I have always felt a great deal of sympathy, and even respect, for that
good, honest, straight-forward young British boy who does not easily
understand that in French "a musical friend" is not necessarily _un ami
a musique_, nor "to sit on the committee," _s'asseoir sur le comite_,
unless the context indicates that it is the painful operation which is
meant. Poor boy! For him a foreign language is only his own, with
another vocabulary; and so, when he does a piece of translation, he
carefully replaces on his paper each word of his English text by one of
the equivalents that he finds for it in his dictionary, rarely failing
to choose the wrong one, as I have already said. Now comes _que_. Shall
he put the subjunctive or the indicative? He has learnt his grammar:
he could, if occasion required, recite the rules that apply to the
employment of the terrible subjunctive mood. He has even, once or twice
in his life, written an exercise on the subject, and as it was headed
"Exercise on the Subjunctive Mood," he went through it with calm
confidence, putting all the verbs in the subjunctive, including those
that it would have been advisable to put in the indicative. This done,
he was not supposed to commit any more mistakes on this important point
of grammar. He might as well be expected to be an experienced swimmer
after once reading Captain Webb's "Art of Swimming," and going through
the various evolutions indicated in the pamphlet, _a sec_ on the floor
of his papa's parlor.
I admit that the French teacher of a public school ought to be a good
philologist to make his lessons attractive to the students of the upper
forms, and insure their success under examination; I admit that he
should know English thoroughly, to be able to explain to them the
delicacies of the French language, and maintain good discipline in his
classes; I admit that he should be able to teach grammar, philology,
history, literature; but I maintain that he ought never to lose sight
of the most important object of the study of a living language,--the
putting of it into practice; he should, above all things, and by all
means, aim at making his pupils speak French. It is not enough that he
should speak to them in French, even in the upper forms, where he would
be perfectly understood: understanding a language and speaking it are
two very different things. Neither will he attain his end by means of
dull manuals of imaginary conversations with the butcher, the baker,
and the candlestick-maker; these will, at most, be useful in helping a
foreigner to ask for what he wants at a _table d'hote_. You will not
get grown-up, intelligent, and well-educated boys to come out of their
shells, unless you make it worth their while. Now, Englishmen, like
Americans, love argument, very often for argument's sake, and every
school-boy, in England as in America, is a member of some society or
committee, and at its meetings tries his wings, discusses, harangues,
and prepares himself for that great parliamentary life, which is the
strength of the nation.
Then, I ask, why not turn this love of discussion to account?
Start a French debating society in every school, and you will teach
your generation to speak French. Such a proposition may sound bold, but
it has been tried in several public schools, and has proved a complete
success.
What cannot a teacher do that has succeeded in winning the esteem and
affection of his pupils? First, make them respect you, then gain their
hearts, and you will lead the young by a thread.
Take twenty or thirty boys, old enough to appreciate the interest you
feel in them, and say to them, "My young friends, let us arrange to
meet once a week, and see if we cannot speak French together. We will
chat about any thing you like: politics even. Do not be afraid to open
your lips, it is only _la premiere phrase qui coute_. I am neither
a Pecksniff nor a pedant, a dotard nor a wet blanket; in your company,
I feel as young as the youngest among you. Do not imagine that I shall
bring you up for the slightest error of pronunciation you make. I
remember the time when I murdered your language, and I should be sorry
to cast the first stone at you. At first I shall only correct your
glaring mistakes; by degrees, you will make fewer and fewer, although,
alas! you will very likely always make some. What does it matter? I
guarantee that in a few months you will be able to understand all that
is said to you in French, and express intelligibly in the same language
any idea that may pass through your brain."
These little French parliaments work admirably; the earliest were
started in two or three English schools four or five years ago. Each
has its president--the head French teacher of the school, its honorary
and assistant secretaries, and, if you please, its treasurer, who
supplies the members with two or three good French papers, and, when
the finances of the society permit, provides the means of giving a
_soiree litteraire_. I have seen the minute-book of one of these
interesting associations. Since its formation, this particular debating
society has altered the whole map of Europe, greatly to the advantage
of the United Kingdom. The young debaters have upset any number of
governments, at home and abroad, done away with women's rights, and
declared, by a crushing majority, that ladies who can make good
puddings are far more useful members of society than those who can make
good speeches. Young British boys have very strong sentiments against
women's rights. In literature, the respective merits of the Classicists
and the Romanticists have been discussed, and the "three unities"
declared absurd and tyrannical by these young champions of freedom.
The speakers are not allowed to read their speeches, but may use notes
for reference, and I notice that speakers, who at first only ventured
short remarks, soon grew bold enough to hold forth for ten minutes at a
time. In many instances, the president has had to adjourn a debate to
the next meeting, on account of the number of orators wishing to take
part in it. These minutes, written in very good French indeed, do great
credit to the young secretary who enters them. I have myself been
present at meetings of these societies, and I assure you that if you
could see these young fellows rise from their seats, and, bowing
respectfully to the president, say to him: "_Monsieur le President,
je demande la parole_," you would agree with me that, so far as good
order, perfect courtesy, and unlimited respect for opposite views are
concerned, these small gatherings would compare favorably with the
meetings of honorables and even right-honorables that are held at the
Capitol, the Westminster Palace, and the _Palais Bourbon_.
It is clear to my mind that, by such means, English boys can be made to
speak French in the most interesting manner, and the one best suited to
their taste. I firmly believe that if the great schools, public or
private, were to start similar societies, that if all the young men
knowing a little French were to form in their districts, such
associations under the leadership of able and cheerful Frenchmen,
England, or America for that matter, would in a few years, have a
generation of French-speaking men.
I have always been at a loss to understand how boys who have been
studying a language for nine or ten years should leave school perfectly
unable to converse intelligibly in that language for five minutes
together. It seems nothing short of scandalous.
Yet the reason is not far to be found. In England, at any rate, modern
languages are taught like dead languages: they are taught through the
eyes, whereas they should be taught through the ears and mouth.
The French debating society seems to me the best mode of solving the
difficulty. I have often given this piece of advice to John Bull, and I
myself founded a successful French debating society in England. Let
Jonathan forgive my presumption if I avail myself of his kind and
generous hospitality to give him the same advice.