In her system of education, recreation played a very important part—in the first place for its hygienic value. “Let the children run about in the open air as much as possible,” she is always preaching to her nuns, “nothing will help them so much to grow tall and strong.” But, more important still, at no time more frequently than during recreation does a girl get an opportunity of sacrificing her own inclinations in order to give pleasure to others—and this is a lesson no woman can learn too early for her own happiness, if for nothing else. Moreover, proficiency in games of skill was important from a social point of view. Everybody—from the Royal Family down—played those games, and a girl would feel herself at a disadvantage afterwards if she had not attained some proficiency in them. Games like “I love my love” had, according to Madame de Maintenon, the combined merits of making a girl quick-witted, and giving her subject for reflection. It seems to me that Madame de Maintenon showed an even greater amount of commonsense than usual in the answer she gave a nun, who wished to know whether she approved of the little ones making rag-dolls at recreation, in the two-fold design of making them handy and amusing them. “Anything is better than keeping them unoccupied,” is her reply; “but you will succeed better in making them handy, by employing them at something genuinely useful. Little girls,” continues this keen student of girl nature, “usually love to be working, and you cannot make them happier than by giving them something useful to do. Show them how to do this right, and you are not only amusing them, but training them.” I wish every mother would take that lesson to heart. A little girl of three or four usually develops all of a sudden a great taste for sweeping, and baking, and washing (washing, particularly). Now, instead of sending her out to play, a wise mother will seize the opportunity of showing the little one how to do these things right. I saw the prettiest sight the other day; it was a laundry lesson to a tiny girl of three-and-a-half. You never saw such a happy little girl as the pupil; no game ever invented could hold half the interest for her, and I am bound to say that she displayed more aptitude than many a poor girl who came to the work after her ’teens. For my part, I am convinced that sewing, and sweeping, and washing, are far better instruments for hand-and-eye training than paper-folding, and mixing and modelling dough into cakes and scones, while quite as interesting to children as modelling in clay, has the educational advantage which anything woven into the genuine web of life has over what is extraneous to it. And here I may be allowed to remark that much of the educational unrest, so keenly diagnosed by Dr. Starkie, is due to the fact that parents, the first and natural teachers, have in these days a tendency to turn over their children, body and soul to a professional class—shirking their own duties. Everything nowadays, is supposed to be taught at school; and the only part parents take in their children’s education is to criticise the teachers, and grumble at the results of the system. If parents did their own share, things would be more satisfactory. And I include among the parents’ share the duty of teaching cooking, etc., and training the willing little hands to turn themselves to useful account in the busy family life around them.
But we have got far away from Marie Jeanne and the “Rouges” of Saint-Cyr, who, after a jolly recreation in the park, are trooping into their class-room for the two o’clock “instruction,” which as often as not, Madame de Maintenon gave herself.
What did she talk about at these “instructions”? “Of everything under the sun,” one is tempted to exclaim at first, when one turns over the list of subjects drawn up by Madame de Berval. Books were rare at Saint-Cyr, especially after the “Reform” of 1691, and it was from these “instructions” that the girls laid in their provision of general information. “Do not accustom them to a great diversity of reading; the seven or eight books which are in use in your house would do them for all their lives, if they only read for edification. Curiosity is dangerous and insatiable.” But there are books for which she makes an exception: “Try to make them love Saint Francis de Sales; his books are solid and show one how to attain the greatest perfection, with the utmost courtesy and refinement.” As for herself, one always feels that the “Introduction à la Vie Dévote” was never long out of her hands; and she comes to her girls with some of its chapters fresh in her memory. If to understand the “pedagogy” of Saint-Cyr, one must have studied Fénélon’s “Education des Filles,” to understand the whole spirit of the institution, the union of “Religion and Commonsense,” on which it was founded, one must re-read Saint Francis de Sales. Sometimes, especially for the bigger girls, the “Instruction” began with a reading from the “Introduction.” We find an interesting example in an “Instruction à la Classe Bleue” of March, 1712.
Madame de Maintenon interrupted the reading to ask Mademoiselle du Mesnil what she understood by the good-humoured and generous humility of which St. Francis de Sales spoke. “I believe,” said the young lady, “that, in this case, the good-humour would consist in not allowing oneself to be discouraged by the faults, of which one’s humility forced one to convict oneself; and the generosity in setting oneself, with all the courage and goodwill possible, to correct them.” Madame was delighted with the answer, and went on to point out to the girls the perfection and solidity of the Spirit of Saint Francis de Sales, “his straightforwardness, gentleness, and the attractive way he had of leading souls to God.” “Do you know him well, this Saint, my dear children?”
It appears they did, and Mademoiselle de Conflans proceeds to show her knowledge (and a fine literary taste, too, it seems to me) in the quotation she chooses from him, at Madame de Maintenon’s request. It is from that admirable chapter on “the manner of practising true poverty in the midst of riches” (Part III., Chapter XV.), and Mademoiselle de Conflans quotes it almost literally: “Tell me, are not the gardeners of great princes more concerned to cultivate and beautify the gardens they have in charge, than if they were their own? And why is that? Because, doubtless, they look on those gardens as belonging to the kings and princes, with whom they wish to gain favour by their services. My Philothea, the possessions we have are not ours.” (At this point, Mademoiselle de Conflans ceases to quote but paraphrases admirably.) “They are but given to us by God, to be managed for His glory, for our salvation, and for the good of our neighbour. As long as these ends are kept in view, we please God by looking well after our worldly possessions....”
“Suppose, Mademoiselle,” continues Madame, “then that you were married (she taught them, as we shall see presently, not to be afraid to mention the word marriage at Saint-Cyr), and that you had plenty of money, what would you do?” “I should feed and clothe my children well,” says Mademoiselle (who had not studied her Francis de Sales for nothing); “I should pay my debts; I should help my poor neighbours; I should take care of people who were ashamed to ask assistance; and I should visit and assist the sick poor in the hospitals.” “All that is excellent,” comments Madame, approvingly, “but among all these different kinds of charity, preference is to be given to that exercised towards your own poor tenants and poor relations. But if you met with some financial reverses, would it be right to borrow money to keep up your charities?” Mademoiselle de Chaunac gives it as her opinion that it would. “If you really think it would be right to borrow money to keep up one’s charities you are very much mistaken. One’s first duty is towards one’s own children and servants.”
That is good sense and justice, and the religion that was taught in Saint-Cyr was never separated from one or the other. “Make them see that true piety consists in the fulfilment of one’s duties; let them learn those of a wife and of a mother, their obligations towards their servants, the edification they owe to their neighbours, and what sort of a life they can and ought to lead in the world.” She was never tired, when talking to the girls, of contrasting true devotion with wrong-headed “voteenism.” She defined the latter by its manifestations: leaving the Blessed Sacrament to go to pray before a statue; leaving one’s class to say extra prayers; putting one’s head against the wall, for fear of allowing one’s devotion to evaporate, and being quite annoyed if one is interrupted, for something quite necessary; waiting an hour outside the confessional for “contrition” to fall from heaven, and then saying you don’t feel like going to confession, for you have not the proper sorrow for your sins; spending a lot of money on ornaments for the chapel and leaving your sisters in want; employing at prayer much more time than is marked out, and thereby neglecting the duties of your charge. “True piety, ‘devotion in the spirit of Saint François de Sales,’” as she calls it somewhere, “is, on the contrary, solid, simple, good-humoured, sweet, and free, consisting rather in innocence of life than in austerities and frequent retreats. When an educated woman misses vespers to stay with her sick husband, everybody will approve; when she holds the principle that we must honour our father and mother, however bad they may be, nobody will laugh; when she maintains that it is better for a woman to rear her children well, and train her servants, than to pass the whole morning in her oratory, people will easily accommodate themselves to that religion, and she will make it loved and respected.”
To prepare her girls for that exact fulfilment of duties which, according to her (and Saint Francis), is the best sign of true piety, she adopted two great means. The first was to train them to an exact observance of present duties. She was always preaching to them the honour and glory of work well done. It is a matter of pride to be able to sweep, and dust, and mend well, and, far from being ashamed of doing these things, a girl ought to be proud to be seen by everybody at them. But what of a girl who does not care in the least how her work is done, provided she gets through it some way or other? Madame de Maintenon has an ugly name for such little girls, and she does not hesitate to apply it: Coward! There was surely a terrible sting in the word, for girls of noble birth, with a long tradition of soldierly honour in their families. One fancies the lash of it made them turn to their sweeping, and dusting, and polishing with more zeal than the fear of punishment would have done. She likes her girls to remember they are noble, provided they show themselves worthy of their birth. “In the world, nobility is recognised by its true politeness; it loves to give pleasure, to spare trouble, to relieve pain. If one of you were forced to take a position with some individual, and could not bring yourself to do it, preferring to spend the whole day working to earn the necessaries of life, I could not blame her. If another received a proposal of marriage from a man of low birth, and she answered me, ‘I cannot overcome the disinclination I feel to it,’ I would pity her for refusing a match which might make her happy, but I should not find it strange, for these are inclinations common to the nobility. If I should hear a girl say, ‘I would rather a thousand times see my brother dead than hear that he had run away from the enemy, and is a coward’—a noble heart spoke there, and I feel the same as you. If some of you said, ‘I would rather wear homespun all my life than receive presents,’ I should say, ‘these are girls who feel their nobility, and are true to it.’” In the meantime, they can prove their nobility in no way better than the care they take to fulfil their daily duties exactly. In interesting their sense of honour, Madame de Maintenon shows her knowledge of girl nature, grafted on a good stock.
For the future, she looks forward, picturing vividly the life that awaits them. What matter if the picture be not very gay? It is well to face the truth, and teach her girls to be prepared for it. Most of them will marry; she hopes so, at all events, and in some cases goes out of her way to provide them with husbands. “What Saint-Cyr wants,” she says on one occasion, “is sons-in-law.” To all of them she repeats the advice she gave a girl, on leaving: “Either marry, or become a nun; don’t be an old maid.” She was more angry than ever her nuns remembered having seen her, one day she heard that they would not mention the word “marriage,” and that when they came to it in the Catechism, they passed it over. “What! a Sacrament, instituted by Jesus Christ, which He has honoured by His presence, the obligations of which are detailed by His apostles, and must be taught by you to your girls, cannot be named! That is what turns into ridicule the education given in convents. There is far more immodesty in this affectation than there is in talking of what is really innocent. When they have passed through matrimony, they will find there is nothing to laugh at in it. You must accustom them to speak of it very seriously, even sadly; for I believe it is the state of life in which one experiences the most tribulations, even in the happiest marriage.”