Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1

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"Is it, then, impossible that a person should be what you, in English,
call vain, of _not_ remembering what is useless? I dare say you can tell
me the name of that wise man who prayed for the art of forgetting."

"No, indeed, I don't know his name; I never heard of him before: was he a
Grecian, or a Roman, or an Englishman? can't you recollect his name? what
does it begin with?"

"I do not wish either for your sake or my own, to remember the name; let
us content ourselves with the wise man's sense, whether he were a
Grecian, a Roman, or an Englishman: even the first letter of his name
might be left among the useless things--might it not?"

"But," replied Isabella, a little piqued, "I do not know what you call
useless."

"Those of which you can make no use," said Mad. de Rosier, with
simplicity.

"You don't mean, though, all the names, and dates, and kings, and Roman
emperors, and all the remarkable events that I have learned by heart?"

"It is useful, I allow," replied Mad. de Rosier, "to know by heart the
names of the English kings and Roman emperors, and to remember the dates
of their reigns, otherwise we should be obliged, whenever we wanted them,
to search in the books in which they are to be found, and that wastes
time."

"Wastes time--yes; but what's worse," said Isabella, "a person looks so
awkward and foolish in company, who does not know these things--things
that every body knows."

"And that every body is supposed to know," added Mad. de Rosier.

"_That_ never struck me before," said Isabella, ingenuously; "I only
remembered these things to repeat in conversation."

Here Mad. de Rosier, pleased to observe that her pupil had caught an idea
that was new to her, dropped the conversation, and left Isabella to apply
what had passed. Active and ingenious young people should have much left
to their own intelligent exertions, and to their own candour.

Matilda, the second daughter, was at first pleased with Mad. de Rosier,
because she looked well in mourning; and afterwards she became interested
for her, from hearing the history of her misfortunes, of which Mad. de
Rosier, one evening, gave her a simple, pathetic account. Matilda was
particularly touched by the account of the early death of this lady's
beautiful and accomplished daughter; she dwelt upon every circumstance,
and, with anxious curiosity, asked a variety of questions.

"I think I can form a perfect idea of her now," said Matilda, after she
had inquired concerning the colour of her hair, of her eyes, her
complexion, her height, her voice, her manners, and her dress--"I think I
have a perfect idea of her now!"

"Oh no!" said Mad. de Rosier, with a sigh, "you cannot form a perfect
idea of my Rosalie from any of these things; she was handsome and
graceful; but it was not her person--it was her mind," said the mother,
with a faltering voice: her voice had, till this instant, been steady and
composed.

"I beg your pardon--I will ask you no more questions," said Matilda.

"My love," said Mad. de Rosier, "ask me as many as you please--I like to
think of _her_---I may now speak of her without vanity--her character
would have pleased you."

"I am sure it would," said Matilda: "do you think she would have liked me
or Isabella the best?"

"She would have liked each of you for your different good qualities, I
think: she would not have made her love an object of competition, or the
cause of jealousy between two sisters; she could make herself
sufficiently beloved, without stooping to any such mean arts. She had two
friends who loved her tenderly; they knew that she was perfectly sincere,
and that she would not flatter either of them--you know _that_ is only
childish affection which is without esteem. Rosalie was esteemed _autant
qu'aimee_."

"How I should have liked such a friend! but I am afraid she would have
been so much my superior, she would have despised me--Isabella would have
had all her conversation, because she knows so much, and I know nothing!"

"If you know that you know nothing," said Mad. de Rosier, with an
encouraging smile, "you know as much as the wisest of men. When the
oracle pronounced Socrates to be the wisest of men, he explained it by
observing, 'that he knew himself to be ignorant, whilst other men,' said
he, 'believing that they know every thing, are not likely to improve.'"

"Then you think I am likely to improve?" said Matilda, with a look of
doubtful hope.

"Certainly," said Mad. de Rosier: "if you exert yourself, you may be any
thing you please."

"Not any thing I please, for I should please to be as clever, and as
good, and as amiable, and as estimable, too, as your Rosalie--but that's
impossible. Tell me, however, what she was at my age--and what sort of
things she used to do and say--and what books she read--and how she
employed herself from morning till night."

"That must be for to-morrow," said Mad. de Rosier; "I must now show
Herbert the book of prints that he wanted to see."

It was the first time that Herbert had ever asked to look into a book.
Mad. de Rosier had taken him entirely out of the hands of Mrs. Grace, and
finding that his painful associations with the sight of the syllables in
his dog's-eared spelling-book could not immediately be conquered, she
prudently resolved to cultivate his powers of attention upon other
subjects, and not to return to syllabic difficulties, until the young
gentleman should have forgotten his literary misfortunes, and acquired
sufficient energy and patience to ensure success.

"It is of little consequence," said she, "whether the boy read a year
sooner or later; but it is of great consequence that he should love
literature."

"Certainly," said Mrs. Harcourt, to whom this observation was addressed;
"I am sure you will manage all those things properly--I leave him
entirely to you--Grace quite gives him up: if he read by the time we must
think of sending him to school I shall be satisfied--only keep him out of
my way," added she, laughing, "when he is stammering over that
unfortunate spelling-book, for I don't pretend to be gifted with the
patience of Job."

"Have you any objection," said Mad. de Rosier, "to my buying for him some
new toys?"

"None in the world---buy any thing you will--do any thing you please--I
give you carte blanche," said Mrs. Harcourt.

After Mad. de Rosier had been some time at Mrs. Harcourt's, and had
carefully studied the characters, or, more properly speaking, the
habits of all her pupils, she took them with her one morning to a large
toy-shop, or rather warehouse for toys, which had been lately opened,
under the direction of an ingenious gentleman, who had employed proper
workmen to execute rational toys for the rising generation.

When Herbert entered "the rational toy-shop," he looked all around, and,
with an air of disappointment, exclaimed, "Why, I see neither whips nor
horses! nor phaetons, nor coaches!"--"Nor dressed dolls!" said Favoretta,
in a reproachful tone--"nor baby houses!"--"Nor soldiers--nor a drum!"
continued Herbert.--"I am sure I never saw such a toy-shop," said
Favoretta; "I expected the finest things that ever were seen, because it
was such a new _great_ shop, and here are nothing but vulgar-looking
things--great carts and wheel-barrows, and things fit for orange-women's
daughters, I think."

This sally of wit was not admired as much as it would have been by
Favoretta's flatterers in her mother's drawing-room:--her brother seized
upon the very cart which she had abused, and dragging it about the room,
with noisy joy, declared he had found out that it was better than a coach
and six that would hold nothing; and he was even satisfied without
horses, because he reflected that he could be the best horse himself; and
that wooden horses, after all, cannot gallop, and they never mind if you
whip them ever so much: "you must drag them along all the time, though
you make _believe_," said Herbert, "that they draw the coach of
themselves; if one gives them the least push, they tumble down on their
sides, and one must turn back, for ever and ever, to set them up upon
their wooden legs again. I don't like make-believe horses; I had rather
be both man and horse for myself." Then, whipping himself, he galloped
away, pleased with his centaur character.

When the little boy in Sacontala is offered for a plaything "_a peacock
of earthenware, painted with rich colours_," he answers, "_I shall like
the peacock if it can run and fly--not else_." The Indian drama of
Sacontala was written many centuries ago. Notwithstanding it has so long
been observed, that children dislike useless, motionless playthings, it
is but of late that more rational toys have been devised for their
amusements.

Whilst Herbert's cart rolled on, Favoretta viewed it with scornful eyes;
but at length, cured by the neglect of the spectators of this fit of
disdain, she condescended to be pleased, and spied a few things worthy of
her notice. Bilboquets, battledores, and shuttlecocks, she acknowledged
were no bad things--"And pray," said she, "what are those pretty little
baskets, Mad. de Rosier? And those others, which look as if they were but
just begun? And what are those strings, that look like mamma's bell
cords?--and is that a thing for making laces, such as Grace laces me
with? And what are those cabinets with little drawers for?"

Mad. de Rosier had taken notice of these little cabinets--they were for
young mineralogists; she was also tempted by a botanical apparatus; but
as her pupils were not immediately going into the country, where
flowers could be procured, she was forced to content herself with such
things as could afford them employment in town. The making of baskets, of
bell-ropes, and of cords for window-curtains, were occupations in which,
she thought, they might successfully employ themselves. The materials for
these little manufactures were here ready prepared; and only such
difficulties were left as children love to conquer. The materials for the
baskets, and a little magnifying glass, which Favoretta wished to have,
were just packed up in a basket, which was to serve for a model, when
Herbert's voice was heard at the other end of the shop: he was exclaiming
in an impatient tone, "I must and I will eat them, I say." He had crept
under the counter, and, unperceived by the busy shopman, had dragged out
of a pigeon-hole, near the ground, a parcel, wrapped up in brown paper:
he had seated himself upon the ground, with his back to the company, and,
with patience worthy of a better object, at length untied the difficult
knot, pulled off the string, and opened the parcel. Within the brown
paper there appeared a number of little packets, curiously folded in
paper of a light brown. Herbert opened one of these, and finding that it
contained a number of little round things which looked like comfits, he
raised the paper to his mouth, which opened wide to receive them. The
shopman stopping his arm, assured him that they were "_not good to eat_;"
but Herbert replied in the angry tone, which caught Mad. de Rosier's ear.
"They are the seeds of radishes, my dear," said she: "if they be sown in
the ground, they will become radishes; then they will be fit to eat, but
not till then. Taste them now, and try." He willingly obeyed; but put the
seeds very quickly out of his mouth, when he found that they were not
sweet. He then said "that he wished he might have them, that he might sow
them in the little garden behind his mother's house, that they might be
fit to eat some time or other."

Mad. de Rosier bought the radish-seeds, and ordered a little spade, a
hoe, and a watering-pot, to be sent home for him. Herbert's face
brightened with joy: he was surprised to find that any of his requests
were granted, because Grace had regularly reproved him for being
troublesome whenever he asked for any thing; hence he had learned to have
recourse to force or fraud to obtain his objects. He ventured now to hold
Mad. De Rosier by the gown: "Stay a little longer," said he; "I want to
look at every thing:" his curiosity dilated with his hopes. When Mad. de
Rosier complied with his request to "stay a little longer," he had even
the politeness to push a stool towards her, saying, "You'd better sit
down; you will be tired of standing, as some people say they are;--but
I'm not one of them. Tell 'em to give me down that wonderful thing, that
I may see what it is, will you?"

The wonderful thing which had caught Herbert's attention was a dry
printing press. Mad. de Rosier was glad to procure this little machine
for Herbert, for she hoped that the new associations of pleasure which he
would form with the types in the little compositor's stick, would efface
the painful remembrance of his early difficulties with the syllables in
the spelling-book. She also purchased a box of models of common
furniture, which were made to take to pieces, and to be put together
again, and on which the names of all the parts were printed. A number of
other useful toys tempted her, but she determined not to be too profuse:
she did not wish to purchase the love of her little pupils by presents;
her object was to provide them with independent occupations; to create a
taste for industry, without the dangerous excitation of continual
variety.

Isabella was delighted with the idea of filling up a small biographical
chart, which resembled Priestley's; she was impatient also to draw the
map of the world upon a small silk balloon, which could be filled with
common air, or folded up flat at pleasure.

Matilda, after much hesitation, said she had decided in her mind, just as
they were going out of the shop. She chose a small loom for weaving
riband and tape, which Isabella admired, because she remembered to have
seen it described in "Townsend's Travels:" but, before the man could put
up the loom for Matilda, she begged to have a little machine for drawing
in perspective, because the person who showed it assured her that it
required _no sort of genius_ to draw perfectly well in perspective with
this instrument.

In their way home, Mad. de Rosier stopped the carriage at a circulating
library. "Are you going to ask for the novel we were talking of
yesterday?" cried Matilda.

"A novel!" said Isabella, contemptuously: "no, I dare say Mad. de Rosier
is not a novel-reader."

"Zeluco, sir, if you please," said Mad. de Rosier. "You see, Isabella,
notwithstanding the danger of forfeiting your good opinion, I have dared
to ask for a novel."

"Well, I always understood, I am sure," replied Isabella, disdainfully,
"that none but trifling, silly people were novel-readers."

"Were readers of trifling, silly novels, perhaps you mean," answered Mad.
de Rosier, with temper; "but I flatter myself you will not find Zeluco
either trifling or silly."

"No, not Zeluco, to be sure," said Isabella, recollecting herself; "for
now I remember Mr. Gibbon, the great historian, mentions Zeluco in one of
his letters; he says it is the best philosophical romance of the age. I
particularly remember _that_, because somebody had been talking of Zeluco
the very day I was reading that letter; and I asked my governess to get
it for me, but she said it was a novel--however, Mr. Gibbon calls it a
philosophical romance."

"The name," said Mad. de Rosier, "will not make such difference to _us_;
but I agree with you in thinking, that as people who cannot judge for
themselves are apt to be misled by names, it would be advantageous to
invent some new name for philosophical novels, that they may no longer be
contraband goods--that they may not be confounded with the trifling,
silly productions, for which you have so just a disdain."

"Now, ma'am, will you ask," cried Herbert, as the carriage stopped at his
mother's door--"will you ask whether the man has brought home my spade
and the watering-pot? I know you don't like that I should go to the
servants for what I want; but I'm in a great hurry for the spade, because
I want to dig the bed for my radishes before night: I've got my seeds
safe in my hand."

Mad. de Rosier, much pleased by this instance of obedience in her
impatient pupil, instantly inquired for what he wanted, to convince him
that it was possible he could have his wishes gratified by a person who
was not an inhabitant of the stable or the kitchen. Isabella might have
registered it in her list of remarkable events, that Herbert, this day,
was not seen with the butler, the footman, or the coachman. Mad. de
Rosier, who was aware of the force of habit, and who thought that no evil
could be greater than that of hazarding the integrity of her little
pupils, did not exact from them any promise of abstaining from the
company of the servants, with whom they had been accustomed to converse;
but she had provided the children with occupations, that they might not
be tempted, by idleness, to seek for improper companions; and, by
interesting herself with unaffected good-nature in their amusements, she
endeavoured to give them a taste for the sympathy of their superiors in
knowledge, instead of a desire for the flattery of inferiors. She
arranged their occupations in such a manner, that, without watching them
every instant, she might know what they were doing, and where they were;
and she showed so much readiness to procure for them any thing that was
reasonable, that they found it the shortest method to address their
petitions to her in the first instance. Children will necessarily delight
in the company of those who make them happy; Mad. de Rosier knew how to
make her pupils contented, by exciting them to employments in which they
felt that they were successful.

"Mamma! mamma! dear mamma!" cried Favoretta, running into the hall, and
stopping Mrs. Harcourt, who was dressed, and going out to dinner, "do
come into the parlour, to look at my basket, my beautiful basket, that I
am making _all_ myself."

"And _do_, mother, or some of ye, come out into the garden, and see the
bed that I've dug, with my own hands, for my radishes--I'm as hot as
fire, I know," said Herbert, pushing his hat back from his forehead.

"Oh! don't come near me with the watering-pot in your hand," said Mrs.
Harcourt, shrinking back, and looking at Herbert's hands, which were not
as white as her own.

"The carriage is but just come to the door, ma'am," said Isabella, who
next appeared in the hall; "I only want you for one instant, to show you
something that is to hang up in your dressing-room, when I have finished
it, mamma; it is really beautiful."

"Well, don't keep me long," said Mrs. Harcourt, "for, indeed, I am too
late already."

"Oh, no! indeed you will not be too late, mamma--only look at my
basket," said Favoretta, gently pulling her mother by the hand into the
parlour.--Isabella pointed to her silk globe, which was suspended in the
window, and, taking up her camel-hair pencil, cried, "Only look, ma'am,
how nicely I have traced the Rhine, the Po, the Elbe, and the Danube; you
see I have not finished Europe; it will be quite another looking thing,
when Asia, Africa, and America are done, and when the colours are quite
dry."

"Now, Isabella, pray let her look at my basket," cried the eager
Favoretta, holding up the scarcely begun basket--"I will do a row, to
show you how it is done;" and the little girl, with busy fingers, began
to weave. The ingenious and delicate appearance of the work, and the
happy countenance of the little workwoman, fixed the mother's pleased
attention, and she, for a moment, forgot that her carriage was waiting.

"The carriage is at the door, ma'am," said the footman.

"I must be gone!" cried Mrs. Harcourt, starting from her reverie. "What
am I doing here? I ought to have been away this half-hour--Matilda!--why
is not she amongst you?"

Matilda, apart from the busy company, was reading with so much
earnestness, that her mother called twice before she looked up.

"How happy you all look," continued Mrs. Harcourt; "and I am going to one
of those terrible _great_ dinners--I shan't eat one morsel; then cards
all night, which I hate as much as you do, Isabella--pity me, Mad. de
Rosier!--Good bye, happy creatures!"--and with some real and some
affected reluctance, Mrs. Harcourt departed.

It is easy to make children happy, for one evening, with new toys and new
employments; but the difficulty is to continue the pleasure of occupation
after it has lost its novelty: the power of habit may well supply the
place of the charm of novelty. Mad. de Rosier exerted herself, for some
weeks, to invent occupations for her pupils, that she might induce in
their minds a love for industry; and when they had tasted the pleasure,
and formed the habit of doing _something_, she now and then suffered them
to experience the misery of having nothing to do. The state of _ennui_,
when contrasted with that of pleasurable mental or bodily activity,
becomes odious and insupportable to children.

Our readers must have remarked that Herbert, when he seized upon the
radish-seeds in the rational toy-shop, had not then learned just notions
of the nature of property. Mad. de Rosier did not, like Mrs. Grace,
repeat ineffectually, fifty times a day--"Master Herbert, don't touch
that!" "Master Herbert, for shame!" "Let that alone, sir!" "Master
Herbert, how dare you, sir!" but she prudently began by putting forbidden
goods entirely out of his reach: thus she, at least, prevented the
necessity for perpetual, irritating prohibitions, and diminished with the
temptation the desire to disobey; she gave him some things for his _own_
use, and scrupulously refrained from encroaching upon his property:
Isabella and Matilda followed her example, in this respect, and thus
practically explained to Herbert the meaning of the words _mine_ and
_yours_. He was extremely desirous of going with Mad. de Rosier to
different shops, but she coolly answered his entreaties by observing,
"that she could not venture to take him into any one's house, till she
was sure that he would not meddle with what was not his own." Herbert now
felt the inconvenience of his lawless habits: to enjoy the pleasures, he
perceived that it was necessary to submit to the duties of society; and
he began to respect "_the rights of things and persons_[1]." When his
new sense of right and wrong had been sufficiently exercised at home,
Mad. de Rosier ventured to expose him to more dangerous trials abroad;
she took him to a carpenter's workshop, and though the saw, the hammer,
the chisel, the plane, and the vice, assailed him in various forms of
temptation, his powers of forbearance came off victorious.

[Footnote 1: Blackstone]

"To _bear_ and _forbear_" has been said to be the sum of manly virtue:
the virtue of forbearance in childhood must always be measured by the
pupil's disposition to activity: a vivacious boy must often have occasion
to forbear more, in a quarter of an hour, than a dull, indolent child in
a quarter of a year.

"May I touch this?"--"May I meddle with that?" were questions which our
prudent hero now failed not to ask, before he meddled with the property
of others, and he found his advantage in this mode of proceeding. He
observed that his governess was, in this respect, as scrupulous as she
required that he should be, and he consequently believed in the truth and
_general_ utility of her precepts.

The coachmaker's, the cooper's, the turner's, the cabinet-maker's, even
the black ironmonger's and noisy tinman's shop, afforded entertainment
for many a morning; a trifling gratuity often purchased much instruction,
and Mad. de Rosier always examined the countenance of the workman before
she suffered her little pupils to attack him with questions. The eager
curiosity of children is generally rather agreeable than tormenting to
tradesmen, who are not too busy to be benevolent; and the care which
Herbert took not to be troublesome pleased those to whom he addressed
himself. He was delighted, at the upholsterer's, to observe that his
little models of furniture had taught him how several things were _put
together_, and he soon learned the workmen's names for his ideas. He
readily understood the use of all that he saw, when he went to a
bookbinder's, and to a printing-office, because, in his own printing and
bookbinder's press, he had seen similar contrivances in miniature.

Prints, as well as models, were used to enlarge his ideas of visible
objects. Mad. de Rosier borrowed the Dictionnaire des Arts et des
Metiers, Buffon, and several books, which contained good prints of
animals, machines, and architecture; these provided amusement on rainy
days. At first she found it difficult to fix the attention of the
boisterous Herbert and the capricious Favoretta. Before they had half
examined one print, they wanted to turn over the leaf to see another; but
this desultory, impatient curiosity she endeavoured to cure by steadily
showing only one or two prints for each day's amusement. Herbert, who
could but just spell words of one syllable, could not read what was
written at the bottom of the prints, and he was sometimes ashamed of
applying to Favoretta for assistance;--the names that were printed upon
his little models of furniture he at length learned to make out. The
_press was obliged to stand still_ when Favoretta, or his friend, Mad. de
Rosier, were not at hand, to tell him, letter by letter, how to spell the
words that he wanted to print. He, one evening, went up to Mad. de
Rosier, and, with a resolute face, said, "I must learn to read."

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