my poor mother died. I shall be her avenger: I feel it."
"You do not know what you are saying. Your mother avenged herself. She
deserted him as she deserted her husband, and you too, my poor child,
when you were just learning to say 'Mamma.' Poor Leon! he sinned, but he
suffered too. Be merciful to him, Leonie, as you pray God to be merciful
to you."
"Is my mother alive?" asked Leonie, shivering.
"No: she died three years ago. Your father never would see her again,
but when he heard that she was sick and in want (she had entirely lost
her wonderful voice), he gave her an annuity because she was your
mother. Father Aubrey used to see her from time to time, and he said
she was truly penitent before she died."
"Oh, what shall I do? I shall never be happy again--never, never! What
made you tell me? How could you?" said poor Leonie, wringing her little
hands and burying her face in the cushions.
"My child, you would hear it sooner or later in that great, wicked city,
and it is better that you should be prepared. You are beautiful like
your mother, you will sing like her, and I am so afraid--" here the poor
little woman broke down and began to cry like Leonie, but less
violently--"I am so afraid that you will go on the stage and be tempted
and fall like her. Promise me that you will never sing in the opera,
Leonie, no matter who urges it, even if it is your father himself."
"I will die first," answered Leonie. "I wish I had never been born."
"Don't tell your father, Leonie," sobbed Madame Perrin; and here the
conversation ended.
"What's the matter with Leonie?" asked Colonel Regnault the night after
his arrival. "She looks so pale and languid, and hardly gives me a
welcome. What ails the child?"
"She has not been quite well for a few days, and I dare say she feels
sad at leaving Helene and me," replied his sister.
"She'll brighten up when she gets to Paris," said the colonel.
The sorrow of early youth, however violent, is seldom proof against new
impressions, and this was especially true of one so susceptible and
mobile as Leonie Regnault. She entered enthusiastically upon her musical
studies, taking lessons of Madame Viardot and also at the Conservatoire.
Madame Regnault was a sweet and quiet woman, devotedly attached to her
husband, and not a little afraid of him. Colonel Regnault, with all his
urbanity, had a despotic will, extending to the most minute and
seemingly indifferent things: he was just the kind of man to graduate a
gentle, loving woman into a saint. The only time I ever dined with
Madame Regnault I was forced to eat under the cold steel of his clear
blue eye a plate of those small red shrimps which Parisians think so
delicious (I could have swallowed spiders with as little effort), and
afterward quaff a cup of black coffee with its cap of blue flame, which
reminded me of "Deacon Giles's Distillery," in spite of protest and
direful headache _in terrorem_; and the colonel thought he was polite to
me. He chose all madame's gowns: the poor little woman did not venture
to buy even a ribbon for herself; and from having been one of the most
elegant women in Paris, she grew at length almost dowdyish; not but that
her garments were as fresh and as costly as ever, but the brilliant
colors and conspicuous styles which had suited the opera-singer, and
which heightened the beauty of Leonie, extinguished the delicate color
and soft blue eyes of Madame Regnault, and were so little in harmony
with her person and character as to have almost the effect of a discord
in music.
A year passed, and her heart was made glad by a dear little son, who was
named Leon for his father. The little fellow was six weeks old, and his
mother had scarcely left the nursery, which was a bit of heaven to her,
when Colonel Regnault startled her from her dream of bliss: "I have
found just the nurse for the baby, the wife of a small farmer who lives
close to Rosny Station. She will wean her child and take him. She is
such a fresh, healthy-looking woman, and everything is so clean and tidy
in her cottage, that you will be delighted with her, I am sure."
"Oh, Leon, may I not nurse him myself? I cannot give him up to anybody.
Who will take so good care of my little precious darling as his own
mother?"
"It is not to be thought of, Clemence: it would wear you out. See, you
are crying now: it shows how weak and nervous you are. Besides, Leonie
needs you. She is losing already, for nobody plays her accompaniments so
well as you, and I do not like to have her go to the Conservatoire with
a bonne when it can be helped: a girl so striking is likely to be
watched and followed. I never feel safe about her unless you are with
her. Don't be silly: the baby will be better off in the country."
Madame Regnault was very kind to Leonie: it was impossible for her to be
otherwise to any one. She was devoted to her for her father's sake: she
felt a thrill of delight in her beauty, in her wonderful talents; but
she did not love her. She might have loved her perhaps--though there was
not much in common between the ardent, high-spirited girl and the
gentle, patient woman, except, indeed, the taste for music--but it is
not in nature, and hardly in grace, for a woman thirsting for her
husband's love to like being always postponed to some one else. Colonel
Regnault seemed to have no perception of anything but his beautiful
daughter: his ambition was centred in her even more than his affection.
Leonie's talent developed rapidly, and his pride was fed by the praises
of her masters and the more flattering compliments of friends and
connoisseurs who were present at the musical soirees given from time to
time at his own house.
But Leonie did not contribute to the peace of the household. Her aunt
had not found it out, Madame Regnault never would have discovered it,
but her father's despotic will roused one equally defiant in her, and
when they came in contact it was the collision of flint and steel.
Leonie often carried her point against her father, and he admired her
only the more for it. The contests were quick and sharp--not very
frequent, but very unpleasant to Madame Regnault. She grew thin and pale
and spiritless. She was not yet thirty, and she had aged by half a score
of years in the year and a half of her marriage.
Her mother, Madame Dumesnil, was indignant at what she considered the
colonel's neglect of his wife, and mentally threatened to give him "a
piece of her mind." She had not long to wait for an occasion.
"I am sorry to see Clemence looking so ill," said she to him as he
entered his wife's dressing-room one day a little before breakfast--that
is to say, about noon.
"I had not noticed that she was ailing," he rejoined with a quick glance
at his wife.
"It is well that somebody has eyes," continued Madame Dumesnil. "I did
not expect that my daughter was to become a governess when she married
you. Her previous life had not prepared her for such arduous duties."
"My wife does not complain," said the colonel haughtily.
"Clemence complain! She would not complain if she suffered martyrdom."
Madame Regnault looked imploringly at her mother, but she went on more
sternly than before: "If Clemence had a spark of spirit she would never
have had Leonie in the house. It is a shame for her to be made a slave
to the opera-singer's girl, and I am not the only one who thinks so."
"Pardon me, madame," responded her son-in-law, "the conversation is too
exciting for me. I have the honor to wish you a good-morning;" and he
bowed himself out with the most exasperating courtesy.
"Oh, mother, what have you done?" cried Madame Regnault, trembling and
tearful. "How could you make him so angry?"
"How _could_ I, indeed! I wish I were his wife a little while: he
wouldn't find it so easy to tyrannize over me. I don't know where you
got your disposition from: you didn't take it from me, that's certain."
"Jacques," said Colonel Regnault to the porter as he left the house,
"when Madame Dumesnil calls to see your mistress hereafter, let me know
it, and remember that I am never at home."
Leonie, though she felt a certain hardness in the manner of Madame
Dumesnil when she happened to meet her, was wholly unaware of what was
passing in the heart of Madame Regnault, who had a genuine sympathetic
interest in the development of her remarkable powers, playing her
accompaniments unweariedly for hours daily and giving her the benefit of
her own delicate and highly-cultivated taste. They were happy years for
Leonie. Her young soul, full of the inspiration and power of genius,
felt its wings growing. There is an atmosphere of art in Paris which is
powerfully stimulating to any one of aesthetic tendencies; and how
exhilarating was this subtle atmosphere to Leonie! The Conservatoire,
with its seventy professors and its thousand students, its competitions,
concerts and public exercises, stimulated her zeal and inspired ever
higher ideals that made close, hard study the play of her fresh and
delighted faculties. Once a week her father took her to the opera. It
happened that the first opera she heard was _Faust_, and she sat as if
in a dream, white and scared, seeming to see in the scenes the spectre
of her mother. But this impression wore away, and ere many weeks had
passed her heart dilated, her eyes kindled with the triumphs of the
singer, and she felt as Correggio when he looked on Raphael's _St.
Cecilia_ and exclaimed, "I, too, am a painter!"
Thus the days went on, not too slowly, till Leonie had entered her
nineteenth year and approached the close of her studies. The finest
concerts of Paris and the most exclusive are those of the Conservatoire,
six in number, which occur once a fortnight from the middle of January
to the middle of April. Leonie had often sung in the small concert-hall
at examinations and private exercises, but now she was to sing in the
Salle de Spectacle for the celebrated Societe des Concerts. This
wonderful company is composed mostly of the professors and teachers at
the Conservatoire, and it is a rare honor for a pupil to sing or play at
these concerts; but Leonie was a rare pupil, and whatever may be said of
the jealousy of artists, I hold that true genius always exults in the
recognition of genius. Leonie sang in each of the six concerts of her
last year at the Conservatoire, and her singing gave exquisite delight
to the appreciative listeners: the applause was heart-felt,
enthusiastic, inspiring. But on the last night her father's rapture and
pride reached their height. The beautiful concert-hall, so refined and
classic with its Pompeii-like decorations, was filled with the most
brilliant audience of a most brilliant city. The symphony had ended, and
Leonie was to sing some selections from the opera of _Fidelio_. The
applause which greeted her as she advanced on the stage was perhaps a
tribute to her superb beauty and perfect grace. She was paler than
usual, her large black eyes were full of that intense light which only
emotion gives, but she showed no embarrassment, and felt none. She saw
not the faces, heard not the plaudits. She was alone with her art. Her
soul went forth into the song, and one listened in rapture, touched with
pain that aught so sweet should be so evanescent. When the wonderful
voice seemed to die like a vanishing soul there was silence for a
moment--silence most eloquent of eulogies--and then came a burst of
applause, the most enthusiastic that ever relieved a listener's heart or
charmed a singer's ear.
The concert ended. Her father, proud and exultant, clasped her in his
arms. Did he hear the whispers that Leonie's quick ear caught? "Colonel
Regnault's daughter, the opera-singer's child. You remember that old
story?"--"Ah, indeed! Wonderfully like her mother: more distinguished
manner. Something of her father too. Will Regnault let her go on the
stage, do you think?"--"I cannot tell. Il est fou d'elle. He brings her
up in his own family."--"Vraiment? Good wife, Madame Regnault." Leonie
shrank involuntarily from her father's embrace.
The competitive examinations came, and naturally Leonie received the
highest prize in singing.
"I do not envy you, mademoiselle," said one of the unsuccessful
candidates with a look and tone that accentuated the sneer: "there are
other things that people inherit besides their musical talents."
"There will be plenty of spitefulness for your children to inherit,
whether there is any talent or not," retorted Leonie, her eyes flashing
with resentful pride. It was the first time that any one had
deliberately alluded to the taint upon her birth, and it stung.
"I have something to tell you," said her father to Leonie a few days
after. "The director of the opera has been talking to me about you. He
is only waiting for my consent to bring you out at the Imperial Opera."
Leonie's face lighted up with a quick gleam of surprise and pleasure,
which was followed by a sudden terror.
"You may think it strange that I felt any reluctance: you are so young
that you do not know enough of society to appreciate the objections. Not
that there are any insuperable objections. In an art-loving community
like ours the career of a great artist is prouder than a queen's."
The color had faded from Leonie's face, but her father did not notice
it.
"The empress condescended to speak to me about it to-day. Her Majesty
has the welfare of the opera very much at heart, and, as she says, one
is responsible for a talent like yours. It is the rarest of gifts. Why
not consecrate it to the elevation of art and the delight of the world?
A vocation for art is as sacred as one for religion, and it would be
almost a crime in me to hold you back from so manifest a destiny as
yours. Well, what have you to say, child?" and he looked full into his
daughter's pale, agitated face. "It is too much for you, my darling: you
are quite overcome. Think it over and tell me to-morrow night." And he
kissed her trembling lips with unusual emotion.
Leonie went to her room, but not to sleep. How short was that sleepless
night, with its whirl of conflicting resolutions, its torrent of
emotion, its ceaseless panorama of dissolving views! Opera after opera
unrolled in magical splendor before her eyes, resounded in bursts of
harmony in her ears and flowed in waves of delicious sweetness into her
heart. And in all she was queen, and hearts rose and fell at her bidding
as the ocean-waves beneath the strong and sweet compelling of the moon.
It was intoxication, but underlying it was the deep satisfaction of a
soul that has found the true outlet of its highest powers. "All the
current of her being" surged and eddied into this one career that opened
so invitingly before her. But she could not say "I will," though she
wished to do so. The glories faded and another vision came. Her mother
seemed to lie before her, dying, forsaken, remorseful, sinful. Was it
her mother? was it herself? "Art thou stronger than I?" asked the
voiceless lips.--"Yea, I am stronger," replied the soul of Leonie. And
then a sudden revelation of incipient vanities and weaknesses and pride
flashed across her consciousness as in the great light of God. Leonie
shrank away self-abased. "Did my worship of art, which I thought so
holy, hide all this?" she questioned.
The morning light came faintly through the curtained windows. Leonie
rose, dressed herself quickly, and calling a bonne went to the Madeleine
to early mass. After mass she entered the confessional of the
white-haired father who had been her spiritual guide for the three years
and a half of her life in Paris. On her return she locked herself into
her room and passed the day alone.
"Well, my girl," inquired her father in the evening, "what am I to tell
the director? Have you chosen the opera for your debut already?"
"I shall never sing in the opera, father."
"Why, what is this, Leonie? If I have got over my scruples, I do not see
that you need have any. I thought it would be just what you were longing
for."
"I do long for it," said Leonie firmly, "and therefore I think it is not
best."
"Don't speak in riddles," rejoined her father angrily. "Do you
mean to tell me that you are going to throw away your glorious
possibilities--certainties, I might say--for a whim?"
"Not for a whim, but because it is right."
"It is incomprehensible!" cried the colonel, walking the floor
excitedly. "Here have you been for years in one rhapsody of music,
nothing else in life--your mother and I and everything given up to help
you on--and now, when such a prospect opens before you, a career that a
princess might envy, when even the empress condescends to solicit
it--'No, I am not going to sing. I'll throw it all away--my talent, my
father's wishes.' Oh, it is insufferable! It is just like the perverse
willfulness of women;" and he turned upon her in a white rage.
Leonie did not quail. "Father," said she, speaking very low, but with
crystal clearness, "do you wish me to be like my mother?"
Colonel Regnault staggered back. "My poor child," he whispered faintly,
"who told you that story? Who could have the heart?"
The next day Leonie, with her father's permission, went to Macon to
spend some weeks with her aunt. Soon after her departure Madame Regnault
asked, "Now that Leonie is gone, cannot we have the children home?"
"We will bring Leon home," replied her husband. "He is a fine little
fellow, and will make the house cheerful, but the baby will be better
off in the country a year longer. We will have him in for a few days if
you like, and the nurse can come with him."
"I will go out this very afternoon," said the mother. "Jeanne will go
with me."
"No, my dear, it is too hard a jaunt for you: I will go to-morrow."
"Let me go, Leon: I feel so uneasy about the children. I cannot tell
why, but it seems as if something was going to happen to them."
"What could happen to them? and what difference will a day make? I am
glad I am not a woman, to be so anxious about nothing," said the
colonel, smiling.
About eleven o'clock on the morrow the colonel reached Rosny, and was
startled as he approached the house by an appearance of unusual stir,
persons going in and out in a hurried and excited way. He entered. The
nurse rushed toward him in vehement anguish: "Oh, Colonel Regnault, you
are here! John has told you. Where is he? Did he not return with you?"
"I have not seen your husband, good woman. What is the matter? Are the
children ill? I came out for them."
"Oh, I cannot tell him! I cannot tell him!" sobbed the unhappy woman.
"The dear beautiful babies! It breaks my heart!"
"May God help you to bear it, sir: it is a heavy grief," said an aged
woman. "The little boys are dead."
"Dead!" cried the heartstricken father--"my children dead! One of them,
you mean--not both, not both!"
It was true. The baby, a dear little fellow six or seven months old,
had had for several days a cold which the nurse did not think serious:
during the night he had been attacked by croup, and about eight o'clock
in the morning, almost before the doctor had arrived, the child was
dead. Absorbed in the grief and terror of this sudden death, the nurse
forgot to mind Leon, and the restless, active child slipped out of the
house unheeded, and, playing on the railway-track, had been killed by a
passing train not an hour before his father came for him.
Colonel Regnault's grief was violent and remorseful. "I have killed my
children," he would say to his pitying friends. "If I had but listened
to my wife and had them brought up at home! What is the croup with a
watchful, intelligent mother, and a skillful physician at the very door?
and how could any accident have happened to Leon here? So many idle
servants in my house, and my own child to die for lack of care!"
Madame Regnault never knew how Leon died. The little body was not
mangled: it had been caught and thrown aside by something attached to
the engine--I do not know exactly how--and the mother was left to
believe that he had died of sickness like the baby. She bore her sorrow
with the still meekness consonant with her character, and with wifely
tenderness exerted herself to soothe her husband's violent grief.
A little later in the summer the war broke out. Colonel Regnault went
gladly, even rashly, into danger, and found neither death nor wounds,
but in his anguish for the desolation of his country he made a truce
with his own remorse.
The last time I was in Paris--which was in 1874--General and Madame
Regnault called on me at my old friend's, Madame Le Fort's. A charming
little girl about three years old was with them, a blue-eyed,
fair-haired child--very beautiful, and as much like her father as a
little girl can be like a man approaching fifty. I was not surprised to
see that she was, as her mother said, "une petite fille gatee." I
inquired for Leonie.
"Can you believe that Leonie has not been in Paris since you saw her
here?" replied her father. "She is a thorough little provincial. She has
been married more than a year now."
"Ah, I congratulate you! I hope her marriage was pleasing to you," I
added, as he did not respond immediately.
"Assez. Her husband is a very worthy young man for a
provincial--Theophile Dupres, the brother of a little school-friend of
hers. I went down to the wedding, not to grieve Leonie, but I shall
never be reconciled to it--never! To think what that girl threw away!
Such talent! and to have it lost, utterly lost! It is inexplicable.
Every motive that could influence a girl on the one hand, and--But I
give it up. Let us not talk of it," he concluded with a little wave of
his hand, as if dismissing Leonie and all that pertained to her.
But I could not turn my thoughts from her so quickly. Even now, when I
am, so to speak, in another world, she causes me not a little
perplexity. Was she right? was she wrong? Can one ever be happy in
suppressing a great talent? How it strives and agonizes for some
manifestation of itself! and when it slowly dies, stifled in its living
grave, must not one feel a bitter regret for having slain the nobler
part of one's self?
But is it not heresy to doubt that a woman can sacrifice genius for
love, and be content--yea, glad--with an infinite joy? And why not have
love and genius too? Alas! most lives are opaque planets, like the earth
on which they are evolved, and can have only one bright side at a time.
Madame Regnault was little changed: she preserved the old sweet
gentleness and quiet refinement of manner, but she seemed more at ease
with her husband, and did not watch so timidly his least gesture.
Colonel--or rather General--Regnault had changed more. He had grown
quite gray: he was still a handsome, high-bred gentleman, with the same
exquisite urbanity of manner, but the disappointment of his ambition for
Leonie, the anguish which had smitten him for his children's death, and
the great calamity which had almost crushed France, the idol of every
Frenchman, had softened and humanized him. He was less like an Apollo
exulting in his own divinity; and when I marked his tender
thoughtfulness for his wife, his unwonted appreciation of her lovely
character, and especially his indulgence of the caprices of little
Aimee, who was almost always his companion, I was ready to believe in
his entire conversion.
But can the Ethiopian change his skin? One morning Madame Le Fort's
little dressmaker came rushing in in a very excited way: "Mon Dieu! I am
so glad to get here! Quel homme terrible!"
"What is the matter?" asked madame.
"I have just been trying on Madame Regnault's new costume, the gray
faille and velvet, you know, that she selected when she came with you.
It is a charming costume, and she looked sweetly in it. The general came
in before I got through. 'Do you call that a costume?' he asked in a
passion. 'It makes her look like a fright. Take it away: never let me
see it again.' Poor little madame hurried me to get it off. 'Take it
away! out of the house with it!' cried he as if he were commanding a
regiment of dragoons.--'I can't take it away,' said I. 'It was made to
order--madame selected it herself--and you cannot expect me to take it
back.' I was frightened to death, but I couldn't lose the money, you
know. The window was open: he seized the unlucky costume, and giving it
a little whirl, sent it flying out of the window over the balustrade.
Madame was going to send her maid for it, but no; the wind caught it,
and away it went out of the court, and where it lighted or who picked it
up is more than I know, or madame either. It may be a fine thing to be a
general's wife, but I'd rather be a dressmaker."
And the little dressmaker laughed till she cried to think of madame's
handsome costume sailing out of the window over the Avenue Haussmann,
and lighting like a balloon on the head of some lucky or luckless
passer-by.
MARY E. BLAIR.
PRIMARY AND SECONDARY EDUCATION IN FRANCE.
For a long period, France, with her ancient university and her venerable
scholastic institutions--which after the Renaissance drew to themselves
the flower of the youth of Europe--may be said to have led the way as
regards general education. It has only been in modern times that the
progress made by the Anglo-Saxon and German nations has placed, at all
events, primary instruction in France somewhat in the rear of other
countries. As for her system of secondary and superior education, it has
even within the last few years elicited many expressions of approval
from foreigners competent to form a judgment on the subject. In the
following pages we propose giving a succinct account of the actual
system and position of primary and secondary education in France,
speaking of what has been done since the close of the war in 1871, and
of what yet remains to be done.
PRIMARY EDUCATION.
The great crying evil in France is the lack of education among the
poorer classes, who nevertheless, by the democratic constitution of
their country, are called upon, together with the rich and the middle
classes, to take their share in the government. This evil is recognized
in France, and each fresh Assembly meets at Versailles with the
determination of having primary schools built and of having every child
taught at least to read and write. But these good intentions are
terribly hampered by the all-absorbing military appropriations, which,
swallowing up some 500,000,000 francs annually, do not allow the
ministers and deputies, well disposed as they are, to appropriate to the
education of all France a sum much exceeding that expended by the single
State of Pennsylvania in the same cause. Still, the acknowledgment of
the existence of the evil is in itself a great step toward remedying it,
and the France of to-day is making progress in this respect. Before the
last war, instead of saying with Terence,
Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto,
the French citizen might rather have cried, "I am a _Frenchman_, and
that which is not French is foreign to me." A salutary reaction has set
in since the war, and nothing is more common than to hear Frenchmen
observe that their country was conquered not by Moltke or Krupp, but
rather by the German _Schullehrer_.
We shall not enter into the merits of the long-standing dispute in
France as to the superiority of secular or of clerical education. The
parable of the mote and the beam might probably be applicable to both
parties, but no impartial observer can fail to recognize that the
triumph of Romanism in France, consequent upon the Revocation of the
Edict of Nantes, has formed one of the chief obstacles to the
development of public education in that country. Huss, Luther,
Calvin--in a word, all the leaders of the Reformation--inculcated the
sacred duty devolving upon every man of reading the Bible for himself in
his own tongue. Hence we now find education far more advanced in
Protestant than in Catholic countries--a fact which has not a little
contributed to the decadence of the Latin races. Richelieu, who held
that a hungry people was the most submissive, was also of opinion that
an ignorant people obeyed the most readily. Louis XIV. and Louis XV.,
without saying as much, acted up to the cardinal's maxim, doing
absolutely nothing for popular education. The instruction of the upper
classes was at that time in the hands of religious societies or
_congregations_. The Revolution, displaying its usual iconoclastic zeal,
upset this system, without reflecting for a moment that it might be as
well to substitute some other system for it, and that it takes time to
organize a body of teachers fit to undertake such a work. The
Convention decreed that those parents should be punished who did not
send their children to school, overlooking the fact that there were no
schools to send them to. It proclaimed gratuitous instruction, but made
no provision for the salaries of the teachers. These hastily instituted
reforms were eminently characteristic of the feverish excitement amidst
which matters affecting the most serious interests of the nation were
disposed of. The First Empire and the Restoration saw but little done on
behalf of primary education. Under Louis Philippe the question of
gratuitous instruction and compulsory attendance got no farther,
notwithstanding the fact of such men being in power as Victor Cousin,
Villemain and Guizot.
The efforts of Jules Simon and of Barthelemy Saint-Hilaire to have the
question settled by the Republican government in 1848 proved futile.
Napoleon III., having found 44,000 schools in France at the commencement
of his reign, left it with 54,000 at its close--a most insignificant
rate of increase, as regards primary instruction, compared with the
advances made in the same direction by foreign nations, and with the
material progress of France itself during those eighteen eventful years.
The Third Republic has, as was observed above, given to the question of
education a prominent place among the reforms to be instituted. Scarcely
had the most pressing financial and military questions been dealt with
ere a searching examination into the educational system of the country
was undertaken and its defects laid bare. In a report on primary and
secondary education in different countries, read by M. Levasseur before
the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences on the 29th of May, 1875, he
establishes the fact that out of forty-five nations whose educational
statistics he had examined, France only occupies the twentieth
place--naturally a somewhat humiliating admission for a nation which has
claimed to be the centre and radiating-point of modern civilization.
The map on which the departments figure tinged with black
proportionately with the illiteracy of their inhabitants is in mourning
to a most lamentable extent. It might be taken for the geological map of
Pennsylvania, with the coal-regions indicated by black patches; and most
assuredly the Lehigh Valley would appear no darker on such a map than
does on the chart of ignorance the unfortunate department of the Ariege,
with 66 per cent. of its inhabitants absolutely illiterate. Happily,
since this map was issued matters have somewhat mended; nevertheless,
the lack of appreciation of the benefits of education is still very
noticeable in a large number of the departments.
The village schools are kept up by the communes, aided by contributions
from the department and from the government. The total annual amount of
the contributions from these three sources does not exceed 65,000,000
francs for the whole of France. Deduct from this paltry sum of
$13,000,000 a certain quota for the construction and keeping in repair
of school-houses, and it will at once be seen that what remains to be
divided among the 54,000 teachers is scarcely sufficient to afford them
even the barest subsistence. The recent reduction of school-teachers'
salaries throughout the United States has given rise to much unfavorable
comment, but happy indeed would teachers in France consider themselves
were they to receive even anything approaching the reduced pay of their
Transatlantic brethren. Of the school-teachers above spoken of, 26,000
receive 750 francs ($150) per annum, 14,000 receive 550 francs, and
10,000 but 450 francs, or less than the common farm-laborer, who has at
least food and lodging provided for him by his master. True it is that
many of the teachers receive a slight additional salary for acting as
secretary at the _mairie_; but a much larger number of them have to eke
out a scanty subsistence by manual labor during certain hours of the
day, especially in harvest-time.
As for the school-houses, they are usually in such a dilapidated
condition that the farmers would scarcely care to use them as
cattle-sheds. We have visited schools--and they exist by the score, not
to say by the hundred--without either benches or desks, blackboard or
maps, and through the roofs of which the rain poured on teachers and
pupils. On entering one of these schools and seeing the little fellows
in their torn blouses, their feet simply encased in great wooden sabots,
their lunch-baskets with coarse bread and a few nuts by their side, the
stranger can hardly realize that he is in that country where there is a
more even distribution of property, and where the peasantry are more
prosperous and conservative, than anywhere else. Among the efforts made
to improve things may be mentioned the frequent inspections, not only by
government inspectors, but also by gentlemen called _delegues
cantonaux,_ who are usually chosen from among the landed proprietary of
the neighborhood by the prefects.
"Paris is not France," is a remark frequently uttered by French
conservatives, and one which certainly holds good as regards education.
The department of the Seine actually expends some $6,000,000 annually on
education, which is something over 46 per cent. of the total expenditure
for all France under this head. Considering that the population of the
department of the Seine does not exceed 2,400,000, it will be seen that
the expenditure there for educational purposes is not inferior to that
of our own representative States. At the Vienna Exhibition of 1873 it
may be recollected that Paris, conjointly with Saxony and Sweden, was
awarded the diploma of honor for primary instruction. This branch of
education is absolutely gratuitous, and, in view of the experience of
other countries, is likely to remain so, in spite of the outcry that
parents able to contribute toward the education of their offspring
should be compelled to do so. Ink, paper, pens, books, models and maps
are supplied free of charge to each pupil. During 1876 not less than
330,000 books, 1,490,000 copy-books and 1,440,000 steel pens were thus
supplied in the primary schools of the capital. In Paris there are some
260,000 children of both sexes old enough to go to school. Of this
number, 104,000 get some kind of education, either at home or at the
boarding-schools, and 134,000 attend the public schools--either under
secular or clerical management--and the _salles d'asile_, of which we
shall presently speak. The great capital thus contains some 22,000
children who cannot read or write, and this will account for the fact of
the educational status of the department of the Seine being inferior to
that of many of the eastern departments, and occupying a far lower place
on the list than might otherwise have been expected. Up to the age of
two years the infants of parents too poor to watch over their offspring
in the daytime are admitted into the _creches_. In these admirable
private institutions--founded some thirty years ago by M. Marbeau--the
infants are washed, fed and tended with maternal solicitude. Between the
ages of two and six years the children are admitted into the _salles
d'asile_, or children's homes, of which there are over a hundred in
Paris. There it is first sought to develop the child's intellectual
faculties, prepare it for school, inculcate habits of cleanliness and
morality, and instruct it in the rudiments of reading and writing.
Between the ages of six and fourteen children are admitted into the
schools, and, nominally at least, go through the plan of study drawn up
by the board of primary education, and which is as follows: Reading,
writing, geography, spelling, arithmetic, compendium of sacred and
French history, linear drawing, singing, the rudiments of physics,
geometry and natural history, and calligraphy. Were this programme
carried out in its integrity, education in France would, it need hardly
be said, be considerably further advanced than it is at present. Even in
Paris, however, the material obstacles are not slight. Most of the
schools are far too cramped for space, especially in those wealthy and
crowded parts of the city between the Rue de Rivoli and the Boulevards,
for instance, where every foot of ground and every breathing-space are
worth large sums of money. In a city where the people are so closely
packed, and where a family is content to live on a flat, how is room to
be found for spacious, airy school-buildings, with a detached seat and
desk for each pupil, a large central hall and a play-ground adjoining?
Such establishments must inevitably cost immense sums of money, but
Paris, if we may judge by the annual increase in the educational
appropriations, seems determined not to let this difficulty stand in the
way of her children obtaining a good education.
A word as to the teachers. The female lay teachers are, it must be
acknowledged, very greatly inferior to the lady teachers in the United
States. It is said that in England when a man has failed at everything
else he becomes a coal-merchant. We should not dream of applying this
remark to French ladies as regards school-teaching. At the same time, it
is an established fact that the French girls' schools which are managed
by nuns, and especially those of the Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, are
far above the other female educational establishments. Most of the male
lay teachers are appointed from the primary normal schools which exist
in the chief town of every department; and it is a noteworthy fact that
the majority of them are ardent Republicans, notwithstanding the fact
that during the Empire every effort was made to win them over to the
imperial side. In every normal and primary school was the bust of
Napoleon, and a liberal distribution took place of the famous _Journal
des Instituteurs_, every paragraph of which, political or educational,
was dressed up in Napoleonic attire. Possibly, some of the lay primary
school-teachers may have adopted republicanism out of a spirit of
natural opposition to their old adversaries and competitors, the
_instituteurs congreganistes_. Of these, too, a word must be said. While
in the secondary clerical schools most of the instructors are Jesuits,
in the primary schools most of the teachers belong to the confraternity
of the _Ecole Chretienne_, the members of which, without taking the vows
and assuming a lifelong engagement, agree nevertheless to remain single,
to submit to the discipline of the society and to wear the
ecclesiastical dress. Strict Ultramontanists, these brethren have been
somewhat unjustly nicknamed the _freres Ignorantins_. Living as they do
in common, with but few wants, and receiving, whenever they require it,
pecuniary aid from the wealthy party to which they belong, they are
satisfied with a rate of pay less than one-half that of the lay
teachers, and are thus preferred in a large number of communes on the
simple ground of economy. Their plan of instruction is the same as that
adopted in the secular primary schools, except that religious
instruction and exercises of course play a larger part with them than
with their lay brethren. The ultra radicals, who in a large measure
control the educational appropriations in the town-council, are bitterly
opposed to any portion of the public instruction remaining in the hands
of the clerical element, and their most strenuous efforts are used to
have all these _congregational_ schools of both sexes closed. They would
concentrate the entire national educational system under the control of
a body of lay teachers to be paid by the towns and by the state. In
these views they are supported by the Republican party, while the clergy
have on their side the majority of the Senate. Whether the absence of
clerical competition would be likely to prove advantageous or not to the
secular educational establishments, we shall not attempt to say, but
certain it is that the long continuance of this bitter feud between the
two parties has been anything but conducive to the educational progress
of France.
At the age of fourteen the Parisian youth not intended for one of the
learned professions leaves school to learn a trade. Should he desire to
increase his stock of knowledge and have a taste for study, he can,
after passing an examination, enter the excellent Ecole Turgot, wherein
the programme of the primary schools is somewhat extended, without,
however, embracing the study of Latin and Greek. At the Turgot the
course comprises mathematics, linear and ornamental drawing, physics and
mechanics, chemistry, natural history, calligraphy, bookkeeping, French
language and literature, history, geography, English and German. All the
pupils are day scholars. There could probably be no better devised
programme for developing and exercising the intellectual faculties of
those who have gone through the primary schools, and it may
unhesitatingly be affirmed that for most of the pupils the training
received at the Ecole Turgot is of lifelong value.
If a youth aim yet higher, he can apply for admittance at the College
Chaptal, where he may eventually obtain gratuitously a classical
education, and at its close a university degree. From the Chaptal
school--the new building devoted to which forms a conspicuous feature on
the Boulevard des Batignolles--the pupil may, on passing an examination,
enter either of the two higher colleges, the Central or the Polytechnic.
Then, too, the Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers may be looked on in the
light of a magnificent annex to the schools of primary instruction. The
idea of such an institution originated with the celebrated mechanician
of the last century, Vaucanson, who bequeathed to the government his
splendid collection of models, drawings, tools, machines and automatons.
The Convention decreed the establishment of the Conservatoire, which now
contains some 12,000 models in its industrial museum. Among them may be
mentioned Pascal's arithmetical machine, Lavoisier's instruments, the
first highway locomotive constructed by Cugniot in 1770, a lock forged
by Louis XVI., clocks and watches of historic interest, and those
patents which have run out by lapse of time. The machinery is set in
motion at certain hours of the day, during which the public is admitted
free. The library, rich in works of science, art and industry, is always
open. In the evening there are gratuitous lectures delivered by men of
science on such subjects as geometry, mechanics and chemistry applied to
the arts, industrial and agricultural chemistry, agriculture,
spinning-looms, dyeing, etc. The Conservatoire turns out the best
foremen and heads of workshops to be found in Paris. It occupies the
fine old building once used as the abbey of St. Martin des Champs, which
has been tastefully restored in the original style, and takes up one of
the sides of a handsome square laid out with flowers and fountains.
Nor must we pass over entirely unnoticed the admirable gratuitous
lectures given by the Polytechnic Association--_not_ the Polytechnic
School--on such subjects as hygiene, linear drawing, French grammar,
bookkeeping and geometry. These lectures are held in some twenty
different buildings, so as to be within the reach of the
working-classes, no matter what part of Paris they may reside in. Among
the lecturers in recent years are to be found such names as those of
Ferdinand de Lesseps, Isidore Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, Barral and Batbie.
We have thus rapidly seen what Paris does for her poor youth. The city
has often been called the focus of light and the centre of intelligence.
Without going quite so far as this, it must nevertheless be acknowledged
that with her public schools, her splendid libraries, her museums, her
natural history and art collections, and her very numerous and valuable
institutions open free to all, Paris affords unusual facilities for
boys, taken even from the lowest strata of society, to rise by dint of
hard study, a firm will and exemplary conduct to the very highest
positions.
SECONDARY EDUCATION.
In France, children of parents in easy circumstances do not go to the
primary schools at all. Every man occupying a higher social position
than that of a mechanic does his utmost to procure for his children an
education which shall place them above what the French call "the common
people." Even a small farmer, with but a few thousand dollars at his
command, strives to place his son in an institution where the higher
cultivation of the intellectual faculties, the dress worn, and the very
bearing, shall distinguish him from one of "the people." It need hardly
be said that such a system as this, so diametrically opposed to that
which prevails in the United States, tends to foster somewhat of
jealousy and bitterness among the lower classes. As for those who have
received this higher education, they would, as a general rule, consider
it derogatory to their dignity ever in after life to perform any manual
labor: this they leave to the illiterate and to those who have only
attended the primary schools. The result may be imagined in the case of
those whose parents, having paid their eight or nine years' schooling,
are unable to do anything more for their offspring when they leave
college. They cannot all earn their living in a professional capacity,
or in the literary field, or as government employes, or, to be brief, in
one of those situations which a graduate _can_ accept; and those who
fail, insensibly and by degrees fall into the ranks of the _declasses_.
The common workman may occasionally and for a short period suffer
privation and want, but that becomes the chronic condition of the poor
graduate. He becomes a misanthrope, hates his fellow-beings and resorts
to petty shifts in order to live. Gradually his sense of honor and his
moral feelings get weaker and weaker, and finally disappear altogether.
Then he becomes one of those men who, like the conspirators denounced by
Corneille,
Si tout n'est renverse ne sauraient subsister.
These men take a prominent part in every _emeute_, haranguing the
populace, propagating socialistic theories, and gaining a baneful
influence over the uneducated and the discontented among the workingmen,
thus causing that bloodshed and destruction of which Paris has so often
been the scene. Probably no more vivid picture of the life of these
unfortunate persons has ever been drawn than that which Jules Valles has
given us in his _Refractaires_. Most eloquently does he describe the
vain hopes and reveries by which these men are elated, and the poignant
misery they suffer. Valles, it will be recollected, was a Communist, a
member of that revolutionary government which contained so many of these
_declasses_.
Far be it from us to desire to limit the higher education to the
children of the rich. By all means let every man in a position to do so
give his sons the benefit of the secondary education. The fittest will
always survive, the weakest inevitably go to the wall. At the same time,
there are certain modifications which all will admit may be introduced
with advantage into the present system, and these will become apparent
as we proceed.
Secondary education is imparted in the national lyceums, which are
established and governed by the state, and which now exist in eighty out
of the eighty-six departments; in the municipal colleges, which are
established and governed by the towns; and in the private colleges, the
majority of which are kept by religious fraternities.
The most celebrated of the private colleges are Arcueil and Soreze, both
of which belong to the Dominicans. The principal professors at Arcueil
were, it will be recollected, taken to La Roquette in 1871, and there
shot with Archbishop Darboy and the other hostages. Soreze will not be
forgotten so long as the memory of Lacordaire lives. The Fathers of the
Oratory own the college of Juilly, where Berryer and Montalembert were
educated. It was to this order that belonged the illustrious Massillon a
century and a half ago, and Father Gratry in our own time. As for the
Jesuits, their colleges are distributed over the whole of France, and
are distinguished for their comfort and elegance, their spacious halls,
their fine grounds and the excellent gymnasia attached thereto. Their
superiority over the national lyceums leads to the fact of their being
as well attended as the latter, although pupils at the Jesuits' colleges
pay three times as much as at the government schools. The large college
of the Jesuits in the Rue des Postes at Paris furnishes a heavy
contingent to St. Cyr and the polytechnic schools. The Stanislas
College, although a private institution, has its corps of professors
appointed by the Minister of Public Instruction, and its pupils are
privileged to take part in the general examinations of the lyceum
pupils. M. John Lemoinne, the eminent writer for the _Journal des
Debats_, was educated at the Stanislas College, all the pupils of which,
it may be mentioned, are day scholars. At the Rollin College only
boarders are admitted.
There are quite a number of foreign colleges at Paris, such as the
Egyptian, the Japanese, the Armenian and the Polish colleges. The former
Irish college, now called _College des Fondations britanniques_, is
under the patronage of the French Minister of Education. It is here that
young men speaking the English language are specially educated for the
priesthood, the whole of the instruction being given in English and the
management being in the hands of British and Irish ecclesiastics. About
15,200 scholars attend the private colleges in Paris.
Proceeding now to speak of the actual condition of the _lycees_, or
lyceums, it may at once be stated that boarders at one of these
establishments in Paris pay from $200 to $300 annually, and in the
provinces from $150 to $200, according to age. Considering that this one
charge covers board, instruction, books, washing, clothes, writing
materials, medical attendance and medicine, it will readily be
understood that the income from this source is totally inadequate to
meet the outlays. The government, besides providing a large number of
gratuitous scholarships, makes up the deficit, whatever it may be, and
thus really maintains the lyceums. There are in Paris five national
lycees, besides the lyceum at Vanves, situated at a little distance to
the south of the capital, at what was once the villa of the prince de
Conde, on the Vaugirard route. At Vanves the younger pupils have the
opportunity afforded them of pursuing their studies in the country, and
only entering one of the Paris lycees when they have worked themselves
into the fifth class. The most famous as well as the largest of the
lyceums of Paris is the Lycee Descartes, formerly called the Lycee
Louis-le-Grand. It stands in the Rue St. Jacques, on the spot formerly
occupied by the Jesuits' College de Clermont, which was founded in 1563,
and confiscated when the Jesuits were expelled from France by the duc de
Choiseul in 1764. As is well known, Moliere and Voltaire, two of the
bitterest enemies of the Jesuits, were educated at the College de
Clermont. At Louis-le-Grand were also educated Crebillon, the author of
the _Sopha_; Gresset, the writer of _Vert-vert_; Robespierre, Camille
Desmoulins, Cremieux, Eugene Delacroix, Victor Hugo; the eminent surgeon
Dupuytren; Jules Janin, Villemain, Littre and Laboulaye. At present 540
of its 1200 pupils are day scholars.
Sainte-Barbe, the most celebrated of the free colleges of Paris, sends
its pupils to the course of instruction at the Lycee Descartes.
Sainte-Barbe was founded in 1460 by the Abbe Lenormand, and reorganized
after the Revolution by Delaneau: it stands in the Place du Pantheon, on
a small plot of ground, and is so thickly surrounded by buildings that
the play-ground is not even large enough for the pupils to move about
in. The younger among them are therefore sent to the branch of the
school at Fontenay-aux-Roses, a stately chateau with spacious grounds.
Both Ignatius Loyola, who founded the order of Jesus, and Calvin, who
did his best to destroy it, were educated at Sainte-Barbe, as were also
in more modern times Eugene Scribe, the singer Nourrit, the celebrated
painter in water-colors Eugene Lamy, and General Trochu. The present
director of Sainte-Barbe is M. Dubief, formerly inspector of the Academy
of Paris, and who succeeded in 1865 the lamented M. Labrouste, to whose
untiring exertions Sainte-Barbe owes in great part the high reputation
it has enjoyed in recent times.
On the Boulevard St. Michel, on the spot where once stood the old
College d'Harcourt, is the Lycee St. Louis, now called, after the famous
mathematician, the Lycee Monge. Although the Lycee Monge is specially
devoted to scientific training, it has numbered among its pupils Charles
Gounod the composer and Egger the Hellenist.
In the rear of the Pantheon, on the site of the abbey of Ste. Genevieve,
founded by Clovis in 510, stands the Lycee Corneille, formerly called
the Lycee Napoleon, and before that the College Henri IV. To the
archaeologist the cellars, the kitchens, the chapel and the old tower of
the twelfth century cannot fail to prove of the greatest interest, while
the remainder of the structure, built during the reign of Louis XIV.,
makes this unquestionably the finest of the lyceums of Paris. At the
Lycee Corneille were educated Casimir Delavigne (whose bust by David
d'Angers adorns the interior), Sainte-Beuve, Haussmann, Alfred de
Musset, St. Marc Girardin, Emile Augier, Remusat, the prince de
Joinville and the dukes of Nemours, Aumale, Montpensier and Chartres.
The three lyceums above mentioned are on the left bank, the remaining
two on the right bank, of the Seine.
In the Rue Caumartin, near the Havre railway-station, on the site of the
Capuchins' convent, stands the Lycee Condorcet, or, as it was called
until recently, the Lycee Bonaparte. All the pupils are day scholars,
and most of them come from the adjacent wealthy district of the Chaussee
d'Antin, the Boulevards and the Madeleine. Among the pupils of this
aristocratic educational establishment may be named J. J. Ampere,
Alexandre Dumas _fils_, Adolphe Adam the composer, Edmond and Jules de
Goncourt the novelists, Alphonse Karr, Henry Monnier, Nadar, Taine,
Eugene Sue; the mulatto Schaelcher, now Senator of France; the celebrated
Jesuit Father Ravignan, and the poet Theodore de Banville.
The Lycee Charlemagne is in a building in the Rue St. Antoine, formerly
used as the Jesuits' convent. Being situated in one of the poorest
sections of Paris, the children from which as a rule do not get beyond
the primary schools, it receives most of its scholars from the numerous
boarding-schools of the Quartier du Marais. Among the many well-known
names formerly on the roll of the Lycee Charlemagne are those of Gustave
Dore, Theophile Gautier, Admiral Jurien de la Graviere, Michelet; the
dramatic critic Francisque Sarcey; Got the comedian, and Buffet the
statesman.
These five lyceums of Paris, with their 7500 day scholars and boarders,
and the eighty lyceums in the provinces, have precisely the same
programme and rules of government throughout. The boarders are divided
into three sections, the first being for the _petits_--viz., boys
averaging from seven to twelve, who are instructed in the elementary
course, comprising the eighth and seventh classes; the second is for the
_moyens_, who receive instruction in the grammar course, comprising the
sixth, fifth and fourth classes; the third is for the _grands_, who,
taking their place in the third and second classes, proceed with the
higher course, embracing rhetoric, philosophy, and, if desired, special
mathematics. Although at playtime the boys meet in a common play-ground,
during school-hours they are distributed in different rooms or studies
(_etudes_), one class generally corresponding to a study. There is thus
the eighth, fourth or second study, just as there is the eighth, fourth
or second class. The professors--of whom there are from fifteen to
thirty, the number of boys ranging from three hundred to twelve
hundred--superintend the classes, while the dozen poor, ill-paid ushers
have to keep order in the _etudes_. The scholars signify their contempt
for the ushers--officially known as _maitres repetiteurs_--by nicknaming
them _pions_ or watch-dogs. Yet not an usher but is appointed, like all
others engaged in the lycee, by the minister. Each one of them has
obtained his degree as bachelor, and many only accept the situation as a
means of economically pursuing their studies toward the higher degrees
and fellowships. Where the class is a large one, the corresponding study
is usually divided into two, so as to reduce the number in one _etude_
to about thirty. The lads making up each _etude_ sleep in one dormitory
on little iron bedsteads, only separated from each other by the width of
the bed. The usher in charge sleeps at the extremity of the dormitory,
his bed being the only one provided with curtains.
A boy entering the lyceum at seven or eight years of age has already
learned the rudiments, and is accordingly placed in the eighth class. In
those exceptional cases where the boy comes to school unable to read or
write he passes the first year in the preparatory class. In the eighth
class, and the next year in the seventh, he is taught French grammar,
spelling, arithmetic, sacred history and elementary Latin exercises and
translation. In the sixth and fifth and the fourth classes the Latin
authors the boy has to study become gradually more and more difficult.
The professor of history who accompanies the students throughout their
lyceum course, instructs them as they advance each year to a higher
class, in Greek and Roman history and modern and ancient geography. So
also the professors of English and German, of physics, natural history
and mathematics keep up with their pupils, and guide their studies, each
in his special branch, until they graduate. Drawing and music are also
taught without extra charge two hours a week, but those children whose
parents really desire them to make progress in these special branches
have to take--and pay extra for--private lessons called _repetitions_.
In the third and second classes, as also when the pupils are going
through the course of rhetoric, Greek as well as Latin is studied,
together with the French classic authors, Corneille, Racine, Moliere,
Bossuet, Boileau, La Bruyere, La Fontaine, Fenelon, Massillon and some
of Voltaire's works. The history of France is also studied, but scarcely
with that thoroughness which characterizes the study of history in the
German gymnasia.
The pupil's last year is passed in the philosophy class, formerly called
the logic class, which is specially devoted to the study of the human
understanding; thus, as Mr. Matthew Arnold well puts it, "making the
pupil busy himself with the substance of ideas, as in rhetoric he busied
himself with their form, and developing his reflection as rhetoric
developed his imagination and taste." During this last year, however,
classic studies are pursued with none the less vigor, for on his
proficiency in these branches depends very largely the student's success
at the second and final examination for his degree. It is only since
1874 that this examination has been divided into two parts--the first
at the close of the year of rhetoric, the second at the close of the
year of philosophy, the student being required to pass on both
occasions. Each of the two examinations is divided into the _epreuve
ecrite_ and the _epreuve orale_. In the latter the candidate is examined
generally on all the subjects studied. The epreuve ecrite consists, the
first year, of a translation and Latin discourse--the second year, of a
Latin dissertation and a French dissertation. Those educated in Paris
have to pass their examination at the Sorbonne, while those educated in
the provinces are examined by one of the sixteen faculties of France, at
Poitiers, Caen, Toulouse, Bordeaux, etc. It is scarcely necessary to
observe that the bachelor's degree confers no sort of privilege in
France. The diploma which attests to its recipient having passed through
a regular course of classical study opens up no career to him, but
_with_ this diploma he can study law or medicine or qualify for the
special schools, such as the Polytechnic, St. Cyr and the normal
schools, and on leaving these his position is assured.
The life led by the boarders at the _lycees_ is as follows: At six
o'clock in summer, and at half-past six in winter, the pupils get up at
the sound of the drum. Ten minutes are allowed for dressing, and then
they all march in procession to the preparation-room. One of the lads
recites a short prayer in Latin, after which the boys study till
half-past seven. They then proceed to the refectory, where all the
pupils breakfast together, ten minutes being allowed for the meal.
Thence the boys go into the play-ground, where the ranks are broken and
a quarter of an hour is allowed for play and talk. (Out of the
play-ground conversation among the pupils is prohibited by the rules,
and not infrequently those caught talking are punished.) From eight to
ten the boys are in school; from ten to half-past ten, at play; from
half-past ten to twelve, in the study, writing exercises, getting ready
for classes and solving problems. At twelve o'clock, dinner, then play
till one; from one till two, in the study, learning by heart lessons
for recitation; from two till four, school; from four to five, play;
from five to half-past seven in the study, where the exercises for the
following morning are written. At half-past seven, supper, then another
prayer in Latin, and then to bed. On Thursdays and Sundays there are no
classes, but the boys have their hours of study as on other days, and
fill up the time by a two-hours' walk in marching array, either in the
city or (if weather permit) in the country. Once a week in Paris, once a
fortnight in the provinces, a boy may go out for a holiday if his
parents or persons authorized by his parents come and take him from
school. He is allowed to see his parents or those representing them any
day between four and five P.M. in the _parloir_. On Sundays attendance
at mass and at vespers in the chapel of the lycee is compulsory for
pupils of the Roman Catholic faith. Pupils belonging to other faiths
have in Paris every opportunity for attending the services of their
religion, but in the provinces this is naturally not so easy. The
regular holidays are the 1st and 2d of January, a week at Easter and two
months in summer, commencing about the 10th of August. All corporal
punishment is strictly prohibited. The lads are punished by being kept
in in play-hours and on holidays, and in grave cases by being confined
_en sequestre_. It is very rarely that a pupil is expelled--a punishment
which may in extreme cases entail expulsion from every lyceum in France.
As will have been seen, the life led by the boarders at the lyceums is
pretty irksome and severe. If a boy's parents live in the city, he can
simply attend the classes as a day scholar, which experience has proved
to be the better of the two plans. From a sanitary point of view the
lyceums do not stand high by any means. Few among them were built on any
proper model, or, as will have been noticed, even constructed for their
present use. About four-fifths of them were old colleges belonging to
religious corporations confiscated at the Revolution, or they were
formerly convents, and have now been fitted up as well as possible for
purely educational purposes. The rooms are for the most part so small
that the lads are crowded and huddled together. On some of the benches
they have to sit on one side when they want to write. Every lyceum has
an infirmary, to which are attached two or three Sisters of Charity, and
the infirmary is often fuller than could be wished. The play-grounds are
in general miserably small, rarely planted with trees, and ill adapted
for boys to run about and play in. Some of the boys who are always kept
in do not get even this poor exercise. The contributions of the
government for the maintenance of the lyceums being on a somewhat
parsimonious scale, every kind of economy is practiced. The food,
without being unwholesome, is far from being agreeable. The lighting of
the buildings by oil lamps, not by gas, is often insufficient, and may
possibly explain the fact of so many Frenchmen being short-sighted. The
rooms are warmed in winter by small stoves, which send out noxious
vapors.
At the head of every lyceum is a provost (_proviseur_), who is assisted
by a _censeur_ or superintendent of instruction, by an inspector of
studies, and by a bursar (_econome_), who controls the finances of the
establishment. Toward the end of each scholastic year, about July, ten
or a dozen of the brightest youths are selected from each of the classes
in the lyceums of Paris, and are made to undergo an examination in
composition at the Sorbonne. At its close prizes and _accessits_ are
awarded, and these are distributed about the 15th of August in the
amphitheatre of the Sorbonne, and in presence of a distinguished
assemblage under the presidency of the Minister of Public Instruction.
The minister, having opened the proceedings with a speech in French, is
followed by one of the professors, who, in accordance with a custom more
than a century old, makes a speech in Latin. Since 1865 the provincial
lyceums have competed among themselves, and as the subjects of
composition are the same as those in the Paris lyceums, an opportunity
is afforded for observing how very much farther advanced are the
Parisian establishments than those in the interior. Not only has Paris
the best professors, but also the best boys, many having been sent
thither by their parents from the provincial lyceums on their displaying
marked ability and intelligence. Thus the standard of the Paris lyceums
is raised. Upon the result of the general examination undergone by the
pupils of a public or private school depends the estimation in which
that institution is held by the public. The more prizes taken by a
lyceum or by an institution sending its pupils to the lyceum
examinations, the greater will be the number of parents sending their
children thither. The successful participants who have carried off the
prizes of honor in special mathematics, philosophy and Latin are exempt
from military service, while the professors of the class to which they
belonged are often rewarded with the cross of the Legion of Honor. It
will therefore be apparent that the heads of the educational
establishments are, to say the least, quite as much interested in the
results of the contest as are the pupils themselves. The natural
consequence is, that the professors devote themselves to cramming those
pupils whose assiduity and superior intelligence mark them out as fit
partakers in such a contest. There are sometimes as many as sixty pupils
in a class in the Paris Lycee, and yet the professor's attention may be
confined to barely a dozen among them. The rest of the class read
novels, go to sleep or remain listless during the lesson. The well-known
writer M. Maxime du Camp may possibly have slightly exaggerated the evil
when he asserted that "Ceux-la seuls travaillent qui se destinent aux
ecoles speciales;" but we have no difficulty in believing his statement
that on one occasion M. Emile Saisset--since a member of the Institute,
then professor at the Lycee Henri IV.--left the platform, and taking a
seat facing the front row, where he had got together the six best (_plus
forts_), began reading to them in a low tone. When one of the other
pupils began talking too loud, the professor cried out, "Ne faites donc
pas tant de bruit: vous nous empechez de causer."
But, although these general examinations may operate somewhat
disadvantageously toward the duller members of the class, it must be
acknowledged that they have had the effect of inducing many a youth to
put forth his best efforts in order to attain special distinction, and
have thus laid the foundation of future success. Among those with whom
such has been the case may be mentioned the names of Delille the poet,
La Harpe the critic, Victor Cousin the philosopher, Adrien de Jussieu
the naturalist, Drouyn de Lhuys, ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs, now
president of the Agricultural Society of France; Taine, Edmond About,
Prevost Paradol, etc.
Within the last thirty years the plan of study in the lycees has
undergone many changes. Each successive Minister of Education has
instituted some modifications, and the result has generally been an
improvement. The most thoroughgoing revision took place under M. Jules
Simon, who was Minister of Public Instruction in 1872. A well-known
member of the Institute and professor of philosophy, M. Paul Janet, in
defending the reforms instituted by M. Simon, makes some bold remarks on
the subject. Secondary education in France is now composed of two
branches of instruction mingled, which if separated might, according to
M. Janet, each for itself furnish the materials for a very thorough and
wide-reaching education. On the one hand is the classical course,
consisting of Greek and Latin, and on the other what may be termed the
modern course, composed of French, living foreign languages, history,
geography, science and physical exercises,--these last embracing
fencing, gymnastics, gun-practice, etc. Society at the time of the
Renaissance had to be steeped once again in the study of classical
literature in order to weld anew the links of that chain which had been
broken by the invasion of the barbarians. So also, reasons M. Janet, it
is necessary now for us to be prepared for the new conditions of modern
and contemporary civilization. This civilization, he goes on to say, is
marked by three distinguishing characteristics: the prodigious
development of science and industry; the establishment of political
institutions more or less liberal; the extension of the means of
communication between various nations. Therefore he holds that the study
of science should occupy a more prominent place in the system of French
instruction. History, useless in a country despotically governed,
becomes more and more necessary in a free country. Foreign languages and
the literature of the Teutonic and English-speaking nations must occupy
a larger place in the new plan of studies.
But the question arises, How can place be found for new studies when
some of the old ones have to be crowded out? Evidently this can only be
done by circumscribing within narrower limits classical instruction.
Now-a-days, says M. Jules Simon, "on apprend les langues vivantes pour
les parler et les langues mortes pour les lire." The day is past when
Santeul gained for himself a reputation by his Latin verse, and when
Cardinal de Polignac refuted Lucretius in his own tongue. Latin
compositions have become purely artificial exercises, and the art of
writing Latin must be sacrificed, just as the art of speaking Latin was
sacrificed a century ago. Therefore it was that M. Simon did away with
Latin verse. He retained for the present Latin speeches and
dissertations, but contemplated abolishing these too in the future; and
he proposed that there should be two kinds of exposition of Latin texts
in the classes--the one very profound, and where much time should be
given to but a few lines; the other, on the contrary, very rapid and
extended, having for its object to exercise the pupil in reading and
readily understanding what he reads. Since the reforms of 1872 the
pupils read Latin with not less facility than before; which seems to
show that Latin verse was not indispensable. It should also be mentioned
that under M. Simon's auspices a law was made in 1872 requiring every
pupil to pass an examination before being promoted from a lower to a
higher class in the lycee. Those who fail in this examination, and who
do not care to return to the lower class, are transferred to the
so-called _classes de science_, where the subjects of study are
mathematics, geometry, physics, chemistry and natural history.
M. Jules Simon retired from his post as Minister of Public Instruction
under M. Thiers on the 24th of May, 1873, and the reforms he had
instituted were overthrown by the clerical ministry which followed. The
Republican elections of the 20th of February, 1876, having been the
means of once more placing the government in the hands of M. Simon's
friends, he himself was on the 12th of December last made president of
the Council of Ministers, while M. Waddington resumed the portfolio of
Public Instruction. M. Waddington, who besides being a Rugby and
Cambridge man, has, like M. Simon, taken the doctor's degree at the
Sorbonne, at once took measures to carry out the liberal and progressive
reforms we have spoken of. His efforts were, however, frustrated by the
enforced retirement of the Jules Simon ministry on the 16th of May,
1877, and the accession of the conservatives to power. There can be
little doubt that the new ministry will set aside all the reforms
planned and executed, and will return to the old paths until the seesaw
of public opinion in France shall once more re-establish the
Simon-Waddington reforms.
As has been shown, the progress made in the system of secondary
instruction in France is but slow: indeed, it may be compared to that of
certain pilgrims, who in fulfillment of their vows take three steps
forward and two backward. Nevertheless, these party struggles and
tentative efforts cannot fail in the end to result in a marked
definitive improvement in the educational system. Before all things, it
was necessary that the fallibility of the old system and of the
antiquated shibboleths of instruction, which had hitherto exercised
undisputed sway, be recognized. The rest will follow in due time.
Whether minister or not, M. Jules Simon may justly claim the credit of
having brought about a salutary educational crisis, the effects of which
will be felt by the next, if not by the present, generation.
C. H. HARDING.
THE MARQUIS OF LOSSIE.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD, AUTHOR OF "MALCOLM."