Elizabeth and her German Garden | Page 7

began to lose the
first whiteness of my soul by falling in love at fifteen with the parish
organist, or rather with the glimpse of surplice and Roman nose and
fiery moustache which was all I ever saw of him, and which I loved to
distraction for at least six months; at the end of which time, going out
with my governess one day, I passed him in the street, and discovered
that his unofficial garb was a frock-coat combined with a turn-down
collar and a "bowler" hat, and never loved him any more.
The first part of that time of blessedness was the most perfect, for I had
not a thought of anything but the peace and beauty all round me. Then
he appeared suddenly who has a right to appear when and how he will
and rebuked me for never having written, and when I told him that I
had been literally too happy to think of writing, he seemed to take it as
a reflection on himself that I could be happy alone. I took him round
the garden along the new paths I had had made, and showed him the
acacia and lilac glories, and he said that it was the purest selfishness to
enjoy myself when neither he nor the offspring were with me, and that
the lilacs wanted thoroughly pruning. I tried to appease him by offering
him the whole of my salad and toast supper which stood ready at the
foot of the little verandah steps when we came back, but nothing
appeased that Man of Wrath, and he said he would go straight back to
the neglected family. So he went; and the remainder of the precious

time was disturbed by twinges of conscience (to which I am much
subject) whenever I found myself wanting to jump for joy. I went to
look at the painters every time my feet were for taking me to look at the
garden; I trotted diligently up and down the passages; I criticised and
suggested and commanded more in one day than I had done in all the
rest of the time; I wrote regularly and sent my love; but I could not
manage to fret and yearn. What are you to do if your conscience is clear
and your liver in order and the sun is shining?
May 10th.--I knew nothing whatever last year about gardening and this
year know very little more, but I have dawnings of what may be done,
and have at least made one great stride-- from ipomaea to tea-roses.
The garden was an absolute wilderness. It is all round the house, but
the principal part is on the south side and has evidently always been so.
The south front is one-storied, a long series of rooms opening one into
the other, and the walls are covered with virginia creeper. There is a
little verandah in the middle, leading by a flight of rickety wooden
steps down into what seems to have been the only spot in the whole
place that was ever cared for. This is a semicircle cut into the lawn and
edged with privet, and in this semicircle are eleven beds of different
sizes bordered with box and arranged round a sun-dial, and the sun-dial
is very venerable and moss-grown, and greatly beloved by me. These
beds were the only sign of any attempt at gardening to be seen (except
a solitary crocus that came up all by itself each spring in the grass, not
because it wanted to, but because it could not help it), and these I had
sown with ipomaea, the whole eleven, having found a German
gardening book, according to which ipomaea in vast quantities was the
one thing needful to turn the most hideous desert into a paradise.
Nothing else in that book was recommended with anything like the
same warmth, and being entirely ignorant of the quantity of seed
necessary, I bought ten pounds of it and had it sown not only in the
eleven beds but round nearly every tree, and then waited in great
agitation for the promised paradise to appear. It did not, and I learned
my first lesson.
Luckily I had sown two great patches of sweetpeas which made me
very happy all the summer, and then there were some sunflowers and a
few hollyhocks under the south windows, with Madonna lilies in
between. But the lilies, after being transplanted, disappeared to my

great dismay, for how was I to know it was the way of lilies? And the
hollyhocks turned out to be rather ugly colours, so that my first summer
was decorated and beautified solely by sweet-peas. At present we are
only just beginning to breathe after the bustle of getting new beds and
borders and paths made