Chapter 2

"The evil spirit departed from Saul." But what of music that puts the evil spirit into men? Of songs, however sweet sounding, that are written in the service of the devil, and sung at the high court of the world? For this is your rule:

"Singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord." [24]

Like your speech, "alway with grace."

[1] I Chron. xiii. 8.

[2] Ps. lxviii. 25, 26.

[3] I Chron. xv. 16.

[4] Ex. xv. 1.

[5] Ex. xv. 21.

[6] Neh. xii. 27.

[7] Ps. cxxii. 1.

[8] Ps. cxxv. 2.

[9] Ps. xxxliii. 2, 3.

[10] Ps. xl. 3.

[11] Lam. iii. 13.

[12] Ps. xiii. 6.

[13] Ps. lvii. 7.

[14] Ps. lix. 16.

[15] I Cor. xiv. 15.

[16] Eccle. vii. 5.

[17] Eph. v. 19.

[18] Isa. lxv. 14.

[19] James v. 13.

[20] Ps. cxix. 54.

[21] Matt. xxv. 16.

[22] Ez. xxxiii. 32.

[23] I Sam. xvi. 23.

[24] Col. iii. 16.

Dancing

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." [1]

And so it comes among the rest, that there is "a time to dance." [2] Such being the case, we have only to find out the when and the how; for of course, for Christians, dancing too must have its rules. In feasting the word is, "Do all to the glory of God"; and in music, "With melody in your hearts to the Lord"; and now for dancing the order comes:

"Let them praise his name in the dance." [3]

We are to praise the Lord with our whole lives; in our recreation no less than in our work. You see it is all one: with that proviso you may do anything.

"Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness."

"Praise him with the timbrel and dance." [4]

I fancy you did not expect this, secretly believing that the Bible was all against dancing. I fancy most people would start back and say it cannot be done. _If_ it cannot, or if by _you_ it cannot, then--for you--the dancing question should be settled once and for all. The Lord has given you "the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness," [5] and you are not at liberty to lay it off for any dancing gear whatever.

"Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light." [6]

The condition is absolute; and all doubts upon the dancing question are at an end for you. But for those who like to inquire into possibilities, let us search a little further. "Praise him in the dance."--Has it ever been done? Never,--in such dances as you are accustomed to. But a great while ago, on the shores of the Red Sea, while the men were chanting the praises of that God who had brought them safe out of Egypt, the women banded together "with timbrels and with dances" [7] (no _mixed_ dances, observe), and so, dancing for joy at the great deliverance, answered the men, chorus like:

"Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously." [8]

So after Jephthah's victory,[9] came out his daughter to meet him "with timbrels and with dances."

So after the rout of the Philistines,

"The women came out of all the cities of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet king Saul." [10]

And though praise of the human agents mingled in, yet only Divine power had won the day, and well they knew it. And again you remember how when the ark was brought home to Jerusalem,

"David danced before the Lord with all his might." [11]

Does it seem very strange to you? So it did to David's wife on that occasion; for as she had no praise in her heart, no sympathy with the joy, of course the expression of it tried her patience. Dancing for joy,--we often use the image, but these people did the thing. It is hard enough to keep still sometimes, if one is very happy.

Not like our dancing!--you say. Indeed not much. No special steps, no intricate figures, no elaborate positions, no dressing for effect. David even laid his royal robes aside, instead of putting them on; they were in his way. How could one dance for joy in a state dress? No need of partners, where every one danced for glad thankfulness of heart. No "envy, malice, and all uncharitableness" stirred up by another's dancing or another's dress; no "wall-flowers," no monopoly. No late hours, leaving mind and body jaded for the next day's work. I think "dancing before the Lord" must have been very pure refreshment. And by the way, speaking of dress, I feel, somehow, as if--would people but choose their ornaments out of that treasure-chest of jewels "a meek and quiet spirit," ball dresses would lose their charm, and the German its great attraction. One never likes to go where one's dress is out of keeping.

Christian dancing, for Christian joy. There was music and dancing, as well as feasting, when the prodigal son came home; returned from his sins, washed from his defilement, clothed at last in "the best robe" a sinner can wear.[12] According to the word:

"Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing." [13]

Is such glad thankfulness so rare in our days that people have forgotten how it acts? And would such dancing be possible now? I do not know. But answer this question, and you settle at once the other perplexity whether Christians may dance. For there is no other sort of dancing permitted to them, than this which springs up out of the mercies of the Lord, and is all consecrated to his praise.

it is not quite the only sort mentioned in the Bible; but the others do not look attractive upon paper. One of them indeed comes more properly under another head, and the rest are all idolatrous; in the service and honour of that biggest idol, the world; whether any special graven image was set up or not. Dances indulged in only by heathen, or by nominal Christians who had swerved from their allegiance.

When Moses tarried long in the mount, receiving his orders, the people, you remember, grew tired and restless,--in want of recreation, we should call it now,--and then they "quickly corrupted themselves." Weary of waiting, impatient of the monotony of their life, out of their own possessions they made themselves an idol, and then--danced before it! conducting themselves as well became those who had chosen a god that could neither hear nor see.

"The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play." [14]

And you will find this is always just what people do after unhallowed recreation: they _never_ rise up to do good work. Test your amusements by that. Recreation _should_ be a re-creation to every noble end.

Neither joy, nor thankfulness, nor the unbending from labour, was there among those poor Israelites--those people of the Lord in name; but only lawless mirth and unhallowed indulgence.

"He saw the calf and the dancing, and Moses' anger waxed hot." [15]

You think I am very hard upon dancing; and I have reason. "Two years ago," said a young girl to me, "you told me that if I went on doing these things I should myself change; that I _could_ not do them, and keep myself. I was almost angry then, but do you know it has come true? I _have_ changed. Things that I minded and shrank from then, I never notice now. I have got used to them, as you said. It frightens me when I think of it." Poor child!--neither fright nor warning have stayed her course since then. A ceaseless thirst for excitement, an endless round of unsatisfying pleasure--so called,--a weary, old, disappointed look on the young face; broken engagements, forgotten promises, a wasted life,--this is what it has all come to. "Hard upon dancing"? yes, I certainly have reason. Do I not find it right in the way of some of my Bible Class who might else become Christians? do I not know how it tarnishes the Christian profession of others? Do not the careless young men in the class boast that they can get the Church members to go with them anywhere--for a dance? Or how would you like to have a young girl come to you, frightened at things she had permitted at a ball the night before, entreating to know if you thought them "_very_ bad"?

Examine it, test it for yourself; only be honest. Can you dance "in armour"? crowned and shielded and shining with "the hope of salvation," with "righteousness" and "faith"? Are your shoes "peace"? peace of heart, of conscience. Is your belt the girdle of "truth"? Can you "shew your colours" in the throng? _Dare_ you? Are they not rather trailing in the dust, or quietly pocketed, or left at home? Think honestly, and answer to yourself how it is. As in feasting, so here: you cannot dance all night with people, and next day warn them against "the world, and the things of the world," and even hope to be listened to. "I am as good as most Church members,"--ah how often we teachers and talkers meet that rebuff! And how well the Lord knew when he said:

"He that is not with me, is against me."

"Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?" [16]

"A time to dance."--Yes: whenever, and wherever, you can do it as the whole-souled servant of Christ. And how about dancing at home, among ourselves, as people say?--Without going any further, one thing forbids it all. If you dance anywhere,--you, a professing Christian,--in the eyes of the world you dance _everywhere_. The world allows no middle ground for Christians. "I saw her dancing,"--and nobody stops to inquire when, or with whom, or how. So that there is nothing for you but this:

"Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away." [17]

[1] Eccle. iii. 1.

[2] Eccle. iii. 4.

[3] Ps. cxlix. 3.

[4] Ps. cl. 2, 4.

[5] Isa. lxi. 3.

[6] I Pet. ii. 9.

[7] Ex. xv. 20.

[8] Ex. xv. 20.

[9] Judges xi. 3.

[10] I Sam. xviii. 6

[11] II Sam. vi. 14.

[12] Luke xv. 11.

[13] Ps. xxx. 11.

[14] Ex. xxxii. 6

[15] Ex. xv. 19.

[16] James iii. 11.

[17] Prov. iv. 15.

Theatres.

If I say that it degrades oneself to find pleasure in degrading things or degraded people, you will perhaps admit the fact but deny that it has any application to theatre-going. Is it not a fashionable, intellectual, and what not, amusement? Let us see.

Many of you who yet are theatre-goers, know well that you would feel yourselves degraded if even a dear friend went on the stage.

"She has trailed an honoured name in the dust,"--so have I heard the comment, from one who was not even a personal friend. "She might at least have taken another name!"--And the speaker was not brought up among Puritans, and belonged to a Church which--as a Church--has no fear of the theatre. I think occasional indulgence was common enough in the family. And the young actress had done nothing but become an actress, keeping her own name. Friends are mortified,--and yet friends go to see, and to help along.

"But what shall actors do?" you say; "it is their way of getting a livelihood." No, not if support were given only to _other_ ways. A man may make a round sum at a rowing match which cripples his strength for life; or by leaping across Passaic Falls, till he breaks his neck; he may set up for a wizard or a conjuror or a quack doctor,--he may pick your pocket or fire your house,--all in the way of business. The only question is in which way will you help him on. Things must be judged of quite apart from their money-making results. The old African maker of "greegrees" (charms) burns them all when she becomes a Christian; and the young carpenter just converted under Mr. Moody's preaching, gives up his only job because he can not do it for Christ, and will not even drive a nail in the scaffolding about a theatre. For the money that changes hands there, is the price of "the souls of men."

You do not believe all this: you do not believe that evil can hide among such fascinations. And for the actors, they are not men and women! Are they not kings and queens and fairies? The glamour of their dress, the strangeness of the scenes, the un-everyday tragic or fantastic air of it all; with sometimes the witchery of music or the wonders of artistic effect, lay a spell upon your common sense. Do I not know? Have I not seen young Christian girls from the country a standing jest with people who knew the world, because--beginning with what the laughers called "a holy horror" of the theatre--they yielded and went "just once." Then, "only once more,"--and then presently would go every night, to see everything!

When Miriam was six years old, some acquaintances over-persuaded her father to let them take her to see Cinderella,--Cinderella and some part of Der Freischutz; and one who was there remembers well how hard the little hands grasped the edge of the box, and how impossible it was to win the young eyes round, even by a vision of sugarplums. To the end of her life, I fancy, she will see now and then a picture out of that fairyland. Next day Miriam entreated earnestly to have the pleasure over again; strengthening her plea with this remarkable promise, that if she might go once more, she would never do anything wrong again as long as she lived! Her father paced up and down the room with a grave smile upon his lips, the little suppliant following with eager feet, ever renewing her request, and he answering little; for the matter was beyond her ken. But he was a Christian who kept off the Debatable land; and where his foot might not enter, he would not send his child. Had he not himself dedicated her to be the Lord's? She never went again. Never to the theatre; never again to any such place, until long afterwards; and with that going he had nothing to do.

Miriam had grown up, had become a Christian and a happy one; and as yet no "flatterer" had beguiled her off upon the "Enchanted Ground." But at last the temptation came, in a very specious way.

There was a new Prima Donna at the opera house that winter; a young, pretty woman, working hard (it was said) to support her mother; and Miriam, going daily to see dear friends at the same hotel, often heard the singing and practising that went on in the Prima Donna's rooms. And Miriam was very fond of music, and had been able to hear very little that was really good; and now in a moment one thing took possession of her; she _must_ go to the opera!--Tickets too costly, and no one to take her, made the thing look impossible on the one side; and on the other--there was her Christian name and promise. Of course it was wrong for Christians to go!--she knew that. Yet for the time, nothing seemed tangible or real but this; go she _must_! And so from week to week this fever of desire grew and increased, fed from time to time by those snatches of song that floated through the great hall of the hotel.

At last one day her friends said (knowing nothing of all this), "Miriam, you must go with us to an undress rehearsal. We have got tickets, and you must go." Then beginning to answer the objections they expected--"It is only undress," they said; "the house half lighted, and the actors not in costume. Anybody might go,--and you _must_."--"It's a very moral opera," began another. "Of course we would never take you to see anything else."

Miriam was too ignorant of the world and its theatres to fairly understand all these advantages,--indeed I fancy longing made such a din in her ears that she paid but little attention. For a while she withstood--then desire rose up like a whirlwind and carried all before it. They had tickets for that very night,--her friends, said one morning,--a ticket for her also--and an escort. She yielded and went. Went first to take tea with her friends, on the way; and I have heard her speak of the thrilling, pent-up excitement of that hour or two before it was time to set out:--Excitement that made her as still as a mouse, and the careless chatter of her friends incomprehensible!--that made cake into plain bread and butter, and bread and butter into--chips, for all she knew. Whether the excitement was all pleasure I doubt if she could tell; yet if you think Miriam knew she was doing wrong, you would be mistaken. Perhaps it was with her, in the tumult of longing, as Fenelon says: "O how rare it is to find a soul still enough to hear God speak!" Or perhaps the Lord, in his wisdom, chose this time to let her set her own lesson. I can only vouch for the dream in which she sat at tea, and walked along the street, and entered the Opera House; glad to get out into the starlight, almost awe-struck to find herself at last within those walls.

The rehearsal was very "undress" indeed. The house, not half lighted, had yet fewer spectators than jets of gas,--a handful of shadowy figures, hid away by twos and threes in the dim boxes; which were almost too dark for the reading of libretti. However eyes were young, and the party put their heads together and began to study out the coming opera, and so get a taste of the pleasure beforehand. Until--Well, as I said, Miriam was young and ignorant of the World, but a woman's instincts (if they have not been tampered with) outgrow her years and are independent of her experience. And as the girl bent over the libretto, some of these instincts took fright. She found out suddenly that those small pages were not just the reading she liked, with a gentleman looking over her shoulder; and instantly sat back, leaving the rest to their studies, and read not another word that night. She kept still, waiting for the music,--and then the music began.

You who see such places only with all the conjuring power of light and dress upon them, have no idea how they look when things are transformed back again, and Cinderella has lost her glass slippers, and the coach is a pumpkin, and the coachman is a rat. This night the actors came on the stage in more--or less--than ordinary dress; as men look when they have put on their dowdiest, for bad weather or dirty work: and these men wore their hats. Only the young Prima Donna was bare-headed, and of course (being a woman) had not made herself a fright. "Can a maid forget her ornaments?" And this just touched off the effect of all the rest. But the music!--

The many discords and melodies of life since then have at last confused in Miriam's recollection the sounds she listened to that night; but for years liter she could hear them almost as distinctly as at first; and the _picture_ has never faded. The slim, fair girl; the rough, unwashed, unkempt-looking men; men whom (had she been _your_ sister) you would not have let touch her--as we say--"with a pair of tongs."

The play went on. Perhaps the libretto had given an uneasy stir to Miriam's satisfaction, for as she sat now entranced with the music, suddenly there came to her the astounding revelation that this young girl on the stage, was singing those very words which the other young girl in the boxes had not quite liked to read. Singing them at the top of her sweet voice,--trying to bring them out distinctly and with full effect. It was only a queen, to be sure; but somehow (missing the royal robes) Miriam could see only a woman. Close upon this came another shock. These dingy, untidy, soiled-looking men were now making love to the young Prima Donna,--first one and then another; this one in bass, and that one in baritone, and she answering in her clear soprano. Answering,--sometimes _responding_. Then they touched her, and handled her, and drew her about, as the exigencies of the piece demanded. And there was no glitter of dress to turn the one into a kingly suitor and the other into a faithful knight; the tarnished men were but men; and she--poor little uncrowned princess--was but a woman among them all; rubbing off the bloom and reserve of her woman's nature with every touch.

Miriam could never tell how sick hearted she grew as she looked. _That_ was this girl's livelihood; to go through all sorts of situations, with all sorts of men, for the amusement of other people. O yes, it paid well. Had she been a teacher,--had she painted cups or stitched seams for a living,--her salary, her wages, would have been brought down to the lowest figure; but on the stage, at _that_ work, give her what she asks!--or make her so popular that the manager will. Does she not "amuse" us all?

If ever anybody was thoroughly cured of theatre going, that was Miriam. It had been the greatest temptation of her life; but now a great recoil came over her, so that from that day, the mere thought of the stage brought only loathing and disgust. And so all women, _as_ women, should set their faces against it in every shape; even down to the most "private" of private theatricals. There cannot possibly be a wholesome imitation of a bad thing.

I know it is very unfashionable doctrine. I know that even while I write, the newspapers set forth an advertisement of a play, prepared by a clergyman, to be acted by Sunday Schools in this sweet Christmas time. Alas poor Sunday Schools!--in full training for service under "the world, the flesh, and the devil."--"Feed my lambs," the Lord Jesus said,--and between meals you give them whiskey and water! Nor is it the children only who suffer. I could tell of one lady in that very man's church, who being much delighted with some such performance in the Sunday School, went off the very next night to a theatre, to see the same thing _done better_.

N. B.--She had never been before.

"I will have dances at home for my children, lest they seek them elsewhere."--

"I will take my boys to the theatre, because I do not want them to go anywhere without me."--

Real sayings, of real mothers, church members both. Which sayings, in everyday English, read thus, "Since I want my children to keep out of the world, I will bring the world to them at home."--"Since my boys will do what I do not approve, I will guard them by doing it too." Far different from the strong stern-words of Scripture:

"Come out of her, my people."

"Touch not the unclean thing."

And then the wonderful sayings of Psalm i. 1.

If anybody thinks I have given an unfair instance, or that I characterize it unfairly, let them take other testimony where no prejudice can be supposed. Read Mrs. Kemble's "Journal" of her stage life. Read the opinion she gives of it all in her later "Recollections." Yet from childhood some of her nearest and dearest she had known as actors.

I have spoken first as to people bound by the Golden Rule, and forbidden therefore to help anybody even to get a living in an evil way. For the work the theatre does upon yourselves, you know it, if you will be honest. People answer: "O if it hurt me, of course I would give it up." Be honest with yourself, and you will come out of that delusion. You _know_ it does not make love to Christ warmer, or thoughts of heaven sweeter; or the atmosphere of your everyday life more wholesome and sound. You know it leaves a restless craving for excitement,--you know it exalts the world before your eyes; and if you think a little you will find that, like my poor young friend in her dancing, you are not edified, not built up, but pulled down. Let me tell you of one case where the mother was a Church member, and had prayers regularly every morning with her family, But the command to _watch_ as well (_i.e._, "keep awake") she had forgotten. And the desire seized her to see--I will not write the name down here, but it was one of those foreign importations which have beguiled thousands. She did not want her son to know of her going, and so went with her young daughter for escort! But she found her son already there, and for twenty-eight nights running he was there again. Why not?--if his mother went once? And as might be expected, the daughter has become (as people say) "wild for the theatre."