Practical Education, Volume I

by Maria Edgeworth; Richard Lovell Edgeworth

It is to be hoped, that select parts of The Children's Friend,[103] translated by some able hand, will be published hereafter for the use of private families. Many of the stories, to which we have ventured to object, are by no means unfit for school-boys, to whom the characters which are most exceptionable cannot be new. The vulgarity of language which we have noticed, is not to be attributed to M. Berquin, but to his wretched translator. L'Ami des Enfans, is, in French, remarkably elegantly written. The Little Canary Bird, Little George, The Talkative Little Girl, The Four Seasons, and many others, are excellent both in point of style and dramatic effect; they are exactly suited to the understandings of children; and they interest without any improbable events, or unnatural characters.

In fiction it is difficult to avoid giving children false ideas of virtue, and still more difficult to keep the different virtues in their due proportions. This should be attended to with care in all books for young people; nor should we sacrifice the understanding to the enthusiasm of eloquence, or the affectation of sensibility. Without the habit of reasoning, the best dispositions can give us no solid security for happiness; therefore, we should early cultivate the reasoning faculty, instead of always appealing to the imagination. By sentimental persuasives, a child may be successfully governed for a time, but that time will be of short duration, and no power can continue the delusion long.

In the dialogue upon this maxim, "that a competence is best," the reasoning of the father is not a match for that of the son; by using less eloquence, the father might have made out his case much better. The boy sees that many people are richer than his father, and perceiving that their riches procure a great number of conveniences and comforts for them, he asks why his father, who is as good as these opulent people, should not also be as rich. His father tells him, that he is rich, that he has a large garden, and a fine estate; the boy asks to see it, and his father takes him to the top of a high hill, and, showing him an extensive prospect, says to him, "All this is my estate." The boy cross questions his father, and finds out that it is not his estate, but that he may enjoy the pleasure of looking at it; that he can buy wood when he wants it for firing; venison, without hunting the deer himself; fish, without fishing; and butter, without possessing all the cows that graze in the valley; therefore he calls himself master of the woods, the deer, the herds, the huntsmen, and the labourers that he beholds. This is[104] poetic philosophy, but it is not sufficiently accurate for a child; it would confound his ideas of property, and it would be immediately contradicted by his experience. The father's reasoning is perfectly good, and well adapted to his pupil's capacity, when he asks, "whether he should not require a superfluous appetite to enjoy superfluous dishes at his meals." In returning from his walk, the boy sees a mill that is out of repair, a meadow that is flooded, and a quantity of hay spoiled; he observes, that the owners of these things must be sadly vexed by such accidents, and his father congratulates himself upon their not being his property. Here is a direct contradiction; for a few minutes before he had asserted that they belonged to him. Property is often the cause of much anxiety to its possessor; but the question is, whether the pains, or the pleasures of possessing it, predominate; if this question could not be fully discussed, it should not be partially stated. To silence a child in argument is easy, to convince him is difficult; sophistry or wit should never be used to confound the understanding. Reason has equal force from the lips of the giant and of the dwarf.

These minute criticisms may appear invidious; but it is hoped that they will be considered only as illustrations of general principles; illustrations necessary to our subject. We have chosen M. Berquin's work because of its universal popularity; probably all the examples which have been selected, are in the recollection of most readers, or at least it is easy to refer to them, because "The Children's Friend" is to be found in every house where there are any children. The principles by which we have examined Berquin, may be applied to all books of the same class. Sandford and Merton, Madame de Silleri's Theatre of Education, and her Tales of the Castle, Madame de la Fite's Tales and Conversations, Mrs. Smith's Rural Walks, with a long list of other books for children, which have considerable merit, would deserve a separate analysis, if literary criticism were our object. A critic once, with indefatigable ill-nature, picked out all the faults of a beautiful poem, and presented them to Apollo. The god ordered a bushel of his best Parnassian wheat to be carefully winnowed, and he presented the critic with the chaff. Our wish is to separate the small portion of what is useless, from the excellent nutriment contained in the books we have mentioned.

With respect to sentimental stories,[105] and books of mere entertainment, we must remark, that they should be sparingly used, especially in the education of girls. This species of reading, cultivates what is called the heart prematurely; lowers the tone of the mind, and induces indifference for those common pleasures and occupations which, however trivial in themselves, constitute by far the greatest portion of our daily happiness. Stories are the novels of childhood. We know, from common experience, the effects which are produced upon the female mind by immoderate novel reading. To those who acquire this taste, every object becomes disgusting which is not in an attitude for poetic painting; a species of moral picturesque is sought for in every scene of life, and this is not always compatible with sound sense, or with simple reality. Gainsborough's Country Girl, as it has been humorously[106] remarked, "is a much more picturesque object, than a girl neatly dressed in a clean white frock; but for this reason, are all children to go in rags?" A tragedy heroine, weeping, swooning, dying, is a moral picturesque object; but the frantic passions, which have the best effect upon the stage, might, when exhibited in domestic life, appear to be drawn upon too large a scale to please. The difference between reality and fiction, is so great, that those who copy from any thing but nature, are continually disposed to make mistakes in their conduct, which appear ludicrous to the impartial spectator. Pathos depends on such nice circumstances, that domestic, sentimental distresses, are in a perilous situation; the sympathy of their audience, is not always in the power of the fair performers. Frenzy itself may be turned to farce.[107] "Enter the princess mad in white satin, and her attendant mad in white linen."

Besides the danger of creating a romantic taste, there is reason to believe, that the species of reading to which we object, has an effect directly opposite to what it is intended to produce. It diminishes, instead of increasing, the sensibility of the heart; a combination of romantic imagery, is requisite to act upon the associations of sentimental people, and they are virtuous only when virtue is in perfectly good taste. An eloquent philosopher[108] observes, that in the description of scenes of distress in romance and poetry, the distress is always made elegant; the imagination, which has been accustomed to this delicacy in fictitious narrations, revolts from the disgusting circumstances which attend real poverty, disease and misery; the emotions of pity, and the exertions of benevolence, are consequently repressed precisely at the time when they are necessary to humanity.

With respect to pity, it is a spontaneous, natural emotion, which is strongly felt by children, but they cannot properly be said to feel benevolence till they are capable of reasoning. Charity must, in them, be a very doubtful virtue; they cannot be competent judges as to the general utility of what they give. Persons of the most enlarged understanding, find it necessary to be extremely cautious in charitable donations, lest they should do more harm than good. Children cannot see beyond the first link in the chain which holds society together; at the best, then, their charity can be but a partial virtue. But in fact, children have nothing to give; they think that they give, when they dispose of property of their parents; they suffer no privation from this sort of generosity, and they learn ostentation, instead of practising self-denial. Berquin, in his excellent story of "The Little Needle Woman," has made the children give their own work; here the pleasure of employment is immediately connected with the gratification of benevolent feelings; their pity is not merely passive, it is active and useful.

In fictitious narratives, affection for parents, and for brothers and sisters, is often painted in agreeable colours, to excite the admiration and sympathy of children. Caroline, the charming little girl, who gets upon a chair to wipe away the tears that trickle down her eldest sister's cheek when her mother is displeased with her,[109] forms a natural and beautiful picture; but the desire to imitate Caroline must produce affectation. All the simplicity of youth, is gone the moment children perceive that they are extolled for the expression of fine feelings, and fine sentiments. Gratitude, esteem and affection, do not depend upon the table of consanguinity; they are involuntary feelings, which cannot be raised at pleasure by the voice of authority; they will not obey the dictates of interest; they secretly despise the anathemas of sentiment. Esteem and affection, are the necessary consequences of a certain course of conduct, combined with certain external circumstances, which are, more or less, in the power of every individual. To arrange these circumstances prudently, and to pursue a proper course of conduct steadily, something more is necessary than the transitory impulse of sensibility, or of enthusiasm.

There is a class of books which amuse the imagination of children, without acting upon their feelings. We do not allude to fairy tales, for we apprehend that these are not now much read; but we mean voyages and travels; these interest young people universally. Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver, and the Three Russian Sailors, who were cast away upon the coast of Norway, are general favourites. No child ever read an account of a shipwreck, or even a storm, without pleasure. A desert island is a delightful place, to be equalled only by the skating land of the rein-deer, or by the valley of diamonds in the Arabian Tales. Savages, especially if they be cannibals, are sure to be admired, and the more hair-breadth escapes the hero of the tale has survived, and the more marvellous his adventures, the more sympathy he excites.[110]

Will it be thought to proceed from a spirit of contradiction, if we remark, that this species of reading should not early be chosen for boys of an enterprising temper, unless they are intended for a sea-faring life, or for the army? The taste for adventure, is absolutely incompatible with the sober perseverance necessary to success in any other liberal professions. To girls, this species of reading cannot be as dangerous as it is to boys; girls must very soon perceive the impossibility of their rambling about the world in quest of adventures; and where there appears an obvious impossibility in gratifying any wish, it is not likely to become, or at least to continue, a torment to the imagination. Boys, on the contrary, from the habits of their education, are prone to admire, and to imitate, every thing like enterprise and heroism. Courage and fortitude, are the virtues of men, and it is natural that boys should desire, if they believe that they possess these virtues, to be placed in those great and extraordinary situations which can display them to advantage. The taste for adventure, is not repressed in boys by the impossibility of its indulgence; the world is before them, and they think that fame promises the highest prize to those who will most boldly venture in the lottery of fortune. The rational probability of success, few young people are able, fewer still are willing, to calculate; and the calculations of prudent friends, have little power over their understandings, or at least, over their imagination, the part of the understanding which is most likely to decide their conduct.—From general maxims, we cannot expect that young people should learn much prudence; each individual admits the propriety of the rule, yet believes himself to be a privileged exception. Where any prize is supposed to be in the gift of fortune, every man, or every young man, takes it for granted that he is a favourite, and that it will be bestowed upon him. The profits of commerce and of agriculture, the profits of every art and profession, can be estimated with tolerable accuracy; the value of activity, application and abilities, can be respectively measured by some certain standard. Modest, or even prudent people, will scruple to rate themselves in all of these qualifications superior to their neighbours; but every man will allow that, in point of good fortune, at any game of chance, he thinks himself upon a fair level with every other competitor.