LILY. Because, you know we can't be worth anything if we're ever
so good,--I mean, if we try to be ever so good and we can't do
difficult things--like saints.
L I am afraid, my dear that old people are not more able or
willing for their difficulties than you children are for yours.
All I can say is, that if ever I see any of you, when you are
seven or eight and twenty, knitting your brows over any work you
want to do or to understand as I saw you Lily knitting your brows
over your slate this morning I should think you very noble women.
But--to come back to my dream--St Barbara did lose her temper a
little, and I was not surprised. For you can't think how provoking
Neith looked, sitting there just like a statue of sandstone, only
going on weaving like a machine and never quickening the cast of
her shuttle, while St Barbara was telling her so eagerly all about
the most beautiful things and chattering away, as fast as bells
ring on Christmas Eve, till she saw that Neilh didn't care, and
then St Barbara got as red as a rose, and stopped just in time,--
or I think she would really have said something naughty.
ISABEL Oh please, but didn't Neith say anything then?
L. Yes. She said, quite quietly, "It may be very pretty, my love;
but it is all nonsense."
ISABEL. Oh dear, oh dear; and then?
L. Well; then I was a little angry myself, and hoped St. Barbara
would be quite angry; but she wasn't. She bit her lips first; and
then gave a great sigh--such a wild, sweet sigh--and then she
knelt down and hid her face on Neith's knees. Then Neith smiled a
little, and was moved.
ISABEL. Oh, I am so glad!
L. And she touched St. Barbara's forehead with a flower of white
lotus; and St. Barbara sobbed once or twice, and then said: "If
you only could see how beautiful it is, and how much it makes
people feel what is good and lovely; and if you could only hear
the children singing in the Lady chapels!" And Neith smiled,--but
still sadly,--and said, "How do you know what I have seen, or
heard, my love? Do you think all those vaults and towers of yours
have been built without me? There was not a pillar in your
Giotto's Santa Maria del Fiore which I did not set true by my
spear-shaft as it rose. But this pinnacle and flame work which has
set your little heart on fire, is all vanity; and you will see
what it will come to, and that soon; and none will grieve for it
more than I. And then every one will disbelieve your pretty
symbols and types. Men must be spoken simply to, my dear, if you
would guide them kindly, and long." But St. Barbara answered,
that, "Indeed she thought every one liked her work," and that "the
people of different towns were as eager about their cathedral
towers as about their privileges or their markets;" and then she
asked Neith to come and build something with her, wall against
tower; and "see whether the people will be as much pleased with
your building as with mine." But Neith answered, "I will not
contend with you, my dear. I strive not with those who love me;
and for those who hate me, it is not well to strive with me, as
weaver Arachne knows. And remember, child, that nothing is ever
done beautifully, which is done in rivalship; nor nobly, which is
done in pride."
Then St. Barbara hung her head quite down, and said she was very
sorry she had been so foolish; and kissed Neith; and stood
thinking a minute: and then her eyes got bright again, and she
said, she would go directly and build a chapel with five windows
in it; four for the four cardinal virtues, and one for humility,
in the middle, bigger than the rest. And Neith very nearly laughed
quite out, I thought; certainly her beautiful lips lost all their
sternness for an instant; then she said, "Well, love, build it,
but do not put so many colors into your windows as you usually do;
else no one will be able to see to read, inside: and when it is
built, let a poor village priest consecrate it, and not an
archbishop." St. Barbara started a little, I thought, and turned
as if to say something; but changed her mind, and gathered up her
train, and went out. And Neith bent herself again to her loom, in
which she was weaving a web of strange dark colors, I thought; but
perhaps it was only after the glittering of St. Barbara's
embroidered train: and I tried to make out the figures in Neith's
web, and confused myself among them, as one always does in dreams;
and then the dream changed altogether, and I found myself, all at
once, among a crowd of little Gothic and Egyptian spirits, who
were quarreling: at least the Gothic ones were trying to quarrel;
for the Egyptian ones only sat with their hands on their knees,
and their aprons sticking out very stiffly; and stared. And after
a while I began to understand what the matter was. It seemed that
some of the troublesome building imps, who meddle and make
continually, even in the best Gothic work, had been listening to
St. Barbara's talk with Neith; and had made up their minds that
Neith had no workpeople who could build against them. They were
but dull imps, as you may fancy by their thinking that; and never
had done much, except disturbing the great Gothic building angels
at their work, and playing tricks to each other; indeed, of late
they had been living years and years, like bats, up under the
cornices of Strasbourg and Cologne cathedrals, with nothing to do
but to make mouths at the people below. However, they thought they
knew everything about tower building; and those who had heard what
Neith said, told the rest; and they all flew down directly,
chattering in German, like jackdaws, to show Neith's people what
they could do. And they had found some of Neith's old workpeople
somewhere near Sais, sitting in the sun, with their hands on their
knees; and abused them heartily: and Neith's people did not mind
at first, but, after a while, they seemed to get tired of the
noise; and one or two rose up slowly, and laid hold of their
measuring rods, and said, "If St. Barbara's people liked to build
with them, tower against pyramid, they would show them how to lay
stones."
Then the Gothic little spirits threw a great many double
somersaults for joy; and put the tips of their tongues out slyly
to each other, on one side; and I heard the Egyptians say, "they
must be some new kind of frog--they didn't think there was much
building in them." However, the stiff old workers took their rods,
as I said, and measured out a square space of sand; but as soon as
the German spirits saw that, they declared they wanted exactly
that bit of ground to build on, themselves. Then the Egyptian
builders offered to go farther off and the German ones said, "Ja
wohl." But as soon as the Egyptians had measured out another
square, the little Germans said they must have some of that too.
Then Neith's people laughed; and said, "they might take as much as
they liked, but they would not move the plan of their pyramid
again." Then the little Germans took three pieces, and began to
build three spires directly; one large, and two little. And when
the Egyptians saw they had fairly begun, they laid their
foundation all round, of large square stones: and began to build,
so steadily that they had like to have swallowed up the three
little German spires. So when the Gothic spirits saw that, they
built their spires leaning, like the tower of Pisa, that they
might stick out at the side of the pyramid. And Neith's people
stared at them; and thought it very clever, but very wrong; and on
they went, in their own way, and said nothing. Then the little
Gothic spirits were terribly provoked because they could not spoil
the shape of the pyramid; and they sat down all along the ledges
of it to make faces; but that did no good. Then they ran to the
corners, and put their elbows on their knees, and stuck themselves
out as far as they could, and made more faces; but that did no
good, neither. Then they looked up to the sky, and opened their
mouths wide, and gobbled, and said it was too hot for work, and
wondered when it would rain; but that did no good, neither. And
all the while the Egyptian spirits were laying step above step
patiently. But when the Gothic ones looked, and saw how big they
had got, they said, "Ach, Himmel!" and flew down in a great black
cluster to the bottom; and swept out a level spot in the sand with
their wings, in no time, and began building a tower straight up,
as fast as they could. And the Egyptians stood still again to
stare at them; for the Gothic spirits had got quite into a
passion, and were really working very wonderfully. They cut the
sandstone into strips as fine as reeds; and put one reed on the
top of another, so that you could not see where they fitted: and
they twisted them in and out like basket work, and knotted them
into likenesses of ugly faces, and of strange beasts biting each
other; and up they went, and up still, and they made spiral
staircases at the corners, for the loaded workers to come up by
(for I saw they were but weak imps, and could not fly with stones
on their backs), and then they made traceried galleries for them
to run round by; and so up again; with finer and finer work, till
the Egyptians wondered whether they meant the thing for a tower or
a pillar: and I heard them saying to one another, "It was nearly
as pretty as lotus stalks; and if it were not for the ugly faces,
there would be a fine temple, if they were going to build it all
with pillars as big as that!" But in a minute afterwards,--just as
the Gothic spirits had carried their work as high as the upper
course, but three or four, of the pyramid--the Egyptians called
out to them to "mind what they were about, for the sand was
running away from under one of their tower corners." But it was
too late to mind what they were about; for, in another instant,
the whole tower sloped aside; and the Gothic imps rose out of it
like a flight of puffins, in a single cloud; but screaming worse
than any puffins you ever heard: and down came the tower, all in a
piece, like a falling poplar, with its head right on the flank of
the pyramid; against which it snapped short off. And of course
that waked me.
MARY. What a shame of you to have such a dream, after all you have
told us about Gothic architecture!
L. If you have understood anything I ever told you about it, you
know that no architecture was ever corrupted more miserably; or
abolished more justly by the accomplishment of its own follies.
Besides, even in its days of power, it was subject to catastrophes
of this kind. I have stood too often, mourning, by the grand
fragment of the apse of Beauvais, not to have that fact well burnt
into me. Still, you must have seen, surely, that these imps were
of the Flamboyant school; or, at least, of the German schools
correspondent with it in extravagance.
MARY. But, then, where is the crystal about which you dreamed all
this?
L. Here; but I suppose little Pthah has touched it again, for it
is very small. But, you see, here is the pyramid, built of great
square stones of fluor spar, straight up; and here are the three
little pinnacles of mischievous quartz, which have set themselves,
at the same time, on the same foundation; only they lean like the
tower of Pisa, and come out obliquely at the side: and here is one
great spire of quartz which seems as if it had been meant to stand
straight up, a little way off; and then had fallen down against
the pyramid base, breaking its pinnacle away. In reality, it has
crystallized horizontally, and terminated imperfectly: but, then,
by what caprice does one crystal form horizontally, when all the
rest stand upright? But this is nothing to the phantasies of
fluor, and quartz, and some other such companions, when they get
leave to do anything they like. I could show you fifty specimens,
about every one of which you might fancy a new fairy tale. Not
that, in truth, any crystals get leave to do quite what they like;
and many of them are sadly tried, and have little time for
caprices--poor things!
MARY. I thought they always looked as if they were either in play
or in mischief! What trials have they?
L. Trials much like our own. Sickness, and starvation; fevers, and
agues, and palsy; oppression; and old age, and the necessity of
passing away in their time, like all else. If there's any pity in
you, you must come to-morrow, and take some part in these crystal
griefs.
DORA. I am sure we shall cry till our eyes are red. L. Ah, you may
laugh, Dora: but I've been made grave, not once, nor twice, to see
that even crystals "cannot choose but be old" at last. It may be
but a shallow proverb of the Justice's; but it is a shrewdly wide
one.
DORA (pensive for once). I suppose it is very dreadful to be old!
But then (brightening again), what should we do without our dear
old friends, and our nice old lecturers?
L. If all nice old lecturers were minded as little as one I know
of;--
DORA. And if they all meant as little what they say, would they
not deserve it? But we'll come--we'll come, and cry.