PART I.

The little “new” girl had sobbed herself to sleep at last, and in all the long, white dormitory there was no sound but that of the regular breathing of healthy, sleeping children. Very gently, Madame de Fontaine withdrew her hand from the lock of the little fingers which had held it so long. Then, as she stooped to kiss the small face on the tear-stained pillow, she heard a murmur of “Maman!” and saw that the child was smiling in her sleep.

“She is dreaming of home,” said Madame de Fontaine to herself; and, involuntarily, she turned to the unshuttered window, when she was back in her cell at the end of the dormitory, and yielded her own dreams to the spells the white moon was weaving for them.

Away across the park, long cords of light were stretched across the dark mass of the Château, where a King and his courtiers held revel. Now and then, the night wind whispering to the tall trees, carried snatches of the music to which the dainty, jewelled feet of the Court ladies moved rhythmically. But these things barely touched the nun’s consciousness. Beyond the boundaries of the stately park, far away from the echoes of courtly music, or the light of a King’s presence, her dreams were following where those of little Marie Jeanne d’Aumale had led—to an old “gentilhommière” in the heart of the provinces, very shabby, and tumble-down, and dilapidated, but where a little girl could be very happy, because she called it “home.”

It may well have been that more than one of the little sleepers in the long row of little white beds was dreaming of just such an old “noblesse”;[14] and that is why, as she looked into the moonlit park, the nun could see it so plainly before her. Poor little girls! Two titles had procured for them their right of entrance into Saint-Cyr: nobility of birth, and poverty; and one was more clearly written across the tumble-down walls, the grass-grown courtyard, the empty byres and stables of their old provincial “gentilhommières,” than the other on the Coat of Arms carved above the dilapidated doorway.

And was not one as honourable as the other? Nun as she was, Madame de Fontaine was not yet dead to that noble pride, to which, as Madame de Maintenon herself has finely said, “before having died, one must have lived.” And, standing there at the window of that establishment, whose foundation, four years ago, represented an instalment of payment of the debt contracted by the Monarchy to France, to the nobility of France, ruined in its service, she felt the thrill of one whose order “hath chosen the better part.”

And all the time, from the lighted palace across the park, floated the soft strains of dance-music! There, they who had made the other choice, who had abandoned their homes, and their home duties, who lived at Court, absentees from their estates, and deserters from their “consigne,” were dancing their “branles,” and “courantes,” their “menuets” and “passe-pied” in the light of the King’s presence. Let them dance on! The true hope of France was in these little sleeping girls, who, gathered together under the pious roof of Saint-Cyr, were being trained for a womanhood, which should work out the regeneration of a kingdom.

Never has a more splendid tribute been paid to women than in the foundation of Saint-Cyr; and one runs the risk of failing to realize its importance, both in the history of feminism, and in the history of education, if one neglects to consider it, as much in the light of the statesmanship of Louis XIV. as in that of the charity of Madame de Maintenon. The primary idea was hers, no doubt—but it remained for the King, not only to supply her with the means of putting her project into execution, but to perceive the part it might play in the economical reconstruction of his kingdom. Long wars had left the country desolate, but no class was made “with its desolation more desolate” than the class of country gentlemen. And yet it was among them that the King had always found his most gallant and disinterested defenders. It grieved him to the heart when he heard the tales of the misery in which, among their untilled fields and half-ruined walls, they were rearing their families. In his coffers there was not the wherewithal to requite their services, and help them to cultivate their fields again and rebuild their “gentilhommières.” But there was something else that could be done for them, and the King did it. He could give them “Valiant Women”—and he knew in his heart that the gift was indeed a royal one, and worthy of him—more precious to those who received it than gold and silver. “Far, and from the uttermost coasts” was to be the price of those whom Saint-Cyr was rearing for France.

As I have said, the primary idea was Madame de Maintenon’s, and it developed successively from a small start at Rueil (1682) with sixty pupils, through Noisy with its one hundred and twenty-four, to stately Saint-Cyr with its projected five hundred. Herself a daughter of the class of smaller landed gentry, she had experienced in her own person all the sorrows and bitterness, all the temptations and dangers to which these poor little sisters of her order must inevitably be exposed—and her thought was to gather as many of them as possible into shelter from them. With the generous means put at her disposition she reckoned that she could provide for five hundred young girls, up to the age of fifteen.

But—and it was the statesmanship of the King that raised the point—would there really be very much gained by keeping the girls only until their fifteenth year, and then sending them back to their families with nothing but a half-finished education to their credit? Would it not be better to keep them in Saint-Cyr until they were twenty, and their education complete? With an education such as was planned for them, and a small dowry to supplement the fortune it represented, these girls would find no difficulty in securing suitable “partis,” or being received into convents.

Madame de Maintenon perceived that this course would be much better, and she willingly agreed to have the original number of five hundred pupils reduced to two hundred and fifty. For, as she plainly saw, it was less a question of gathering in the greatest number of girls possible, than of conferring a permanent benefit on the whole kingdom, “by making the foundation a source of pious instruction for it.” Saint-Cyr was to be the leaven, which, hidden in “three measures of meal” (being the whole of France), was “to leaven the whole.” Every girl who left Saint-Cyr, after her thirteen years’ training in all Christian and womanly virtues and accomplishments, was to be a centre of education and enlightenment for all those with whom she should come in contact. In her was to come to life that picture of the Christian Gentlewoman which Fénélon has painted in immortal colours, and which M. Octave Gréard has hung in its true place in his gallery of women:—

“As for me,” he says, in his admirable introduction to the “Education des Filles,” “I love to picture to myself the young woman, educated by Fénélon, as he has painted her, in the setting of a provincial ‘gentilhommière’ he has chosen for her. Up with the dawn, lest laziness or self-indulgence should gain any hold on her; carefully planning the employment of her own day, and that of her servants, and apportioning its various tasks among them with gentle authority; devoting to her children all the time that is necessary to learn to know their characters, and to train them in right principles; her clever hands always busy with some useful piece of needlework; interesting herself in the business of the farm and the estate, and missing no opportunity of learning even from the humblest of those engaged on them; thoughtful for the comforts and wants of her dependents; founding little schools for poor children, and interesting her friends in the care of the destitute sick; leading amid solid and useful occupations, such as these, a full if uneventful existence, and animating everything about her with the same sentiment of life.”

No one who knows intimately the Catholic women of France can fail to recognise the type, and in its persistence (which really inspires a belief in the resurrection of France) must see an overwhelming justification of the statesmanship of Louis XIV. “What France needs,” says Père La Chaise, and he spoke for his royal penitent, too, “is not good nuns—we have enough of them—but good mothers of families.” It is the glory of Saint-Cyr, from its foundation until it fell under the axe of Revolution, to have furnished France with them, and, what is more, to have assured the vitality of the strain in a degree to which the affairs of France bear witness even to-day. When at a recent re-union of the “Ligue des Femmes Françaises,” the Catholic Women’s League of France, we saw the portrait of the ideal “Femme Française,” drawn by the Marquis de Lespinay, and recognised, in every gracious detail, its identity with the ideal which Fénélon formulated, and Saint-Cyr realized, did it not seem, indeed, that Madame de Maintenon’s prayer had been heard? That Saint-Cyr will live—in spirit at least—as long as France, and that France will live—because of it—as long as the world? Vive Saint-Cyr! Puisse-t-il durer autant que la France, et la France autant que le monde!

* * * * *

She was accustomed to early hours at home, was our little Marie-Jeanne, being a busy young person, whose usefulness in minding turkeys, and similar offices, was never questioned in the d’Aumale household. Accordingly, she was quite wide-awake when, very early next morning, the shutters were opened, and somebody passed down the dormitory, pausing at each little white bed to pass the holy-water to its small occupant, and elicit “Deo Gratiases” of varying degrees of drowsiness in answer to a very brisk “Benedicamus Domino.” Some of the “Deo Gratiases” were very, very sleepy—but certainly not Marie-Jeanne’s. Hers absolutely vibrated with energy, and the emphatic bump with which she immediately transferred her small person from bed to floor was but its fitting sequel.

“The dear little one!” said a voice; and Marie Jeanne, interrupting her toilet, looked up to see a very tall and beautiful lady pass the asperges to the nun, who had put her lonely little self to sleep last night, and come and take her in her arms.

“Shall I send one of the ‘bleues’ to help her to dress, Madame?” inquired the nun. But the beautiful lady shook her head. “I will help her, myself,” she told the Sister, “but indeed I think she will not need much helping.”

She was quite right. Everything that a little girl could reasonably be expected to do for herself, Marie Jeanne d’Aumale did. But, as she explained (afterwards, naturally, for she rightly gathered conversation was not allowed in the dormitory), the uniform of Saint-Cyr, which she donned this morning for the first time, was not at all like the style of garment she had been accustomed to wear at home, and one had to learn the ways of the fastenings.

It was a very pretty uniform, she decided, when she was fully dressed and ready to survey herself. It consisted of a neat brown frock, with a cape and apron to match. The apron was bound, in Marie Jeanne’s case, with a smart red ribbon, which showed, as she presently learned, that she belonged to the “Rouges,” the division comprising the youngest in the school, the children between seven and ten. The “Vertes,” whose apron-ribbon was green, came next in order of age, being girls between eleven and thirteen. Then came the “Jaunes,” with their yellow ribbon—girls between fourteen and sixteen. The “Bleues” were the big girls of the school, and showed their standing by the blue ribbon which bordered their apron. Little or big, they all wore pretty white muslin caps on their heads, and soft white muslin collars round their necks, of the fashion we call “Puritan.” They were encouraged to do their hair, if modestly, as becomingly as possible, and a dainty bit of ribbon was supplied occasionally to help in its adornment. It would appear from an “Entretien” with the “Vertes” in the year 1703, that Madame de Maintenon and the Dames de Saint-Louis had occasionally a little trouble with the “demoiselles” about the way they wore their caps, which they persisted in putting too far back on their heads, showing too much hair.

You may be sure that Marie Jeanne’s cap was properly put on—for, as you have probably guessed already, it was no less a person than Madame de Maintenon herself who helped her to dress on her first morning at Saint-Cyr. As we know, she very often came to the house before the children got up, and was present at their toilet, and had an eye to the way in which they discharged the household tasks that were assigned to them.

And now that Marie Jeanne is dressed and we have sufficiently admired her uniform, I have to ask you whether you would wish to spend the rest of the day with her and the other “Rouges” here at Saint-Cyr. If you do (and I can imagine no experience more profitable for any one interested in little girls and their education), I shall allow Madame de Maintenon herself to do the honours.

In an instruction to the “Class rouge” in the year 1701, she describes in great detail how a “reasonable little girl” spends her day at Saint-Cyr. The “Entretien” is particularly interesting, as enabling us to reconstruct the programme of the day’s work at the celebrated “Maison de Saint-Louis.” Nor is it less interesting, as showing Madame de Maintenon’s methods of instruction. One likes to picture the Classroom of the “Rouge” for the occasion—a charming big room, with tall windows looking out on a beautiful park, with coloured prints and maps on the walls, and fifty-six little girls, in the uniform I have described, sitting in their benches. One fancies that they have hurried back from recreation in the park, with more promptness than usual at the news that Madame is coming to them to-day. And now the door opens, and they all stand up to receive her. We can picture her seated on the rostrum, and our little friends in their places—and the “Entretien” ready to begin. I had forgotten one detail: At Saint-Cyr they always began a lesson with the recitation of the “Veni Creator.”

She looks round the eager little faces, and picks one out. “Mademoiselle de Provieuse,” says Madame, “do you know what is meant by a ‘reasonable’ little girl?” Now, it is not quite easy to define in so many words a reasonable little girl, though one may know in one’s own mind very well what a reasonable little girl is. So Mademoiselle de Provieuse hesitates, and Madame comes to the rescue. It appears that “a reasonable person” is simply “a person who is always doing the right thing at the right time.” That sounds simple, and every little girl present is interested immediately. It seems, then, that to be “reasonable”—and if there is one thing every little Saint-Cyrienne worth her salt wants to be, it is “reasonable”—one has nothing to do, but to _do_ as well as one possibly can whatever one is supposed to be _doing_ at any particular time. Let us see how that works out.

The first thing our “reasonable” little girl does when she awakes in the morning is to make her Morning Offering—and that she does with all her heart. Then, when she is called, she gets up immediately (even though six o’clock seems rather early), dresses herself quickly and modestly, but as neatly and carefully as she can. After that, if she has any time to spare, she helps the smaller children to dress, and takes her share in making beds, tidying up the dormitory, sweeping, dusting, and polishing. No half-done work for her—untidily made beds, sweeping that leaves all the dirt in the corners, or polishing that shows more smears than anything else! No, whatever a “reasonable” little girl does, she does with all her heart, and her only pride is in work well done.

The next item in the day’s programme is morning prayers in the schoolroom. And here our little girl shows how “reasonable” she is by her devotion and attention. _She_ is not the sort of little girl who giggles, and whispers, and tries to distract her companions—not she, for she knows that there is nothing more serious than praying to God. Prayers are followed by breakfast—and as it is as important to eat well as it is to do anything else well, nothing pleases Madame better than to hear of a little girl thoroughly enjoying her breakfast. It would seem that at Saint-Cyr, there was sometimes permission to talk at breakfast, while sometimes silence was enforced. Madame de Maintenon, who likes to give her girls a reason for the rules to which they are subjected, explains on another occasion (Instruction to the “Jaunes,” July, 1703) why these times of silence were prescribed: “The first reason is to teach you _to hold your tongues_; nothing is so ugly in a girl as to be always talking, even if she were a genius, and said the wittiest and cleverest things possible. The Saint-Cyr girls have always been accused of this fault. Another reason is to give you time to _think_, for we know that, if you employ it well, nothing will contribute so much to your advantage.”

At eight o’clock our little girl goes to Mass (here a hint is slipped in as to her behaviour in Church—she must see her companions well seated before taking her own place, and during Mass-time she must not turn her head to see who is coming out; she must follow the parts of the Mass with all the respect and devotion of which she is capable, for nothing is so sacred as the Mass).

Classes occupy the time from 8.30 until 12; and I know you will be interested to know what our little friend learns at them. The programme of instruction for the “Rouges” included reading, writing, and arithmetic, the elements of grammar, Catechism and Bible History. If she were a little advanced, she could help the others, and Madame de Maintenon loved to see her little friends doing the mother to their younger companions. According to her, a little girl could not too soon begin to make herself useful to others. In an “Entretien” with the nuns, dated 1701, on the “necessity of avoiding useless fatigues,” we catch a glimpse of a little girl comfortably seated, with a little new-comer, to whom she is teaching her “ba bé,” kneeling at her feet. As Madame de Maintenon is such a disciple of Fénélon (in matters of education) one is glad to think that the little Saint-Cyriennes learned their “ba bé,” not in a Latin Psalter, as was the general habit of the time, but in “the prettily-bound book, with gilt edges and nice pictures,” which he recommends.

For teaching writing, she certainly adopted his methods: “When children can read a little, you should make a sort of play for them by making them form letters.... Children have a natural inclination to draw figures on paper, and, with the least little bit of help and direction, they will learn to form letters, and gradually accustom themselves to write. Then you will say to them: Write me a little note, or send such and such a piece of news to your brother, or your cousin.” We know that Madame de Maintenon herself adopted this method with one of her first pupils, the Duke of Maine. When he was only five years old she told him one day to write a letter to the King. “Oh! but I don’t know how to write a letter,” said the little chap. “Have you nothing in your heart you would like to tell him?” “I am very sorry he has gone away,” says the little Duke, readily. “Very well, write that down; nothing could be better. What else?” “Well, I shall be very, very glad when he comes back.” “There’s your letter written,” says Madame. “All you have to do is to write it down simply as you think it, and, if you think amiss, we shall correct you.” It is in this way, as she told the “Bleues” one day she came to correct their letters for them, that she taught Monsieur de Maine, “and you know,” she said, “what beautiful letters he writes now.”

I have not been able to find any indication of how arithmetic was taught at Saint-Cyr—but its importance for girls had been too strongly insisted on by Fénélon for it to be neglected. “Girls,” he says, “should know the four rules—addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. You should practice them in these rules by giving them accounts to make up. Many people find this task a great burden, but if one is accustomed to it from childhood, and learns to avail oneself of the help of the rules, to deal quickly with the most complicated accounts, one loses this distaste.” Very often, as he points out, good and economical housekeeping depends on the housekeeper’s exactitude in keeping accounts.

Grammar was taught at Saint-Cyr in the spirit of the “Education des Filles” by practice in correct writing and speaking, rather than by rule, “as boys study their Latin Grammar.” Again and again the importance of speaking “good French” is insisted upon—and we all know the models that were given them. It was to teach her little girls to speak the purest and best French that Madame de Maintenon had them trained to act some of the best plays of Corneille and Racine. There came a day when these young people “played ‘Andromaque’ so well that they would never play it again—neither it, nor any other of your pieces,” Madame writes to Racine. She did not keep her word, fortunately for us, for they were destined to play “Esther.”