A Stoic Little Princess

The Wisdom of Frances Hodgson Burnett through Sara Crewe

In 1865, a melancholy fog sat upon the United States. The over 600,000 dead haunted a blood-stained and fatigued American people. It was at this hiatus, amid the departing darkest days and the abrupt assassination of an American president that Frances Hodgson Burnett planted her feet on Ellis Island. Frances was born and raised in England until the age of sixteen. Yet tragically, after the sudden death of her father, young Frances and her family struggled to survive — so they sailed to America in hope of a better life.

An astute young woman, Frances loved to write short stories for magazines. The purpose, other than her passion to write, was to financially support her family. Unfortunately, tragedy struck again after arriving in Tennessee when her mother died. Yet through all the misfortune, her writing would soon give her notoriety and, more importantly, financial stability for a comfortable life.

Through her writing, she sowed and cultivated a field of wisdom for future generations. Like everyone, Frances’ life was filled with the peaks and valleys of health, sickness, happiness, and depression. She remarked that in her life the one perfect thing was the childhood of her two sons. This resonated in her stories.

Her classic works Little Lord Fauntleroy (1885), A Little Princess (1905), and The Secret Garden (1911) all are pre-eminent novels in the children’s genre. But to believe the acumen or sophistication of these novels is lacking based on their genre is a misconception. The education of young impressionable minds is the primary responsibility of adults. And simplicity is the essential ingredient to nourish young readers throughout a lifetime — a basic ingredient like wheat that is harvested to mix, knead and bake into bread.

Burnett’s novel A Little Princess teaches children the winding road to a virtuous life or, simply, to be a well-meaning person. Frances paints the novel with a simple yet complex blend of colors — illustrating with each stroke the unique journey of life. And the novel’s words are composed for the most impressionable minds of all — children. This simplistic style is not reserved just for children. The great philosophies of Western civilization promote the same simplicity. The Stoic Philosopher & Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius once wrote in his diary, Meditations, “Just that you do the right thing. The rest doesn’t matter. Cold or warm. Tired or well-rested. Despised or honored. Dying… or busy with other assignments.” The simple phrase to ‘do the right thing’ penetrates deeper than most complex philosophical theories or obscure religious tenets— even for adults. Frances follows this simplistic, yet profound, practice of the Stoics in her writing.

A Little Princess encapsulates the concept of wisdom, the ability to reason and act with the virtuous tools of self-discipline, justice, and courage to reach the end of life with a sense of worth and dignity. In a beautifully simple phrase through the mind of the protagonist Sara Crewe, Frances reveals a gift of wisdom for those who assume intelligence matters most in life;

“Perhaps to be able to learn things quickly isn’t everything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people… Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked.”

The words of Sara Crewe are akin to a little Sage — the ideal philosopher of the Stoics. Stoicism, the ancient Greek philosophy founded by Zeno in the early 3rd century BC, ignited a flame of resilience in the dark and troublesome city of Rome at the fall of the Roman Republic. Stoicism is a philosophy of perseverance and fortitude. A philosophy to accept reality and do good in difficult circumstances. It is a timeless philosophy because it focuses on the basic truth of living in the present, the truth of the dichotomy of control and the useful instruments of the quiet virtues.

As history teaches, misfortune provides fertile ground to toil with adversity and pluck the fruit of wisdom. The Roman Philosopher Seneca wrote in a letter to a young student, “A setback has often cleared the way for greater prosperity. Many things have fallen only to rise to more exalted heights.” In the novel, A Little Princess, Sara Crewe confides in a friend that her own recent misfortune illuminated the good in their character;

“Adversity tries people, and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are.”

Frances, in a sentence, teaches a lesson that one’s character may shine or rust whether it shows compassion or contempt regarding the troubles of others. A person may be an observer or abuser, but just as well could be a friend or, at least, a considerate person — avoiding the hubris that similar failures or misfortunes won’t befall them.

Sara Crewe subsequently unveils an honest judgment that her past hubris hindered her without being aware of it;

“You see, now that trials have come, they have shown that I am not a nice child. I was afraid they would. Perhaps that is what they were sent for… I suppose there might be good in things, even if we don’t see it.”

Sara learns that her privilege blinded her to honestly assess many faults in her character. Too much of a good thing leads to impairment, and Sara’s previous fortune and luck masked many of her shortcomings. This is why the Ancient Stoics believed one must moderate all things — even good things.

In another sense, Sara affirms her philosophy of human folly and misfortune in a short maxim:

“Things happen to people by accident.”

In part meaning that the sins and failures of all people are not fated by birth. All are perpetrated through previous misfortunes that enable sin or failure to occur. It is a type of universality presented in Sara’s philosophy when she declares:

“Why, we are just the same — I am only a little girl like you. It’s just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!”

An emotion of empathy that Sara develops to encompass a much larger expanse of life.

“‘I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,’ she mused. ‘Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out: ‘Oh, a horrid rat!’ I shouldn’t like people to scream and jump and say: ‘Oh, a horrid Sara!’ the moment they saw me, and set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner. It’s so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said: ‘Wouldn’t you rather be a sparrow?’”

Sara Crewe’s wisdom grows throughout the novel, and a stoic apathy is born of what is outside of her control. In an aphorism of spiritual self-determination that could have been about the dichotomy of control in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Enchiridion of Epictetus or the Letters of Seneca, she expresses what is in her control and discovers contentment in this truth.

“Whatever comes… cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.”

With stoic affirmation, Sara realizes that she decides who she is — no one else. Sara would favor well with the Roman Stoic philosopher Epictetus, a crippled slave, when he stated millennia earlier, “Attach yourself to what is spiritually superior, regardless of what other people think or do. Hold to your true aspirations no matter what is going on around you.”

And Sara universally reaffirms by pronouncing:

“I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. Even if they dress in rags, even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They’re still princesses.”

All in all, Sara determines that desired material possessions and social reputations are trivial and outside of one’s control. Therefore, one must have stoic apathy of attaining them. There is only one thing that matters in life and it has;

“…nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It has only to do with what you think of, and what you do.”

A scene in the novel depicts Sara in the midst of her struggles but reveals the best of her character. On a rainy winter day, Sara walks freezing, dirty, wet, and hungry— she is oblivious to the pity expressed by the well-meaning people walking past her on the streets. She busily ponders her way out of the physical misery. The misery of hunger and cold damp clothes. She dreams of finding some loose change on the ground to, perhaps, buy some food. Miraculously, she stumbles upon a tiny coin by a gutter — pressed firmly into the wet mud. Her mouth waters as she smells the fresh bread from the nearby bakery and all of its menacing aromas teasing her more than ever.

As she walks toward the heavenly bakery, she is suddenly paralyzed. A tiny figure, bundled in rags attempting to cover up from the gusting winds, catches her eye — crouching on the side on the bakery. She clucked the coin in her numb cold hands, just for a moment, and gazed at the young child. Then she asked, “Are you hungry?”. The young homeless girl looked up at Sara and mumbled that she hadn’t eaten all day. This gave Sara an even deeper hunger than before her miraculous luck occurred. She suddenly imagined the epitome of the ideal person, or Sage, in her mind — the princess. What would a princess do? She tosses the thought around in her mind;

“If I’m a princess… if I’m a princess — when they were poor and driven from their thrones — they always shared — with the populace — if they met one poorer and hungrier than themselves. They always shared.”

Sara holds this idea of a princess as the ultimate virtuous being. It doesn’t matter if it is an exaggeration or pure imagination. She well may understand that, but it is her tool of reasoning — of bettering herself. Sara tells the child to wait and opens the door of the bakery.

“‘If you please,’ said Sara, ‘have you lost fourpence — a silver fourpence?’ And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. The woman looked at it and then at her — at her intense little face and draggled, once fine clothes. ‘Bless us! no,’ she answered. ‘Did you find it?’ ‘Yes,’ said Sara. ‘In the gutter.’ ‘Keep it, then,’ said the woman. ‘It may have been there for a week, and goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.’ ‘I know that,’ said Sara, ‘but I thought I would ask you.’ ‘Not many would,’ said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and good-natured all at once. ‘Do you want to buy something?’ she added, as she saw Sara glance at the buns. ‘Four buns, if you please,’ said Sara. ‘Those at a penny each.’ The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed that she put in six. ‘I said four, if you please,’ she explained. ‘I have only fourpence.’ ‘I’ll throw in two for makeweight,’ said the woman, with her good-natured look. ‘I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren’t you hungry?’ A mist rose before Sara’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for your kindness; and’ — she was going to add — ‘there is a child outside who is hungrier than I am.’ But just at that moment, two or three customers came in at once, and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank the woman again and go out. The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step… Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little. ‘See,’ she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, ‘this is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry’… Sara took out three more buns and put them down. ‘She is hungrier than I am… She’s starving.’ But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. ‘I’m not starving,’ she said — and she put down the fifth… ‘Good-by,’ said Sara… At that moment the baker-woman looked out of her shop window. ‘Well, I never!’ she exclaimed. ‘If that youngun’ hasn’t given her buns to a beggar child! It wasn’t because she didn’t want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I’d give something to know what she did it for’… She went to the door and spoke to the beggar child. ‘Who gave you those buns?’ she asked her. The child nodded her head toward Sara’s vanishing figure. ‘What did she say?’ inquired the woman. ‘Axed me if I was ‘ungry,’ replied the hoarse voice. ‘What did you say?’ ‘Said I was jist,’ ‘And then she came in and got the buns, and gave them to you, did she?’ The child nodded. ‘How many?’ ‘Five.’ The woman thought it over. ‘Left just one for herself,’ she said in a low voice. ‘And she could have eaten the whole six — I saw it in her eyes.’ She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day… She turned to the child. ‘Are you hungry yet?’ she said. ‘I’m allus hungry,’ was the answer, ‘but tain’t as bad as it was.’ ‘Come in here,’ said the woman, and she held open the shop door.”

The wisdom of Frances is very much a blend of Western thought includes a plethora of associations — and many sharing much in common. Sara is the western blend of an Ancient Stoic and Franciscan Christian. Sara stumbled upon a child — a child that was colder and hungrier than herself. An innocently vulnerable person. Yet, like presented in the baker's character, most people were not attuned to see the child as anything more than a ‘beggar child’. It was Sara’s charity and empathy that enlightened the baker to see a child sitting beside her shop window and not ignore her presence consciously or unconsciously.

The baker could describe Sara’s actions similar to Jesus’ gospel in Mark, 12:41–44, “Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents. Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of he poverty, put in everything — all she had to live on.’” Sara’s idea of a princess enabled her to persevere through her own struggles. And in doing so, help the homeless child and teach the baker in a biblical sense.

To steer towards a virtuous life, Sara exercises her imagination to improve her character like the day at the bakery:

“I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one.”

Frances, knowingly or unknowingly, understood a stoic instruction in the importance of role models. And through the imagination of Sara, describes what Seneca wrote that we must “choose a master whose life, conversation, and soul-expressing face have satisfied you; picture him always to yourself as your protector or your pattern. For we must indeed have someone according to whom we may regulate our characters; you can never straighten that which is crooked unless you use a ruler.” For Sara, this ruler was her idea of a princess.

Frances, similarly, examines the spiritual charity that Sara gives to another friend, Becky, a servant who is mistreated and exploited throughout the novel. The gift given is laughter. Becky forgets the hunger, tiredness, and misery in her daily life during the brief moments of laughter with Sara.

“Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, little hard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was as ‘fillin’ as the meat pies.”

Frances illustrates Sara’s joy of storytelling, the nature of her character, and the laughter it produces as an unconscious gift to her friends.

“If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that — warm things, kind things, sweet things — help and comfort and laughter — and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.”

The simple pleasures of life, like laughter, are like flowers colorfully in bloom scattered on a winding path. Once walked through in full bloom, there isn’t much desire for the barren path without the beautiful things and all that define friendship and love.

All these habits of charity, spiritual or material, foment with time and become more natural a part of one’s life. Frances understood this when she wrote:

“It’s so easy that when you begin you can’t stop. You just go on and on doing it always.”

It follows the words of Epictetus that “every habit and capability is confirmed and grows in its corresponding actions, walking by walking, and running by running . . . therefore, if you want to do something, make a habit of it.”

Yet, life is not filled with solely good patterns of habits that teach children a virtuous life path. Often children grow up in an atmosphere of violence, anger, or unproductive vices. Society plays a major role in the development of its children. In the story, Frances gives advice about the importance of one’s reaction to other peoples’ vices and bad habits — in this instance reacting to insults.

“When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good from them as not to say a word — just to look at them and think. When you will not fly into a passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wished they hadn’t said afterward. There’s nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in — that’s stronger. It’s a good thing not to answer your enemies.”

Frances teaches that there is greater strength in not returning insults or becoming enraged. To be better, and to control the irrational thoughts, words and actions will demonstrate true strength. Similar to what Epictetus taught his students, “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.”

Virtues enable people to live better lives — the kind words, patience with others, empathetic thoughts and charitable actions constitute a better world for both the givers and the receivers. Each virtue, temperance, courage, justice, and wisdom is a practice towards the pursuit of happiness. It manifests into a spiritual aura that is contagious from person to person. Frances describes this as a silent language between people.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.”

It holds true that even though the charitable action or kind thought may not be returned, immediately, that there is a spiritual language transmitted into the world that is truly democratic and free.

“Perhaps you can feel if you can’t hear… Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and don’t know why, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well and happy again.”

Frances communicates a similar sentiment as Proverbs 3:3 that says, “Do not let kindness and truth leave you; Bind them around your neck, Write them on the tablet of your heart.”

At birth, we are all equal and stumble half blindly throughout our lives. In the end, Frances believes:

“It is a story… Everything’s a story. You are a story — I’m a story. Miss Minchin is a story.”

Seneca would concur, he once wrote, “Life is like a play: it’s not the length, but the excellence of the acting that matters." A stage scattered with actors and scenes of blissful ignorance, good intentions, regrets, lost hopes, and euphoric dreams. The virtues are the tools to navigate the chaotic seas to a land of excellence.