Since beginning this series of articles it has occurred to us that it
may be well to prevent a possible misconception of the scope of the
title. “Self-culture” is a very large subject, and includes a great
deal more than the culture of the mind. For instance, there is moral
self-culture—physical self-culture—æsthetic self-culture—which, with
other kinds of self-culture, should be zealously sought. But these
subjects are exhaustively dealt with from time to time by writers in
THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER, so that our special work lies in the treatment
of “culture” in its more usual acceptation—the cultivation of the
intellect. And if our title seems rather like a vast floating garment,
too voluminous for the slight form it enfolds, it must be remembered
that culture is generally understood in the sense we have indicated.
Indeed one can hardly separate the different parts of self-culture
after all. It is by reading the best books that the moral nature is
strengthened and cultivated, and that the æsthetic sense is cultivated
also. The eye is opened to perceive the beauty of life and of art, for
example, by such a writer as Ruskin. Then pictures cannot be properly
comprehended by one who never reads. Take, as an illustration of this,
a few of the pictures which have been from year to year, since 1890,
lent to that splendid Guildhall exhibition, where, absolutely without
payment, one can go to delight in modern and ancient art.
Here is “A Martyr in the reign of Diocletian,” by Paul Delaroche. This
is the picture of world-wide fame, known probably to our readers by
photographs if they have not seen the original. A young Roman girl,
who has refused to sacrifice to the false gods, has been thrown into
the Tiber. Two Christians, on the further bank, look with mingled
feelings on the young martyr as her body floats past. Your spectator,
ignorant of history, would wonder who was Diocletian, and what it was
all about. Soon afterwards we come to “Ophelia,” by G. F. Watts, R.A.,
and if you have not read _Hamlet_, you cannot appreciate the beauty of
this; nor, if you know nothing of Dante, can you understand “Paolo and
Francesca da Rimini,” by the same artist, where the hero and heroine
of the immortal story are sweeping through the mist of the Inferno. In
another year’s exhibition we have “The City of Dis,” by Albert Goodwin,
also requiring a knowledge of Dante; “Orpheus and Eurydice,” by T.
Graham, which could not appeal to anyone ignorant of Greek mythology;
“Antigone,” by Lord Leighton, fully appreciated only by those to whom
Antigone is more than a name.
Consider even the two frontispieces to THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER for
February and March last. The first, “An Antique Fête,” takes for
granted some knowledge of ancient history. The reproduction of Miss
Margaret Dicksee’s charming picture “A Sacrifice of Vanities,” will
be fully understood only by those who have enjoyed _The Vicar of
Wakefield_. It is unnecessary to go further, and if any reader, on her
next visit to a picture exhibition, will note the remarks heard around
her, she will have a practical commentary on the truth that Art cannot
be fully comprehended and appreciated without some literary education.
While standing, for instance, before such a picture as “Pandora” by
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, one may overhear remarks like the following—
“Pandora? Who’s she?”
“What’s she got in her hand?”
“_Nescitur ignescitur_ is written on it! What’s the meaning of that?
Why couldn’t he put plain English?”
“Oh, well, I don’t think she’s an English person. She doesn’t _look_
English, anyhow.”
“Oh, a heathen goddess, I suppose, carrying fire about like that! A
goddess with red hair in a red dress? Anyhow, _I_ don’t think much of
her. Come along!”
The literary preparation for the enjoyment of Art is, of course,
different from the technical preparation for it; but, for preparation
of either kind, reading is necessary.
The kind of self-culture which at first sight seems furthest apart from
the culture of which we write, is the physical kind. Sometimes, indeed,
mental and physical self-culture may appear incompatible, especially
when time is limited.
“Don’t sit poring over that book; come out into the fresh air!” is a
familiar type of address.
In the newly-published _Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth
Barrett Browning_, we read that the doctor of the poetess carried away
her inkstand one day as a remedial measure!
Discretion _is_ needed, and the preservation of health is a duty that
comes to the front. Exercise and other essentials to health must not be
neglected; and if health fails, the power of mental self-culture will
probably fail too. But it is increasingly recognised that cultivation
of the brain in reason is excellent for physical health, and that the
woman with the best chance of enjoying life is the woman whose mental
education has gone side by side with physical culture.
So we come back to the point from which we started, and observe that
the different provinces of self-culture are in reality closely
connected and interdependent, though we deal in these articles with one
province only.
In our last paper we touched on some books that are almost, if not
quite, indispensable to any scheme of culture: books of the olden
world, that treat with the dawn of history as we know it, and go on
to the period of the most brilliant of civilisations—that of Athens.
No attempt was made to give an exhaustive list of the books dealing
with the period before the Christian era that should be read; it
would be impossible. But a few read and enjoyed will point the way to
others. These papers do not constitute a full map of the country to be
explored; they simply act as a sign-post, and readers must follow on to
explore for themselves.
The “guide-post” method is the only way to advise readers, for much
will always depend on individual taste and inclination, and to read
without pleasure is a hopeless task. Dr. Johnson said very wisely that,
for general improvement, a man should read whatever his immediate
inclination prompted him to. He continued—
“If we read without inclination, half the mind is employed in fixing
the attention, so that there is but one-half to be employed on what we
read.”
At the same time, this is only a partial truth. To throw aside
everything that does not allure at the outset is not wise. Many books
that will charm and instruct are hard to “get into,” and a little
self-control and perseverance will reap their reward in study as in
everything else. The truth lies midway between two extremes. Do not get
out of a library some book because you are told to read it, and at the
close of a day’s work force yourself to pore over the pages until you
fall asleep. On the other hand, do not confine your reading exclusively
to story-books and the lighter magazines because they attract you and
require no effort of attention. Girls are by far too prone to do this,
forgetting that a taste for deeper books may be cultivated like every
other taste.
It is true that many of the novels of the present day deal with the
graver problems of life, and occasionally require an education to
understand them. Still, however philosophical and thoughtful they may
be, they should not constitute the sole intellectual food of any mind.
“Why?” you may say. “If I can learn all about early civilisation in a
book like Georg Ebers’ _Egyptian Princess_, about mediæval and Scottish
history in Scott’s novels, about the Stuart period in _John Inglesant_,
about music in a story like _Charles Anchester_, about modern problems
of every kind in George Eliot’s, Sir Walter Besant’s, and Mrs. Humphry
Ward’s pages—not to go further—why not confine my reading to this
interesting and attractive form?”
There is an essay by the late Professor T. H. Green of Oxford, which
should be very widely studied.[1] He answers the question “Why not?” in
a most forcible and masterly way, and the gist of his reply is this.
The novel must perforce reproduce the circumstantial view of life; we
are called to look again upon the incidents which day by day distract
our attention overmuch from the “unseen and eternal” realities, and
are apt to be enthralled afresh by the view that “to marry and live
happily ever after” is man’s and woman’s chief end. In other words,
the aspect of things the novelist shows us is “merely the outward and
natural as applied to the inner or ideal.” He cannot give a complete
representation of life; for instance, reproduce its slowness, its
discipline by long years of silent waiting and patient labour. Much
must be omitted of necessity, by reason of conditions of the craft;
much also, by reason of artistic effect, must be so arranged and
rounded off as to give the impression of a happiness impossible in
life. The lesson of life, then, in its completeness, cannot be taught
even by the best novel.
The reading of fiction is valuable in its place, but it is not enough
for the mind and heart to feed upon.
We have not, however, as yet to consider the reading of fiction pure
and simple. There is much besides to occupy attention, and perhaps this
is the place to insist upon the reading of history. To connect the
remote regions of classic lore with the present day, history is needed;
but it is rather overwhelming to look at the best books of history and
see how long and how numerous they are! The primers of history are,
however, within the compass of all.
We have already mentioned Sir W. Smith’s smaller histories of Greece
and Rome. Plutarch’s _Lives of Greeks and Romans_—made easier in
_Plutarch for Boys and Girls_, translated extracts by Professor J. S.
White—will offer an interesting biographical way of learning history.
Macmillan’s _History Primers_ published at one shilling each are most
useful. You might begin by C. A. Fyffe’s _Greece_, or Mahaffy’s _Old
Greek Life_ in this series, and work gradually downwards. The “Story of
the Nations” Series, published at five shillings by T. Fisher Unwin,
consists of a number of volumes, each about a different nation. Your
wisest course, indeed, if you cannot command time for the reading
of long histories (such as Grote’s _Greece_, which, in ten volumes,
is invaluable to the student), is to obtain from any bookseller a
full list of Macmillan’s “History Primers,” or Unwin’s “Story of the
Nations” Series, and select what you like, always remembering that to
get some connected idea of the history of the world is essential to the
enjoyment of the literature of the world.
For advanced students a most interesting volume is Walter Bagehot’s
_Physics and Politics_, treating of the causes that influence progress.
Mahaffy’s _Twelve Lectures on Primitive Civilisations_, and Froude’s
_Short Studies on Great Subjects_, or Carlyle’s posthumous volume of
_Historical Sketches_ will be found valuable. With regard to English
history you should read _The Making of England_, by J. R. Green, and
his _Short History of the English People_; also Freeman’s _History of
the Norman Conquest_. A series called _Epochs of English History_,
written by eminent authors, can be highly recommended. Each part
costs only ninepence. In fact, helps to the study of history are so
abundant and cheap that it is superfluous in these days of booksellers’
catalogues to enumerate them further. Only, if you can read nothing
else, read primers, so as to obtain some distinct notion of where you
stand in the “long result of Time.”
Although you should not rely for your facts on plays and novels only,
it is very desirable, if possible, to read Shakespeare’s plays, or some
good historical novel, side by side with the history of the period of
which they treat. Thus the dry bones of fact are clothed, as it were,
with flesh and blood, and become living.
We must not be understood as saying that everything in the historical
novels mentioned below is suitable for girls of every age. Children
should not read them; but these articles are not intended for children.
Adults who are in the habit of choosing what they shall read must
discriminate among them, always remembering that they should be taken
side by side with more “solid reading.”
LILY WATSON.
(_To be continued._)
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “Value and Influence of Works of Fiction.” Prize Essay, Oxford,
1862.
[Illustration]
THE HEAD-DRESS OF THE LADIES OF HOLLAND.
The peculiar head-dress worn by the ladies of Holland during the last
thousand years, and known as the Friesland cap, has undergone no change
whatever from the time of its adoption until now, and yet it is not
becoming, nor does it in any way add to the grace and beauty of the
women.
Much curiosity has been expressed as to its origin, and why its form
has been so strictly adhered to while every other article of dress
has changed its fashion with the seasons. We might never have been
able to solve the problem but for the discovery of a legend by a great
authority on Frisian lore. The following is but a bare outline.
Some twelve hundred years ago a celebrated preacher of the Gospel
appeared among the Frisians. His influence upon the people was
remarkable, especially upon Fostedina, the prime minister’s daughter,
a beautiful girl of eighteen. She took a deep interest in his words
and in the hymns sung by his followers, and but for fear of her father
and the priest would have acknowledged herself a Christian. The priest
attached to the Court was a cruel man, and furious with all who adopted
the Christian religion. He not only imprisoned them, but threatened
that unless they should recant he would cast them into the arena among
the wolves and wild boars.
The day was at hand when this threat was to be carried out, and the
prisoners, as they lay in their gloomy cells, heard the preparations
with sinking hearts. In the dark hours of the night, however, Fostedina
came to their aid and arranged their escape, bidding them fly to the
land of the Franks.
When the steward came in the morning to conduct the band of Christians
to the arena, the prison was empty save for the girl Fostedina. She
pointed to the open window and the ladder, and said, “They are safe,
thank God.”
The steward thought she was mad, and begged her to go to her room, as
he felt sure the people would tear her to pieces if they found out
what she had done. She, however, determined to remain and face the
consequences of her deed, lest the punishment should fall upon the
missionary and his followers, who were still living in their midst.
She was taken before the King and his council, and when asked why she
had done this thing, answered—
“Because I pitied the men and abhorred the cruelty with which they were
to have been killed, and because I believe that our gods of wood and
stone are no gods, and that Jesus Christ is the son of the living and
true God.”
The King, turning to the Prime Minister, said—
“She is your child; what is to be done with her?”
The father answered—
“She is my only child, and the joy of my life. If you throw her to the
wolves I go with her.”
Then Adgillus, the King’s son, who loved this girl, came forward to
plead with his father for her forgiveness, and he would probably have
succeeded but for the sarcasms and taunts of the priest.
At length she was taken out and placed between the council and the
howling mob, while the King said—
“Ye men of Friesland, this is the girl who saved the Christians. What
are we to do with her?”
[Illustration: [_From photo: C. B. Broersand, Leuwarden._]
The girl was loved by the people, and they felt compassion for her; but
the priest, in a loud voice, cried shame on them for their cowardice,
urging them to cruelty, until with a savage cry they shouted, “To the
wolves!”
Then Adgillus came forward, saying—
“If you kill her I will be a Frisian no longer. If you throw her to the
wolves I go with her and fight with them for her with my sword, which
I have sworn to use for the protection of the innocent and defenceless,
and God helping me, I’ll keep my oath!”
The applause of the people was deafening, but the priest silenced them,
saying—
“This girl has insulted our gods and embraced the new religion.
Therefore our law requires her death.”
But the people cried out, with their thousands of voices—
“She shall not die!”
The priest, pale with spite and anger, said—
“Well, let her live. She has been trying for a crown; let her have
her wish. Here is one exactly like that worn by the Christ whom she
worships.” So saying, he took from under his cloak a crown of thorns
and held it up for inspection. Again a shout went up, “Crown her! Crown
her!”
And so it happened that on the following day she stood in the arena
from sunrise to sunset, wearing the crown of thorns, and although her
forehead and temples were painfully pierced by the sharp thorns and
the blood ran down her cheeks she did not utter a sigh or a murmur.
The next day, having been banished, she left the country, accompanied
by the missionary and his followers, nor was the King’s son seen in
Friesland for many a long day after this. He joined the army of the
Franks, and accounts of his prowess and valour filled the land.
At the King’s death Adgillus succeeded him notwithstanding the
opposition of the priests. The people loved him and offered no
objection to receive Fostedina as their Queen, and she and Adgillus
were married by the missionary, according to Christian rites.
The marks of the crown of thorns were still visible on her forehead and
temples when, by the side of her royal husband, Fostedina rode into the
old city of Stavorly, where the Frisian kings resided. At the sight of
these scars the people were greatly troubled, for it reminded them of
the cruelty with which they had treated her in days gone by.
On the morning of the great festival with which the new king’s
inauguration was to be celebrated, twelve high-born maidens entered
the Queen’s apartment and presented her with a golden crown of such a
shape that it completely hid the marks made by the crown of thorns.
Two golden plates covered her temples, while a splendid golden strip
passed over the forehead. Fostedina accepted, but did not like it. She
remarked—
“It will never come up to the crown of thorns, but my God has still a
better crown in store for me.”
From that time it became the fashion for every noble lady to wear one
like it, a custom which has continued down to the present day, though
the reason of its adoption has been forgotten.
THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.
BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object
in Life,” etc.