_Sauveur des Pauvres à Neuhof_
_Père des Orphelins à Stanz_
_Fondateur de l’école_
_populaire à Burgdorf_
_Éducateur de l’humanité_
_à Yverdon_
_Tout pour les autres_, _pour lui_,—_rien_!
An older monument erected in 1846 by the Canton of Argovia bears this
same inscription, save that it adds, “Preacher to the people in ‘Leonard
and Gertrude.’ Man. Christian. Citizen. Blessed be his name!”
On the third side of the Yverdon Monument is Pestalozzi’s noble speech,
fine enough indeed, to be cut in stone:—
“_J’ai vécu moi-même_
_comme un mendiant_,
_pour apprendre à des_
_mendiants à vivre comme_
_des hommes_.”
We sat a long time on the great marble pedestal, gazing into the
benevolent face, and reviewing the simple, self-sacrificing life of the
great educator, and then started on a tour of inspection. After
wandering through most of the shops, buying photographs and mementoes,
Salemina discovered that she had left the expensive tumbler in one of
them. After a long discussion as to whether tumbler was masculine or
feminine, and as to whether “_Ai-je laissé un verre ici_?” or “_Est-ce
que j’ai laissé un verre ici_?” was the proper query, we retraced our
steps, Salemina asking in one shop, “_Excusez-moi_, _je vous prie_, _mais
ai-je laissé un verre ici_?”,—and I in the next, “_Je demands pardon_,
_Madame_, _est-ce que j’ai laissé un verre dans ce magasin-ci_?—_J’en ai
perdu un_, somewhere.” Finally we found it, and in response not to mine
but to Salemina’s question, so that she was superior and obnoxious for
several minutes.
Our next point of interest was the old castle, which is still a public
school. Finding the caretaker, we visited first the museum and library—a
small collection of curiosities, books, and mementoes, various portraits
of Pestalozzi and his wife, manuscripts and so forth. The simple-hearted
woman who did the honours was quite overcome by our knowledge of and
interest in her pedagogical hero, but she did not return the compliment.
I asked her if the townspeople knew about Friedrich Froebel, but she
looked blank.
“Froebel? Froebel?” she asked; “_qui est-ce_?”
“_Mais_, _Madame_,” I said eloquently, “_c’était un grand homme_! _Un
héros_! _Le plus grand élève de Pestalozzi_! _Aussi grand que
Pestalozzi soi-même_!”
(“PLUS grand! Why don’t you say _plus grand_?” murmured Salemina
loyally.)
“_Je ne sais_!” she returned, with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.
“_Je ne sais_! _Il y a des autres_, _je crois_; _mais moi_, _je connais
Pestalozzi_, _c’est assez_!”
All the younger children had gone home, but she took us through the empty
schoolrooms, which were anything but attractive. We found an unhappy
small boy locked in one of them. I slipped behind the concierge to chat
with him, for he was so exactly like all other small boys in disgrace
that he made me homesick.
“_Tu étais méchant_, _n’est ce-pas_?” I whispered consolingly; “_mais tu
seras sage demain_, _j’en suis sûre_!”
I thought this very pretty, but he wriggled from under my benevolent
hand, saying “_Va_!” (which I took to be, “Go ’long, you!”) “_je n’étais
méchant aujourd’hui et je ne serai pas sage demain_!”
I asked the concierge if the general methods of Pestalozzi were still
used in the schools of Yverdon, “_Mais certainement_!” she replied as we
went into a room where twenty to thirty girls of ten years were studying.
There were three pleasant windows looking out into the street; the
ordinary platform and ordinary teacher’s table, with the ordinary teacher
(in an extraordinary state of coma) behind it; and rather rude desks and
seats for the children, but not a single ornament, picture, map, or case
of objects and specimens around the room. The children were nice, clean,
pleasant, stolid little things with braided hair and pinafores. The sole
decoration of the apartment was a highly-coloured chart that we had
noticed on the walls of all the other schoolrooms. Feeling that this
must be a sacred relic, and that it probably illustrated some of the
Pestalozzian foundation principles, I walked up to it reverently,
“_Qu’est-ce-que c’est cela_, _Madame_?” I inquired, rather puzzled by its
appearance.
“_C’est la méthode de Pestalozzi_,” the teacher replied absently.
I wished that we kindergarten people could get Froebel’s educational idea
in such a snug, portable shape, and drew nearer to gaze at it. I can
give you a very complete description of the pictures from memory, as I
copied the titles _verbatim et literatim_. The whole chart was a
powerful moral object-lesson on the dangers of incendiarism and the evils
of reckless disobedience. It was printed appropriately in the most lurid
colours, and divided into nine tableaux.