The Crown of Wild Olive by John Ruskin (a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT) π
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- Author: John Ruskin
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L. My dear child, in the daily course and discipline of right life, we must continually and reciprocally submit and surrender in all kind and courteous and affectionate ways: and these submissions and ministries to each other, of which you all know (none better) the practice and the preciousness, are as good for the yielder as the receiver: they strengthen and perfect as much as they soften and refine. But the real sacrifice of all our strength, or life, or happiness to others (though it may be needed, and though all brave creatures hold their lives in their hand, to be given, when such need comes, as frankly as a soldier gives his life in battle), is yet always a mournful and momentary necessity; not the fulfilment of the continuous law of being. Self-sacrifice which is sought after, and triumphed in, is usually foolish; and calamitous in its issue: and by the sentimental proclamation and pursuit of it, good people have not only made most of their own lives useless, but the whole framework of their religion so hollow, that at this moment, while the English nation, with its lips, pretends to teach every man to 'love his neighbour as himself,' with its hands and feet it clutches and tramples like a wild beast; and practically lives, every soul of it that can, on other people's labour. Briefly, the constant duty of every man to his fellows is to ascertain his own powers and special gifts; and to strengthen them for the help of others. Do you think Titian would have helped the world better by denying himself, and not painting; or Casella by denying himself, and not singing? The real virtue is to be ready to sing the moment people ask us; as he was, even in purgatory. The very word 'virtue' means not 'conduct' but 'strength,' vital energy in the heart. Were not you reading about that group of words beginning with V,βvital, virtuous, vigorous, and so on,βin Max Muller, the other day, Sibyl? Can't you tell the others about it?
Sibyl. No, I can't; will you tell us, please?
L. Not now, it is too late. Come to me some idle time to-morrow, and I'll tell you about it, if all's well. But the gist of it is, children, that you should at least know two Latin words; recollect that 'mors' means death and delaying; and 'vita' means life and growing: and try always, not to mortify yourselves, but to vivify yourselves.
Violet. But, then, are we not to mortify our earthly affections? and surely we are to sacrifice ourselves, at least in God's service, if not in man's?
L. Really, Violet, we are getting too serious. I've given you enough ethics for one talk, I think! Do let us have a little play. Lily, what were you so busy about, at the ant-hill in the wood, this morning?
Lily. Oh, it was the ants who were busy, not I; I was only trying to help them a little.
L. And they wouldn't be helped, I suppose?
Lily. No, indeed. I can't think why ants are always so tiresome, when one tries to help them! They were carrying bits of stick, as fast as they could, through a piece of grass; and pulling and pushing, so hard; and tumbling over and over,βit made one quite pity them; so I took some of the bits of stick, and carried them forward a little, where I thought they wanted to put them; but instead of being pleased, they left them directly, and ran about looking quite angry and frightened; and at last ever so many of them got up my sleeves, and bit me all over, and I had to come away.
L. I couldn't think what you were about. I saw your French grammar lying on the grass behind you, and thought perhaps you had gone to ask the ants to hear you a French verb.
Isabel. Ah! but you didn't, though!
L. Why not, Isabel? I knew, well enough, Lily couldn't learn that verb by herself.
Isabel. No; but the ants couldn't help her.
L. Are you sure the ants could not have helped you, Lily?
Lily (thinking). I ought to have learned something from them, perhaps.
L. But none of them left their sticks to help you through the irregular verb?
Lily. No, indeed. (Laughing, with some others.)
L. What are you laughing at, children? I cannot see why the ants should not have left their tasks to help Lily in her's,βsince here is Violet thinking she ought to leave her tasks, to help God in His. Perhaps, however, she takes Lily's more modest view, and thinks only that 'He ought to learn something from her.'
(Tears in Violet's eyes.)
Dora (scarlet). It's too badβit's a shame:βpoor Violet!
L. My dear children, there's no reason why one should be so red, and the other so pale, merely because you are made for a moment to feel the absurdity of a phrase which you have been taught to use, in common with half the religious world. There is but one way in which man can ever help Godβthat is, by letting God help him: and there is no way in which his name is more guiltily taken in vain, than by calling the abandonment of our own work, the performance of His.
God is a kind Father. He sets us all in the places where He wishes us to be employed; and that employment is truly 'our Father's business.' He chooses work for every creature which will be delightful to them, if they do it simply and humbly. He gives us always strength enough, and sense enough, for what He wants us to do; if we either tire ourselves or 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.
[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-chairβand 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 usβtell us.
L. 'Vilikens and hisββ'
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 naughtyβnaughtyβ(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 thoughtβ
That would not be a queen,βthat 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'sβ(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,βwhen 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 nowβ!
L. And now I
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