Hello there.
It's Mandy here.
Thanks ever so much for joining me tonight.
And welcome back to the world of Elizabeth and her German garden by Elizabeth von Arnim In 1930,
Seeking a warmer climate,
Elisabeth made her home at the Mar des Rozes.
In Mougins,
France,
Where she lived for nine years.
There she created another wonderful garden,
Took delight in her many dogs and entertained friends and family.
Her collection of books was transferred from her chalet in Switzerland to the Mare des Roses,
Where she added to it on a regular basis.
So we've reached Chapter 8,
But before I go ahead,
Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or your bed.
Relax your hands.
Soften your shoulders.
And release any tension.
In your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
December the 27th.
It is the fashion,
I believe,
To regard Christmas as a bore of rather a gross description,
And as a time when you are invited to overeat yourself and pretend to be merry without just cause.
As a matter of fact,
It is one of the prettiest and most poetic institutions possible,
If observed in the proper manner.
And after having been more or less unpleasant to everybody for a whole year,
It is a blessing to be forced on that one day to be amiable.
And it's certainly delightful to be able to give presents without being haunted by the conviction that you are spoiling recipient and will suffer for it afterwards.
Servants are only big children and are made just as happy as children by little presents and nice things to eat.
And for days beforehand,
Every time the three babies go into the garden,
They expect to meet the Christ child with his arms full of gifts.
They firmly believe that it is thus their presence are brought,
And it's such a charming idea that Christmas would be worth celebrating for its sake alone.
As great secrecy as observed,
The preparations devolve entirely onto me.
And it's not very easy work,
With so many people in our own house,
And on each of the farms,
And all the children,
Big and little,
Expecting their share of happiness.
The library is uninhabitable for several days before and after,
As it is there that we have the trees and presents.
All down one side are the trees,
And the other three sides are lined with tables,
A separate one for each person in the house.
When the trees are lighted and stand in their radiance,
Shining down on the happy faces,
I forget all the trouble it has been,
And the number of times I have had to run up and down stairs,
And the various aches in head and feet,
And I enjoy myself as much as anybody.
First the dune baby is ushered in,
Then the others and ourselves according to age.
Then the servants,
Then come the head inspector and his family,
The other inspectors from the different farms,
The manzelles,
The bookkeepers and secretaries,
And then all the children,
Troops and troops of them,
The big ones leading the little ones by the hand and carrying the babies in their arms.
And the mothers peeping around the door.
As many as can get in,
Stand in front of the trees and sing two or three carols.
Then they are given their presents and go off triumphantly,
Making room for the next batch.
My three babies sang lustily too,
Whether they happened to know what was being sung or not.
They had on white dresses in honour of the occasion,
And the June Baby was even arrayed in a low-necked and short-sleeved garment,
After the manner of Teutonic infants,
Whatever the state of the thermometer.
Her arms are like miniature prize fighters' arms.
I never saw such things.
They are the pride and joy of her little nurse,
Who had tied them up with blue ribbons and kept on kissing them.
I shall certainly not be able to take her to balls when she grows up if she goes on having arms like that.
When they came to say goodnight,
They were all very pale and subdued.
The April baby had an exhausted-looking Japanese doll with her,
Which she said she was taking to bed,
Not because she liked him,
But because she was so sorry for him.
He seemed so very tired.
They kissed me absently and went away,
Only the April baby glancing at the trees as she passed and making them a curtsy.
Goodbye trees,
I heard her say,
And then she made the Japanese doll bow to them,
Which he did in a very languid and blasé fashion.
You'll never see such trees again,
She told him,
Giving him a vindictive shake,
For you'll be broken long before next time.
She went out but came back in as though she had forgotten something.
Thank the Christkind so much,
Mummy,
Won't you,
For all the lovely things he brought us.
I suppose you're writing to him now,
Isn't you?
I cannot see that there was anything gross about our Christmas and we were perfectly merry without any need to pretend and for at least two days it brought us a little nearer together and made us kind.
Happiness is so wholesome,
It invigorates and warms me into piety far more effectually than any amount of trials and griefs.
And an unexpected pleasure is the surest means of bringing me to my knees.
In spite of the protestations of some peculiarly constructed persons that they are the better for trials,
I don't believe it.
Such things must sour us,
Just as happiness must sweeten us and make us kinder and more gentle.
And will anybody affirm that it behoves us to be more thankful for trials than for blessings?
We were meant to be happy and to accept all the happiness offered with thankfulness.
Indeed,
We are none of us ever thankful enough,
And yet we each get so much,
So very much,
More than we deserve.
I know a woman who stayed with me last summer,
Who rejoices grimly when those she loves suffer.
She believes that is our lot,
And that it braces us and does us good,
And she would shield no one from even unnecessary pain.
She weeps with the sufferer,
But is convinced it is all for the best.
Well,
Let her continue in her dreary beliefs.
She has no garden to teach her the beauty and the happiness of holiness,
Nor does she in the least desire to possess one.
Her convictions have the sad grey colouring of the dingy streets and houses that she lives amongst,
The sad colour of humanity in masses.
Submission to what people call their lot is simply ignoble.
If your lot makes you cry and be wretched,
Get rid of it and take another.
Strike out for yourself.
Don't listen to the shrieks of your relations,
To their jibes or their entreaties.
Don't let your own microscopic set prescribe your goings out and comings in.
Don't be afraid of public opinion in the shape of the neighbour in the next house.
When all the world is before you,
New and shining and everything is possible if you will only be energetic and independent and seize opportunity by the scruff of the neck.
To hear you talk,
Said Irae,
No one would ever imagine that you dream away your days in a garden with a book,
And that you never in your life seized anything by the scruff of its neck.
And what is a scruff?
I hope I haven't got any on me.
And she craned her neck before the glass.
She and Minora were going to help me decorate the trees,
But very soon Irei wandered off to the piano,
And Minora was tired and took up a book,
So I called in Miss Jones and the babies.
It was Miss Jones's last public appearance,
As I shall relate.
And after working for the best part of two days,
They were finished and looked like lovely ladies in widespread sparkling petticoats,
Holding up their skirts with glittering fingers.
Minora wrote a long description of them for a chapter of her book,
Which is headed Noel.
I saw that much because she left it open on the table while she went to talk to Miss Jones.
They were fast friends from the very first,
And although it is said to be natural to take to one's own countrymen,
I am unable altogether to sympathize with such a reason for sudden affection.
I wonder what they talk about,
I said to Irae yesterday,
When there was no getting Minora to come to tea.
So deeply was she engaged in conversation with Miss Jones.
Oh my dear,
How can I tell?
Lovers,
I suppose,
Or else they think they're clever and then they talk rubbish.
Well,
Of course,
Minora thinks she is clever.
I suppose she does.
What does it matter what she thinks?
Why does your governess look so gloomy?
When I see her at luncheon,
I always imagine she must have just heard that somebody is dead.
But she can't hear that every day.
What is the matter with her?
I don't think she feels quite as proper as she looks,
" I said doubtfully.
I was forever trying to account for Miss Jones's expression.
That must be rather nice,
" said Irei.
It would be awful for her if she felt exactly the same as she looks.
At that moment the door leading into the schoolroom opened softly,
And the April baby,
Tired of playing,
Came in and sat down at my feet,
Leaving the door open.
And this is what we heard Miss Jones saying.
Parents are seldom wise,
And the strain the conscientious place upon themselves to appear so before their children and governess must be terrible.
Nor are clergymen more pious than other men,
Yet they have continually to pose before their flock as such.
As for governesses,
Miss Minora,
I know what I am saying when I affirm that there is nothing more intolerable than to have to be polite and even humble to persons whose weaknesses and follies are glaringly apparent in every word they utter,
And to be forced by the presence of children and employers to a dignity of manner in no way corresponding to one's feelings.
Was probably one of the least respectable of bachelors,
Is an interesting study at his table where he is constrained to assume airs of infallibility merely because his children are looking at him.
The fact of his being a parent does not endow him with any supreme and sudden virtue,
And I can assure you that among the eyes fixed on him,
Not the least critical and demused are those of the humble person who fills the post of governess.
That down in my book.
You say it all so beautifully.
Without a few hours of relaxation,
Continued Miss Jones,
Of private indemnification for the toilsome virtues displayed in public,
Who could wade through days of correct behaviour?
There would be no reaction,
No room for better impulses,
No place for repentance.
Parents,
Priests and governesses would be in the situation of a stout lady who never has a quiet moment in which she can take off her corsets.
My dear,
What a firebrand!
Whispered Irei.
I got up and went in.
They were sitting on the sofa,
Minora with clasped hands,
Gazing admiringly into Miss Jones's face,
Which wore a very different expression from the one of sour and unwilling propriety I have been used to seeing.
May I ask you to come to tea,
I said to Minora,
And I should like to have the children a little while.
She got up,
Very reluctantly,
But I waited with the door open until she had gone in and the two babies had followed.
They had been playing at stuffing each other's ears with pieces of newspaper,
While Miss Jones provided Minora with noble thoughts for her work.
And had to be tortured afterwards with tweezers.
I said nothing to Minora,
But kept her with us till dinner time,
And this morning we went for a long sleigh drive.
When we came in to lunch there was no Miss Jones.
Is Miss Jones ill?
Asked Minora.
She is gone I said Gone?
"'Did you never hear of such things as sick mothers?
' asked Irei blandly,
And we talked resolutely of something else.
All the afternoon,
Minora has moped.
She had found a kindred spirit,
And it had been ruthlessly torn from her arms,
As kindred spirits so often are.
It is enough to make her mope,
And it is not her fault,
Poor thing,
That she should have preferred the society of a Miss Jones to that of Eray and myself.
At dinner Irae surveyed her with her head on one side.
You look so pale,
She said.
Are you not well?
Minora raised her eyes heavily with the patient air of one who likes to be thought a sufferer.
I have a slight headache,
She replied gently.
I hope you're not going to be ill,
Said Irae,
With great concern,
Because there is only a cow doctor to be had here,
And though he means well,
I believe he is rather rough.
Minora was plainly startled.
But what do you do if you are ill,
She asked.
Oh,
We are never ill,
Said I.
The very knowledge that there would be no one to cure us seems to keep us healthy.
And if anyone takes to her bed,
Said Irae,
Elizabeth always calls in the cow doctor.
Minora was silent.
She feels,
I am sure,
That she has got into a part of the world peopled solely by barbarians,
And that the only civilized creature besides herself has departed and left her at our mercy.
Whatever her reflections may be,
Her symptoms are visibly abating.
To be continued.
