Isn’t it lovely the way a truly great book lingers with you long after the cover is closed? I dreamed about the end of A Room With a View last night, and this morning I pulled it off the shelf and looked up Mr. Emerson’s heartfelt speech to Lucy in the second to the last chapter. In quiet, isolated perusal it struck me in a different way than it had when I was reading it out loud to Philip in a fevered excitement over what was going to happen (even though we both already knew); the dreadful and yet strangely liberating truth—conveyed through Lucy’s uncertainty and Mr. Emerson’s almost despairing entreaty that she heed the voice of her deepest longings—stood on its own with such a winsome appeal that I’ve been pondering it ever since.

It seems to me that you are in a muddle…Take an old man’s word; there’s nothing worse than a muddle in all the world. It is easy to face Death and Fate, and the things that sound so dreadful. It is on my muddles that I look back with horror—on the things that I might have avoided. We can help one another but little. I used to think I could teach young people the whole of life, but I know better now, and all my teaching of George has come down to this: beware of muddle…Though life is very glorious, it is difficult.

Such a tender warning; how many of my own trials have been the product of mental tangles, of mindsets and attitudes that cloud the judgment and blind the eyes to the glories of the unknown? With all of the wondrous and often baffling choices in life comes great possibility for muddle—and for unimagined joy, as well. E. M. Forster has been called a champion of the holiness of the heart’s desires. With what irresistible sweetness does his clarion call greet the ears of those who believe, as I do, that the longings of the human heart have their ultimate source and satisfaction in God Himself.

The things that I might have avoided…the very words rouse me to an inner spring cleaning of sorts, a taking of stock, a severe scrutiny of impeding ideas. Lead me in a plain path because of my enemies…Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk, for I lift up my soul unto You…Light dawns for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart…

Life is Difficult, and most of its great battles are fought out before no eyes but God’s, in the hidden depths of the personality, beyond all human observation. But it is Glorious, too. And its glimpses of Eden, sprinkled with such divine care through the round of daily life, should give us courage to face the muddles head on, knowing that the Author of the heart’s desires is at work to restore all things to what He dreamt they should be in the first place.

Here is a lecture given by Dr. Peter Kreeft of Boston College on C. S. Lewis’ beautiful and obscure Till We Have Faces.  Having devoured the book with delight and awe, I still found myself trying to wrap my mind around some of the weightier concepts of this masterful re-telling of the Cupid and Psyche myth.  Lewis explores some of the deepest–and darkest–elements of the human soul, and in this talk Dr. Kreeft examines the mysteries without over-simplifying the very complex issues the book addresses.  An excellent follow-up to the book itself (Lewis actually cautioned against searching for deeper meaning until the tale had been told), it came very highly recommended to me, and with good reason.  This lecture is one of a four-part series on the writings of C. S. Lewis, including Mere Christianity, The Problem of Pain, and A Grief Observed.

Anyone interested in Brideshead Revisited will doubtless enjoy this on-line companion to both the English and American versions.  I have found it helpful even after reading the book to shed a little more light on certain passages.  It is arranged in a chapter format so it is easy to find what you’re looking for.  There is also information on the film, which many consider to be the best adaptation of a book ever made.  (I am inclined to agree.)

I picked up a copy of this 1964 gem at my grandmother’s: Elegance: A Complete Guide for Every Woman Who Wants to Be Well and Properly Dressed on All Occasions by Genevieve Antoine Dariaux.  I have every reason to suspect that my grandmother took very seriously the dictates of this classic guide to style, and that with a few well-placed parameters helped shape my mother’s ideas of what is truly feminine and proper, who, in turn, passed those same principles on to my sister and me.  I am still haunted by whether my shoes match my purse or not, and the ‘no white shoes after Labor Day’ rule.  I remember my grandmother’s abject horror that I had appeared at my eight-year old piano recital in red finger nail polish (my mother was out of town, and Daddy couldn’t have known, of course).  And when I married, my mother saw to it that my trousseau lacked nothing; though styles have changed in six years, I still have a very strong foundation of classic and well-made clothes.

Mme. Dariaux’s guidebook is a true lodestar for any woman who values femininity.  There is advice for every situation, arranged in an accessible A-Z format for even the most time-sensitive fashion quandary.  More than a rambling list of outdated do’s and don’ts, Elegance is a timeless code of true beauty: that which is not contrived, or enslaved to the often ridiculous decrees of the fashion industry, but which emphasizes the charm of simply being a woman and the possibilities which naturally follow if a sense of personal style is developed.  (Her notes on the ‘American Look’ are really quite mortifying, and recall to my mind the reason for the simple rules my sister and I enforce upon ourselves when traveling overseas—‘wear black and keep your mouth shut’.  And, according to Mme. Dariaux, no one should ever be permitted to wear shorts above the age of 16, and then only ‘on the beach, the tennis court, or on board a boat’.)

The enduring favor of a carefully dressed woman is further underscored in this favorite quote from Tasha Tudor:

    Why do women want to dress like men when they’re fortunate enough to be women?  Why lose our femininity, which is one of our greatest charms?  We get much more accomplished by being charming than we would by flaunting around in pants and smoking.  I’m very fond of men.  I think they’re wonderful creatures.  I love them dearly.  But I don’t want to look like one.

    When women gave up their long skirts, they made a grave error.  Things half seen are so much more mysterious and delightful.  Remember the term “a neatly turned ankle”?  Think of the thrill that gentleman used to get if they caught even a glimpse of one.  Now women go around in their union suits.  And what a multitude of sins you could cover up with a long skirt if you had piano legs. 

When we were at Williamsburg last week, a gentleman in the George Wythe House was speaking on the rules of 18^th century deportment, explaining the decrees which prevented a young lady from playing a musical instrument which contorted her features in any way (namely, any wind instrument) or caused her elbows to fly about in an ungainly manner (the violin).  We were amused, of course.  But as he proceeded to describe the proper posture expected of a woman of the day, his gaze rested on my sister and he gaped a bit.  “Well, just like that,” he indicated with a nod in her direction.  Every head turned to see Liz, prim and upright in her Queen Anne chair, ankles crossed demurely, arms hanging loosely from erect shoulders, hands folded in her lap.  In the filtered light of the austere room she looked like she was ready to be painted in oil.  But she was just sitting, carefully, as she has trained herself to do.  And what an effortlessly lovely picture she made.

We finished Brideshead Revisited last night on the way home from Charleston.  We both longed to and hated to.  Reading that book together has been a moving and sweet experience for Philip and me, in the same class as A Severe Mercy.  I can’t stop thinking about it.  All day the various elements have been uniting in my mind as a beautiful and satisfying whole.  Indeed, the more I dwell on it the more perfect it becomes.

The thing that simply stupefies me about this book is how much Evelyn Waugh could say without ever explicitly stating it.  He never said, “Charles had a profound religious experience,” or, “Julia had a profound religious experience,” or, “Sebastian had a profound religious experience…”  He revealed, un-curtained, as it were, the merciful operations of divine grace with a subtlety and reverence that would have been completely cheapened by familiar phrases and specific ideas.  He showed God’s pursuit of man in a way that has affected me deeply, made me want to just stop and bask in a favor I could never hope to deserve.  He made me care for his characters, not just for the slice of life that his story gave me, but for their very souls. 

Evelyn Waugh had the ability to weave analogies that were both artistic and enlightening, word pictures that paint upon the imagination a depiction of the underlying truths of the story that bald-faced text could never hope to portray.  In much the same way, his use of Chesterton’s ‘twitch upon the thread’ has left me with an indelible image of the love and grace of God. 

Daddy said it was ‘the most beautiful and bittersweet book he has ever read’.  I’m inclined to agree.  For unlike so many other realism writers of the 20^th century, Eveyln Waugh writes of the heartaches and longings of human nature with a gentle and redemptive hand. 

            “Perhaps, I thought, while her words still hung in the air between us like a wisp of tobacco smoke—a thought to fade and vanish like smoke without a trace—perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; a hill of many invisible crests; doors that open as in a dream to reveal only a further stretch of carpet and another door; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.”     

“If he is saying what I think he is,” mused Philip after I had read the above quote twice, “then he just said it better than C. S. Lewis.”

 * a footnote–because of some of the subject matter, Brideshead is a book I would recommend for people who already have established convictions, not for those whose convictions are in the formative stages.

There are just a handful of devotionals that I’ve spent much time with over the years, and among that small band, only three have found a permanent place on the side table with my Bible and journal.  With ever-fresh insight the great classics My Utmost for His Highest and Streams in the Desert have prodded me, encouraged me, and uplifted me over and over again.  But the third is a more obscure title, given to me by a friend as a birthday gift nearly eight years ago, and every dip into its grace-laden pages is like a restorative tonic.  The Seeking Heart, from the works and letters of Francois Fenelon, is a remarkable little volume, proclaiming the simplicity that is in Christ on every page.  With penetrating directness the great French saint pinpoints the hindrances and entanglements that keep us from following Christ with all of our hearts.  Three centuries fall away as his timeless message addresses the needs of our frantic modern day.  This book is available from the Seed Sowers press in an updated version that loses nothing of the orginal candor. 

Lucilla Eliot, of Elizabeth Goudge’s ‘Eliot trilogy’ (Bird in the Tree, Pilgrim’s Inn and Heart of the Family) is one of my heroines.  Expect to hear much of her—and the wisdom that Ms. Goudge imparts through her voice—in this journal.  Elizabeth Goudge’s writings have played a very formative role in my thoughts on homemaking and womanhood, but most especially the books that deal with this remarkable matriarch and the profound impact of her faithfulness upon her children and grandchildren.  Lucilla’s vision for a consecrated home, where godliness, beauty and love all unite to safeguard the hearts of the young ones in its care, has appealed to every domestic desire that I cherish.  I, too, long to fashion a culture of beauty and grace within my home to the eternal benefit of my family.

 Here are some of Lucilla’s thoughts on the decoration of homes:

    For it was one of the special mercies of Providence, Lucilla was apt to say, that beauty and shabbiness are quite compatible.  The great thing, she would tell her grandchildren, was to start well.  A thing of beauty is a joy forever, but it must be a costly and strong beauty, purchased at a high price of service or sacrifice, not skin-deep but bone-deep, if it is to be as desirable at the shabby end as it was at the sumptuous beginning.  Pointing a moral to the grandchildren she would wave a hand towards her Sheraton chairs with the petit-point seats worked by her grandmother in a pattern of purple pansies and crimson gilliflowers.  She would tell them how the exquisite curves of the wood had been created by the hands of a craftsman, each tool in its aptness and simplicity itself a thing of beauty in his hands as patiently, line by line, he fashioned the vision that was in his mind.  And the same with the great-grandmother’s needlework.  She had spun the wool herself and dyed it to its lovely colors with the juices of plants picked upon her walks, she had seen with the eyes of her mind a vision of her garden, formalized and touched with perpetual stillness, and painted the picture with her needle upon canvas.  And now, though their legs were scratched and their colors were faded the chairs were as lovely as ever.  Lovelier, Lucilla declared, because a work of art is like a human being, the more it is loved the more beautiful it grows, reflecting the gift of love like light back again to the giver. ..The odes of Keats, she had heard it said, are lovelier now than when they were written…And the same with her Sheraton chairs, which had been loved now for so many years.  And everything in the house, she had told Margaret twenty years ago, must be as love-worthy as they were if Damerosehay was to be a perfect refuge for the grandchildren.  Margaret had sighed and asked if this dictum applied to the saucepans.  "Certainly," Lucilla had replied.  "I’ll have none but the best saucepans."

 from Bird in the Tree

This is exactly why I love antiques. 

 "By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures."                Proverbs 24: 3, 4