"Come often, then; for haply in my bower
Amusement, knowledge, wisdom, thou may'st gain:
If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain."--BEATTIE.
It is not so easy to do good as those who have never attempted it may
imagine; and they who without consideration follow the mere instinct of
pity, often by their imprudent generosity create evils more pernicious to
society than any which they partially remedy. "Warm Charity, the general
friend," may become the general enemy, unless she consults her head as
well as her heart. Whilst she pleases herself with the idea that she
daily feeds hundreds of the poor, she is perhaps preparing want and
famine for thousands. Whilst she delights herself with the anticipation
of gratitude for her bounties, she is often exciting only unreasonable
expectations, inducing habits of dependence and submission to slavery.
Those who wish to do good should attend to experience, from whom they may
receive lessons upon the largest scale that time and numbers can afford.
Madame de Fleury was aware that neither a benevolent disposition nor a
large fortune were sufficient to enable her to be of real service,
without the constant exercise of her judgment. She had, therefore,
listened with deference to the conversation of well-informed men upon
those subjects on which ladies have not always the means or the wish to
acquire extensive and accurate knowledge. Though a Parisian belle, she
had read with attention some of those books which are generally thought
too dry or too deep for her sex. Consequently, her benevolence was
neither wild in theory nor precipitate nor ostentatious in practice.
Touched with compassion for a little girl whose arm had been accidentally
broken, and shocked by the discovery of the confinement and the dangers
to which numbers of children in Paris were doomed, she did not make a
parade of her sensibility. She did not talk of her feelings in fine
sentences to a circle of opulent admirers, nor did she project for the
relief of the little sufferers some magnificent establishment which she
could not execute or superintend. She was contented with attempting only
what she had reasonable hopes of accomplishing.
The gift of education she believed to be more advantageous than the gift
of money to the poor, as it ensures the means both of future subsistence
and happiness. But the application even of this incontrovertible
principle requires caution and judgment. To crowd numbers of children
into a place called a school, to abandon them to the management of any
person called a schoolmaster or a schoolmistress, is not sufficient to
secure the blessings of a good education. Madame de Fleury was sensible
that the greatest care is necessary in the choice of the person to whom
young children are to be entrusted; she knew that only a certain number
can be properly directed by one superintendent, and that, by attempting
to do too much, she might do nothing, or worse than nothing. Her school
was formed, therefore, on a small scale, which she could enlarge to any
extent, if it should be found to succeed. From some of the families of
poor people, who, in earning their bread, are obliged to spend most of
the day from home, she selected twelve little girls, of whom Victoire was
the eldest, and she was between six and seven.
The person under whose care Madame de Fleury wished to place these
children was a nun of the _Soeurs de la Charite_, with whose simplicity
of character, benevolence, and mild, steady temper she was thoroughly
acquainted. Sister Frances was delighted with the plan. Any scheme that
promised to be of service to her follow-creatures was sure of meeting
with her approbation; but this suited her taste peculiarly, because she
was extremely fond of children. No young person had ever boarded six
months at her convent without becoming attached to good Sister Frances.
The period of which we are writing was some years before convents were
abolished; but the strictness of their rules had in many instances been
considerably relaxed. Without much difficulty, permission was obtained
from the abbess for our nun to devote her time during the day to the care
of these poor children, upon condition that she should regularly return
to her convent every night before evening prayers. The house which
Madame de Fleury chose for her little school was in an airy part of the
town; it did not face the street, but was separated from other buildings
at the back of a court, retired from noise and bustle. The two rooms
intended for the occupation of the children were neat and clean, but
perfectly simple, with whitewashed walls, furnished only with wooden
stools and benches, and plain deal tables. The kitchen was well lighted
(for light is essential to cleanliness), and it was provided with
utensils; and for these appropriate places were allotted, to give the
habit and the taste of order. The schoolroom opened into a garden larger
than is usually seen in towns. The nun, who had been accustomed to
purchase provisions for her convent, undertook to prepare daily for the
children breakfast and dinner; they were to sup and sleep at their
respective homes. Their parents were to take them to Sister Frances
every morning when they went out to work, and to call for them upon their
return home every evening. By this arrangement, the natural ties of
affection and intimacy between the children and their parents would not
be loosened; they would be separate only at the time when their absence
must be inevitable. Madame de Fleury thought that any education which
estranges children entirely from their parents must be fundamentally
erroneous; that such a separation must tend to destroy that sense of
filial affection and duty, and those principles of domestic
subordination, on which so many of the interests and much of the virtue
and happiness of society depend. The parents of these poor children were
eager to trust them to her care, and they strenuously endeavoured to
promote what they perceived to be entirely to their advantage. They
promised to take their daughters to school punctually every morning--a
promise which was likely to be kept, as a good breakfast was to be ready
at a certain hour, and not to wait for anybody. The parents looked
forward with pleasure, also, to the idea of calling for their little
girls at the end of their day's labour, and of taking them home to their
family supper. During the intermediate hours the children were
constantly to be employed, or in exercise. It was difficult to provide
suitable employments for their early age; but even the youngest of those
admitted could be taught to wind balls of cotton, thread, and silk for
haberdashers; or they could shell peas and beans, &c., for a neighbouring
_traiteur_; or they could weed in a garden. The next in age could learn
knitting and plain work, reading, writing, and arithmetic. As the girls
should grow up, they were to be made useful in the care of the house.
Sister Frances said she could teach them to wash and iron, and that she
would make them as skilful in cookery as she was herself. This last was
doubtless a rash promise; for in most of the mysteries of the culinary
art, especially in the medical branches of it, in making savoury messes
palatable to the sick, few could hope to equal the neat-handed Sister
Frances. She had a variety of other accomplishments; but her humility
and good sense forbade her upon the present occasion to mention these.
She said nothing of embroidery, or of painting, or of cutting out paper,
or of carving in ivory, though in all these she excelled: her cuttings-
out in paper were exquisite as the finest lace; her embroidered
housewives, and her painted boxes, and her fan-mounts, and her curiously-
wrought ivory toys, had obtained for her the highest reputation in the
convent amongst the best judges in the world. Those only who have
philosophically studied and thoroughly understand the nature of fame and
vanity can justly appreciate the self-denial or magnanimity of Sister
Frances, in forbearing to enumerate or boast of these things. She
alluded to them but once, and in the slightest and most humble manner.
"These little creatures are too young for us to think of teaching them
anything but plain work at present; but if hereafter any of them should
show a superior genius we can cultivate it properly. Heaven has been
pleased to endow me with the means--at least, our convent says so."
The actions of Sister Frances showed as much moderation as her words; for
though she was strongly tempted to adorn her new dwelling with those
specimens of her skill which had long been the glory of her apartment in
the convent, yet she resisted the impulse, and contented herself with
hanging over the chimney-piece of her schoolroom a Madonna of her own
painting.
The day arrived when she was to receive her pupils in their new
habitation. When the children entered the room for the first time, they
paid the Madonna the homage of their unfeigned admiration. Involuntarily
the little crowd stopped short at the sight of the picture. Some dormant
emotions of human vanity were now awakened--played for a moment about the
heart of Sister Frances--and may be forgiven. Her vanity was innocent
and transient, her benevolence permanent and useful. Repressing the vain-
glory of an artist, as she fixed her eyes upon the Madonna, her thoughts
rose to higher objects, and she seized this happy moment to impress upon
the minds of her young pupils their first religious ideas and feelings.
There was such unaffected piety in her manner, such goodness in her
countenance, such persuasion in her voice, and simplicity in her words,
that the impression she made was at once serious, pleasing, and not to be
effaced. Much depends upon the moment and the manner in which the first
notions of religion are communicated to children; if these ideas be
connected with terror, and produced when the mind is sullen or in a state
of dejection, the future religious feelings are sometimes of a gloomy,
dispiriting sort; but if the first impression be made when the heart is
expanded by hope or touched by affection, these emotions are happily and
permanently associated with religion. This should be particularly
attended to by those who undertake the instruction of the children of the
poor, who must lead a life of labour, and can seldom have leisure or
inclination, when arrived at years of discretion, to re-examine the
principles early infused into their minds. They cannot in their riper
age conquer by reason those superstitions terrors, or bigoted prejudices,
which render their victims miserable, or perhaps criminal. To attempt to
rectify any errors in the foundation after an edifice has been
constructed is dangerous: the foundation, therefore, should be laid with
care. The religious opinions of Sister Frances were strictly united with
just rules of morality, strongly enforcing, as the essential means of
obtaining present and future happiness, the practice of the social
virtues, so that no good or wise persons, however they might differ from
her in modes of faith, could doubt the beneficial influence of her
general principles, or disapprove of the manner in which they were
inculcated.
Detached from every other worldly interest, this benevolent nun devoted
all her earthly thoughts to the children of whom she had undertaken the
charge. She watched over them with unceasing vigilance, whilst
diffidence of her own abilities was happily supported by her high opinion
of Madame de Fleury's judgment. This lady constantly visited her pupils
every week; not in the hasty, negligent manner in which fine ladies
sometimes visit charitable institutions, imagining that the honour of
their presence is to work miracles, and that everything will go on
rightly when they have said, "_Let it be so_," or, "_I must have it so_."
Madame de Fleury's visits were not of this dictatorial or cursory nature.
Not minutes, but hours, she devoted to these children--she who could
charm by the grace of her manners, and delight by the elegance of her
conversation, the most polished circles and the best-informed societies
of Paris, preferred to the glory of being admired the pleasure of being
useful:--
"Her life, as lovely as her face,
Each duty mark'd with every grace;
Her native sense improved by reading,
Her native sweetness by good breeding."