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Pluck ye the roses while ye may—
The fairest bloom will soon decay;
Enjoy life while its flame burns bright—
Ere dull age dim its flickering light.
With my whole heart do I agree with these lines the poet addresses to the young; but I agree with them only so long as the rose which is plucked is not the tender, celestial flower of purity and innocence. It always has been, and it still is, a great joy to me to give pleasure to young people. I have been in the habit of doing things to make young hearts happy ever since the time when, myself a mere boy, I was delighted to fetch a Christmas tree from the forest and dress it for my youngest brother. My heart truly rejoices whenever I see young people merry. It is very important that you should remember this, my dear child, while you read this chapter and also the following one. As I am now about seriously to warn you against the enemy of innocence which is found in places of amusement, you must not take my words in a wrong sense, nor imagine that I shall say anything not absolutely necessary, or paint the picture in darker hues than the reality warrants. I certainly do not grudge you any amusements which can be indulged in with impunity. We will speak in the first place of the enemy in the ballroom.
That the enemy of innocence is frequently met with in the ballroom, and that dancing is, for the most part, fraught with no little danger to chastity, are established facts which no sensible man will think of denying. I do not mean to say that dancing is in itself, and under all circumstances, a dangerous thing. On the contrary, in and by itself, it is a perfectly harmless amusement; that is to say, moving about in time to the music is no more to be objected to than any other kind of gymnastic exercise. Indeed, in many excellent Catholic schools the pupils are occasionally allowed to amuse themselves by dancing. In this case no danger to innocence can possibly exist; any more than when brothers and sisters, or other near relatives, dance together. For these family gatherings the only evil is that they tend to awaken and foster a taste for what so often proves to be a dangerous amusement.
Thus we see that dancing is not, in itself, a danger to chastity; it is rendered perilous only by the circumstances attending it. A great deal depends on the person with whom one dances. If the dancers are of opposite sexes, and not very closely related to one another, if they are quite young, and therefore more likely to have their passions kindled in the intoxication of the dance, then the amusement may assume a dangerous character. An illustration will explain my meaning.
To carry a lighted candle about without any guard against the flame is assuredly not dangerous, but useful and necessary. But if you were to light a fire close to a heap of dry hay, or to take a lighted candle into a room where there had been an escape of gas, what a catastrophe might be the result!
Dancing under the circumstances which have just been mentioned is eminently calculated to arouse impure thoughts and desires, and to kindle the fire of passion: the lateness of the hour, the exciting music, the partaking of alcoholic drinks, close physical contact in the giddy mazes of the dance, words, looks, etc. Is not then the enemy of innocence very dangerous in the ballroom?
Thoughtless young persons may step forward and say: Priests see these things in too dark a light; they can know nothing about dancing from personal experience, and are therefore unable to pronounce judgment in the matter.” I thank God I know nothing from personal experience; but from what others have told me, as well as from my own common sense, I am able to form an impartial opinion as to the danger to morals occasioned by dancing. You shall hear the verdict pronounced by an old officer, a man of the world. He says:
“Both religion and common sense compel me to acknowledge that dancing is a dangerous amusement. I know that some persons can indulge in it without harm; but sometimes even the coldest temperaments are heated by it. It is usually only young persons who dance, and I refer more especially to them. They have at all times difficulty in resisting temptation; how much more then amid scenes where the universal merriment, the sound of the music, the movement of the dance, are so eminently calculated to excite their passions.”
Could we question all the unfortunate girls who have lost their virtue as to the proximate cause of their fall, how startled we should be to hear so many, if not most of them, reply: “It was the enemy of my innocence in the ballroom which brought about my ruin!” The poet was quite right when he addressed the following verses to a young girl on be way to a ball:
I question myself with sadness of heart,
When dressed for the ball I see thee depart,
When I see thee again can I be sure
Thou art still innocent, simple, and pure?
Then what are you to do? Altogether to give up the pleasure of dancing? No, this would be perhaps too much to require of you, but I strongly advise you to do so; and I may suitably quote the words of the Saviour: “He that can take, let him take it.” At any rate, take to heart the following advice: (1) If you know nothing at all, or very little, about dancing, do not trouble yourself to learn, but think yourself just as fortunate as those who know how to dance and dance well. (2) Be watchful over yourself, and see that your pleasure in dancing does not grow into a passion; and see if now and then you cannot refrain from dancing, when it would be quite allowable for you to do so. (3) Never frequent fairs, picnics, carnivals, or public dancing-halls, where Heaven only knows what sorts of people congregate. (4) Dance only at private parties where your father or mother is present, or where at least you are accompanied by some relative or trusted friend, who will go with you and see you home.
Faithfully observe the two last points, in order that the danger of frequenting balls may at least be minimized as much as possible. For the sake of your innocence and your eternal happiness, I earnestly entreat you to do this.
And when youth’s roses shall decay,
Thy golden locks be turned to gray,
Yet to thy heart a breath of spring
Its genial warmth shall often bring.