“I remember a story told by my friend, M. Desbarolles, an artist who is endowed more liberally than most of my acquaintance with the warm artistic temperament. It is to be found in one of his neatly written essays. He had, it seems, studied fencing for two years under a French master, in Germany I think, when he paid a visit to M. Charlemagne, one of the most famous instructors of the day, to whom he had an introduction.
“He fenced before the professor, and when the bout was over expected to be complimented, under the impression that he had done rather well.
‘Will you allow me, Sir, to give you a word of advice?’ asked the great man.
‘By all means,’ replied my friend.
‘Then, let me recommend you to give up loose play altogether for at least a year, and confine your attention entirely to the lesson.’
“Good heavens, what amazing perversity, what pompous humbug! M. Desbarolles remarks that he was utterly taken aback, and I can well believe him, but he goes on to say that he accepted the master’s verdict, and never had reason to repent it.
“If he had not given his word for the fact, I should certainly have ventured to hope, most sincerely, that his sense of humour was sufficient to save him from following such a piece of advice to the letter, and in any case I am sure that it was quite unnecessary for him to do so, in order to become the charming fencer that he is and one for whom I have the warmest admiration.
“Do not tell me that the quickness of hand and rapidity of movement, the alertness of body and mind required in loose play, can be imparted by the lessons of a skilful instructor, if only he is careful to graduate his instruction in proportion to his pupil’s progress. The result is mere clock-work with the professor for mainspring, counterfeit vitality set in motion by the word of command; a most mechanical use of the intelligence. The pupil cannot go wrong because he is tied to his master’s apron-strings. The master’s sword shows him exactly where to go with the precision of a finger-post. He is like a man swimming in a cork jacket, practising the motions of swimming at his leisure, and not caring in the least whether these motions would really support him on the surface or let him sink to the bottom.
“That the formal lesson is useful I do not doubt, that it has a monopoly of usefulness I emphatically deny. Why allow it to meddle with and domineer over things which do not concern it? Let it keep its place and refrain from trespassing outside its own dominions.