The Secret Victorianist recently
read 1869 novel An Old-Fashioned Girl
by Louisa May Alcott (of Little Women
fame).
In her Preface, Alcott wrote of
the story’s didacticism:
The Old-Fashioned Girl is not intended as
a perfect model, but as a possible improvement upon the Girl of the Period, who
seems sorrowfully ignorant or ashamed of the good old fashions which make woman
truly beautiful and honored, and, through her, render home what it should be -
a happy place, where parents and children, brothers and sisters, learn to love
and know and help one another.
What then ‘should’ a
girl be and do to maintain domestic happiness, according to this nineteenth-century
writer? Below are five lessons that Alcott and her heroine, Polly, taught me.
 |
| Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) |
1. She shouldn’t go to theatre
Fourteen-year-old Polly is
scandalised when she is taken to a play with suggestive humour and beguiling
actresses:
"I know it wasn't proper for little
girls to see, or I shouldn't have been so ashamed!" cried sturdy Polly,
perplexed, but not convinced, even by Mrs. Smythe Perkins.
"I think you are right, my dear; but
you have lived in the country, and haven't yet learned that modesty has gone
out of fashion." And with a good-night kiss, grandma left Polly to dream
dreadfully of dancing in jockey costume, on a great stage; while Tom played a
big drum in the orchestra; and the audience all wore the faces of her father
and mother, looking sorrowfully at her, with eyes like saucers, and faces as
red as Fanny's sash.
2. She shouldn’t lose her temper
Polly is (predictably) skilled in
the kitchen but doesn’t lose her cool when her friend’s brother/her own future
husband eats the fruits of her labour.
Polly was not a model girl by any means,
and had her little pets and tempers like the rest of us; but she didn't fight,
scream, and squabble with her brothers and sisters in this disgraceful way, and
was much surprised to see her elegant friend in such a passion. "Oh,
don't! Please, don't! You'll hurt her, Tom! Let him go, Fanny! It's no matter
about the candy; we can make some more!" cried Polly, trying to part them,
and looking so distressed, that they stopped ashamed, and in a minute sorry
that she should see such a display of temper.
3. She should notice others’ failings but only correct them by
example
Polly manages to
transform the Shaw household but rarely by expressing her opinion.
Polly wished the children would be kinder
to grandma; but it was not for her to tell them so, although it troubled her a
good deal, and she could only try to make up for it by being as dutiful and
affectionate as if their grandma was her own.
4. She should exercise, but not to display herself
Polly’s pursuits are
entirely wholesome (the antithesis of novels).
Another thing that disturbed Polly was the
want of exercise…At home, Polly ran and rode, coasted and skated, jumped rope
and raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed her boat; so no wonder she longed
for something more lively than a daily promenade with a flock of giddy girls,
who tilted along in high-heeled boots, and costumes which made Polly ashamed to
be seen with some of them. So she used to slip out alone sometimes, when Fanny
was absorbed in novels, company, or millinery, and get fine brisk walks round the
park, on the unfashionable side, where the babies took their airings; or she
went inside, to watch the boys coasting, and to wish she could coast too, as
she did at home. She never went far, and always came back rosy and gay.
5. She should love in silence
As an adult, Polly
suffers silently with her love for Tom throughout his engagement to another and
his lengthy absence after going west. Her modesty is so extreme that she never
actively confesses it, even to her friend, and it's not even made overt in the narration.
"Polly, is it Tom?"
Poor Polly was so taken by surprise, that
she had not a word to say. None were needed; her telltale face answered for
her, as well as the impulse which made her hide her head in the sofa cushion,
like a foolish ostrich when the hunters are after it.
No novels, no plays
and no opinions, a foolish ostrich who cannot escape her own desire to wed – that’s
what we taught girls then. What do we teach them today?
What
nineteenth-century novel would you like to see the Secret Victorianist read
next? Let me know – here, on Facebook or by tweeting
@SVictorianist.
