuous?
L. As many as you can without losing your colour. But I did not say you
should wish to go to balls. I said you should be always wanting to
dance.
EGYPT. So we do; but everybody says it is very wrong.
L. Why, Egypt, I thought--
'There was a lady once,
That would not be a queen,--that would she not,
For all the mud in Egypt.'
You were complaining the other day of having to go out a great deal
oftener than you liked.
EGYPT. Yes, so I was; but then, it isn't to dance. There's no room to
dance: it's--(_Pausing to consider what it is for_).
L. It is only to be seen, I suppose. Well, there's no harm in that.
Girls ought to like to be seen.
DORA (_her eyes flashing_). Now, you don't mean that; and you're too
provoking; and we won't dance again, for a month.
L. It will answer every purpose of revenge, Dora, if you only banish me
to the library; and dance by yourselves: but I don't think Jessie and
Lily will agree to that. You like me to see you dancing, don't you Lily?
LILY. Yes, certainly,--when we do it rightly.
L. And besides, Miss Dora, if young ladies really do not want to be
seen, they should take care not to let their eyes flash when they
dislike what people say; and, more than that, it is all nonsense from
beginning to end, about not wanting to be seen. I don't know any more
tiresome flower in the borders than your especially 'modest' snowdrop;
which one always has to stoop down and take all sorts of tiresome
trouble with, and nearly break its poor little head off, before you can
see it; and then, half of it is not worth seeing. Girls should be like
daisies; nice and white, with an edge of red, if you look close; making
the ground bright wherever they are; knowing simply and quietly that
they do it, and are meant to do it, and that it would be very wrong if
they didn't do it. Not want to be seen, indeed! How long were you in
doing your back hair, this afternoon, Jessie?
(JESSIE _not immediately answering_, DORA _comes to her
assistance._)
DORA. Not above three-quarters of an hour, I think, Jess?
JESSIE (_putting her finger up_). Now, Dorothy, _you_ needn't talk, you
know!
L. I know she needn't, Jessie; I shall ask her about those dark plaits
presently. (DORA _looks round to see if there is any way open for
retreat._) But never mind; it was worth the time, whatever it was; and
nobody will ever mistake that golden wreath for a chignon; but if you
don't want it to be seen, you had better wear a cap.
JESSIE. Ah, now, are you really going to do nothing but play? And we all
have been thinking, and thinking, all day; and hoping you would tell us
things; and now--!
L. And now I am telling you things, and true things, and things good for
you; and you won't believe me. You might as well have let me go to sleep
at once, as I wanted to.
(_Endeavours again to make himself comfortable._)
ISABEL. Oh, no, no, you sha'n't go to sleep, you naughty--Kathleen, come
here.
L. (_knowing what he has to expect if_ KATHLEEN _comes_). Get away,
Isabel, you're too heavy. (_Sitting up._) What have I been saying?
DORA. I do believe he has been asleep all the time! You never heard
anything like the things you've been saying.
L. Perhaps not. If you have heard them, and anything like them, it is
all I want.
EGYPT. Yes, but we don't understand, and you know we don't; and we want
to.
L. What did I say first?
DORA. That the first virtue of girls was wanting to go to balls.
L. I said nothing of the kind.
JESSIE. 'Always wanting to dance,' you said.
L. Yes, and that's true. Their first virtue is to be intensely
happy;--so happy that they don't know what to do with themselves for
happiness,--and dance, instead of walking. Don't you recollect 'Louisa,'
'No fountain from a rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free;
She seemed as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.'
A girl is always like that, when everything's right with her.
VIOLET. But, surely, one must be sad sometimes?
L. Yes, Violet; and dull sometimes, and stupid sometimes, and cross
sometimes. What must be, must; but it is always either our own fault,
or somebody else's. The last and worst thing that can be said of a
nation is, that it has made its young girls sad, and weary.
MAY. But I am sure I have heard a great many good people speak against
dancing?
L. Yes, May; but it does not follow they were wise as well as good. I
suppose they think Jeremiah liked better to have to write Lamentations
for his people, than to have to write that promise for them, which
everybody seems to hurry past, that they may get on quickly to the verse
about Rachel weeping for her children; though the verse they pass is the
counter-blessing to that one: 'Then shall the virgin rejoice in the
dance; and both young men and old together; and I will turn their
mourning into joy.'
(_The children get very serious, but look at each other, as
if pleased._)
MARY. They understand now: but, do you know what you said next?
L. Yes; I was not more than half asleep. I said their second virtue was
dressing.
MARY. Well! what did you mean by that?
L. What do _you_ mean by dressing?
MARY. Wearing fine clothes.
L. Ah! there's the mistake. _I_ mean wearing plain ones.
MARY. Yes, I daresay! but that's not what girls understand by dressing,
you know.
L. I can't help that. If they understand by dressing, buying dresses,
perhaps they also understand by drawing, buying pictures. But when I
hear them say they can draw, I understand that they can make a drawing;
and when I hear them say they can dress, I understand that they can make
a dress and--which is quite as difficult--wear one.
DORA. I'm not sure about the making; for the wearing, we can all wear
them--out, before anybody expects it.
EGYPT (_aside, to_ L., _piteously_). Indeed I have mended that torn
flounce quite neatly; look if I haven't!
L. (_aside, to_ EGYPT). All right; don't be afraid. (_Aloud to_ DORA.)
Yes, doubtless; but you know that is only a slow way of _un_dressing.
DORA. Then, we are all to learn dress-making, are we?
L. Yes; and always to dress yourselves beautifully--not finely, unless
on occasion; but then very finely and beautifully too. Also, you are to
dress as many other people as you can; and to teach them how to dress,
if they don't know; and to consider every ill-dressed woman or child
whom you see anywhere, as a personal disgrace; and to get at them,
somehow, until everybody is as beautifully dressed as birds.
(_Silence; the children drawing their breaths hard, as if
they had come from under a shower bath._)
L (_seeing objections begin to express themselves in the eyes_). Now you
needn't say you can't; for you can: and it's what you were meant to do,
always; and to dress your houses, and your gardens, too; and to do very
little else, I believe, except singing; and dancing, as we said, of
course; and--one thing more.
DORA. Our third and last virtue, I suppose?
L. Yes; on Violet's system of triplicities.
DORA. Well, we are prepared for anything now. What is it?
L. Cooking.
DORA. Cardinal, indeed! If only Beatrice were here with her seven
handmaids, that she might see what a fine eighth we had found for her!
MARY. And the interpretation? What does 'cooking' mean?
L. It means the knowledge of Medea, and of Circe, and of Calypso, and of
Helen, and of Rebekah, and of the Queen of Sheba. It means the knowledge
of all herbs, and fruits, and balms, and spices; and of all that is
healing and sweet in fields and groves, and savoury in meats; it means
carefulness, and inventiveness, and watchfulness, and willingness, and
readiness of appliance; it means the economy of your great-grandmothers,
and the science of modern chemists; it means much tasting, and no
wasting; it means English thoroughness, and French art, and Arabian
hospitality; and it means, in fine, that you are to be perfectly and
always 'ladies'--'loaf-givers;' and, as you are to see, imperatively
that everybody has something pretty to put on,--so you are to see, yet
more imperatively, that everybody has something nice to eat.
(_Another pause, and long drawn breath._)
DORA (_slowly recovering herself_) _to_ EGYPT. We had better have let
him go to sleep, I think, after all!
L. You had better let the younger ones go to sleep now: for I haven't
half done.
ISABEL (_panic-struck_). Oh! please, please! just one quarter of an
hour.
L. No, Isabel; I cannot say what I've got to say, in a quarter of an
hour; and it is too hard for you, besides:--you would be lying awake,
and trying to make it out, half the night. That will never do.
ISABEL. Oh, please!
L. It would please me exceedingly, mousie: but there are times when we
must both be displeased; more's the pity. Lily may stay for half an
hour, if she likes.