a treatise on parents and children-第5部分

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enforced　attempt　will　make　you　loathe　the　sight　of　a　book　all　the　rest

of　your　life。　　With　millions　of　acres　of　woods　and　valleys　and　hills

and　wind　and　air　and　birds　and　streams　and　fishes　and　all　sorts　of

instructive　and　healthy　things　easily　accessible；　or　with　streets　and

shop　windows　and　crowds　and　vehicles　and　all　sorts　of　city　delights　at

the　door；　you　are　forced　to　sit；　not　in　a　room　with　some　human　grace

and　comfort　or　furniture　and　decoration；　but　in　a　stalled　pound　with　a

lot　of　other　children；　beaten　if　you　talk；　beaten　if　you　move；　beaten

if　you　cannot　prove　by　answering　idiotic　questions　that　even　when　you

escaped　from　the　pound　and　from　the　eye　of　your　gaoler；　you　were　still

agonizing　over　his　detestable　sham　books　instead　of　daring　to　live。

And　your　childish　hatred　of　your　gaoler　and　flogger　is　nothing　to　his

adult　hatred　of　you；　for　he　is　a　slave　forced　to　endure　your　society

for　his　daily　bread。　　You　have　not　even　the　satisfaction　of　knowing

how　you　are　torturing　him　and　how　he　loathes　you；　and　you　give

yourself　unnecessary　pains　to　annoy　him　with　furtive　tricks　and

spiteful　doing　of　forbidden　things。　　No　wonder　he　is　sometimes

provoked　to　fiendish　outbursts　of　wrath。　　No　wonder　men　of　downright

sense；　like　Dr　Johnson；　admit　that　under　such　circumstances　children

will　not　learn　anything　unless　they　are　so　cruelly　beaten　that　they

make　desperate　efforts　to　memorize　words　and　phrases　to　escape

flagellation。　　It　is　a　ghastly　business；　quite　beyond　words；　this

schooling。



And　now　I　hear　cries　of　protest　arising　all　round。　　First　my　own

schoolmasters；　or　their　ghosts；　asking　whether　I　was　cruelly　beaten　at

school？　　No；　but　then　I　did　not　learn　anything　at　school。　　Dr

Johnson's　schoolmaster　presumably　did　care　enough　whether　Sam　learned

anything　to　beat　him　savagely　enough　to　force　him　to　lame　his　mind

for　Johnson's　great　mind　_was_　lamedby　learning　his　lessons。　　None

of　my　schoolmasters　really　cared　a　rap　（or　perhaps　it　would　be　fairer

to　them　to　say　that　their　employers　did　not　care　a　rap　and　therefore

did　not　give　them　the　necessary　caning　powers）　whether　I　learnt　my

lessons　or　not；　provided　my　father　paid　my　schooling　bill；　the

collection　of　which　was　the　real　object　of　the　school。　　Consequently　I

did　not　learn　my　school　lessons；　having　much　more　important　ones　in

hand；　with　the　result　that　I　have　not　wasted　my　life　trifling　with

literary　fools　in　taverns　as　Johnson　did　when　he　should　have　been

shaking　England　with　the　thunder　of　his　spirit。　　My　schooling　did　me　a

great　deal　of　harm　and　no　good　whatever：　　it　was　simply　dragging　a

child's　soul　through　the　dirt；　but　I　escaped　Squeers　and　Creakle　just

as　I　escaped　Johnson　and　Carlyle。　　And　this　is　what　happens　to　most　of

us。　　We　are　not　effectively　coerced　to　learn：　　we　stave　off　punishment

as　far　as　we　can　by　lying　and　trickery　and　guessing　and　using　our

wits；　and　when　this　does　not　suffice　we　scribble　impositions；　or

suffer　extra　imprisonments〃keeping　in〃　was　the　phrase　in　my　timeor

let　a　master　strike　us　with　a　cane　and　fall　back　on　our　pride　at　being

able　to　hear　it　physically　（he　not　being　allowed　to　hit　us　too　hard）

to　outface　the　dishonor　we　should　have　been　taught　to　die　rather　than

endure。　　And　so　idleness　and　worthlessness　on　the　one　hand　and　a

pretence　of　coercion　on　the　other　became　a　despicable　routine。　　If　my

schoolmasters　had　been　really　engaged　in　educating　me　instead　of

painfully　earning　their　bread　by　keeping　me　from　annoying　my　elders

they　would　have　turned　me　out　of　the　school；　telling　me　that　I　was

thoroughly　disloyal　to　it；　that　I　had　no　intention　of　learning；　that　I

was　mocking　and　distracting　the　boys　who　did　wish　to　learn；　that　I　was

a　liar　and　a　shirker　and　a　seditious　little　nuisance；　and　that　nothing

could　injure　me　in　character　and　degrade　their　occupation　more　than

allowing　me　（much　less　forcing　me）　to　remain　in　the　school　under　such

conditions。　　But　in　order　to　get　expelled；　it　was　necessary　commit　a

crime　of　such　atrocity　that　the　parents　of　other　boys　would　have

threatened　to　remove　their　sons　sooner　than　allow　them　to　be

schoolfellows　with　the　delinquent。　　I　can　remember　only　one　case　in

which　such　a　penalty　was　threatened；　and　in　that　case　the　culprit；　a

boarder；　had　kissed　a　housemaid；　or　possibly；　being　a　handsome　youth；

been　kissed　by　her。　　She　did　not　kiss　me；　and　nobody　ever　dreamt　of

expelling　me。　　The　truth　was；　a　boy　meant　just　so　much　a　year　to　the

institution。　　That　was　why　he　was　kept　there　against　his　will。　　That

was　why　he　was　kept　there　when　his　expulsion　would　have　been　an

unspeakable　relief　and　benefit　both　to　his　teachers　and　himself。



It　may　be　argued　that　if　the　uncommercial　attitude　had　been　taken；　and

all　the　disloyal　wasters　and　idlers　shewn　sternly　to　the　door；　the

school　would　not　have　been　emptied；　but　filled。　　But　so　honest　an

attitude　was　impossible。　　The　masters　must　have　hated　the　school　much

more　than　the　boys　did。　　Just　as　you　cannot　imprison　a　man　without

imprisoning　a　warder　to　see　that　he　does　not　escape；　the　warder　being

tied　to　the　prison　as　effectually　by　the　fear　of　unemployment　and

starvation　as　the　prisoner　is　by　the　bolts　and　bars；　so　these　poor

schoolmasters；　with　their　small　salaries　and　large　classes；　were　as

much　prisoners　as　we　were；　and　much　more　responsible　and　anxious　ones。

They　could　not　impose　the　heroic　attitude　on　their　employers；　nor

would　they　have　been　able　to　obtain　places　as　schoolmasters　if　their

habits　had　been　heroic。　　For　the　best　of　them　their　employment　was

provisional：　　they　looked　forward　to　escaping　from　it　into　the　pulpit。

The　ablest　and　most　impatient　of　them　were　often　so　irritated　by　the

awkward；　slow…witted；　slovenly　boys：　　that　is；　the　ones　that　required

special　consideration　and　patient　treatment；　that　they　vented　their

irritation　on　them　ruthlessly；　nothing　being　easier　than　to　entrap　or

bewilder　such　a　boy　into　giving　a　pretext　for　punishing　him。







My　Scholastic　Acquirements



The　results；　as　far　as　I　was　concerned；　were　what　might　have　been

expected。　　My　school　made　only　the　thinnest　pretence　of　teaching

anything　but　Latin　and　Greek。　　When　I　went　there　as　a　very　small　boy　I

knew　a　good　deal　of　Latin　grammar　which　I　had　been　taught　in　a　few

weeks　privately　by　my　uncle。　　When　I　had　been　several　years　at　school

this　same　uncle　examined　me　and　discovered　that　the　net　result　of　my

schooling　was　that　I　had　forgotten　what　he　had　taught　me；　and　had

learnt　nothing　else。　　To　this　day；　though　I　can　still　decline　a　Latin

noun　and　repeat　some　of　the　old　paradigms　in　the　old　meaningless　way；

because　their　rhythm　sticks　to　me；　I　have　never　yet　seen　a　Latin

inscription　on　a　tomb　that　I　could　translate　throughout。　　Of　Greek　I

can　decipher　perhaps　the　greater　part　of　the　Greek　alphabet。　　In

short；　I　am；　as　to　classical　education；　another　Shakespear。　　I　can

read　French　as　easily　as　English；　and　under　pressure　of　necessity　I

can　turn　to　account　some　scraps　of　German　and　a　little　operatic

Italian；　but　these　I　was　never　taught　at　school。　　Instead；　I　was

taught　lying；　dishonorable　submission　to　tyranny；　dirty　stories；　a

blasphemous　habit　of　treating　love　and　maternity　as　obscene　jokes；

hopelessness；　evasion；　derision；　cowardice；　and　all　the　blackguard's

shifts　by　which　the　coward　intimidates　other　cowards。　　And　if　I　had

been　a　boarder　at　an　English　public　school　instead　of　a　day　boy　at　an

Irish　one；　I　might　have　had　to　add　to　these；　deeper　shames　still。







Schoolmasters　of　Genius



And　now；　if　I　have　reduced　the　ghosts　of　my　schoolmasters　to

melancholy　acquiescence　in　all　this　（which　everybody　who　has　been　at

an　ordinary　school　will　recognize　as　true）；　I　have　still　to　meet　the

much　more　sincere　protests　of　the　handful　of　people　who　have　a　natural

genius　for　〃bringing　up〃　children。　　I　shall　be　asked　with　kindly　scorn

whether　I　have　heard　of　Froebel　and　Pestalozzi；　whether　I　know　the

work　that　is　being　done　by　Miss　Mason　and　the　Dottoressa　Montessori

or；　best　of　all　as　I　think；　the　Eurythmics　School　of　Jacques　Dalcroze

at　Hellerau　near　Dresden。　　Jacques　Dalcroze；　like　Plato；　believes　in

saturating　his　pupils　with　music。　　They　walk　to　music；　play　to　music；

work　to　music；　obey　drill　commands　that　would　bewilder　a　guardsman　to

music；　think　to　music；　live　to　music；　get　so　clearheaded　about　music

that　they　can　move　their　several　limbs　each　in　a　different　metre　until

they　become　complicated　living　magazines　of　cross　rhythms；　and；　what

is　more；　make　music　for　others　to　do　all　these　things　to。　　Stranger

still；　though　Jacques　Dalcroze；　like　all　these　great　teachers；　is　the

completest　of　tyrants；　knowing　what　is　right　and　that　he　must　and　will

have　the　lesson　just　so　or　else　break　his　heart　（not　somebody　else's；

observe）；　yet　his　school　is　so　fascinating　that　every　woman　who　sees

it　exclaims　〃Oh；　why　was　I　not　taught　like　this！〃　and　elderly

gentlemen　excitedly　enrol　themselves　as　students　and　distract　classes

of　infants　by　their　desperate　endeavors　to　beat　two　in　a　bar　with　one

hand　and　three　with　the　other；　and　start　off　on　earnest　walks　round

the　room；　taking　two　steps　backward　whenever　Monsieur　Daleroze　calls

out　〃Hop！〃　　Oh　yes：　　I　know　all　about　these　wonderful　schools　that　you

cannot　keep　children　or　even　adults　out　of；　and　these　teachers　whom

their　pupils　not　only　obey　without　coercion；　but　adore。　　And　if　you

will　tell　me　roughly　how　many　Masons　and　Montessoris　and　Dalcrozes　you

think　you　can　pick　up　in　Europe　for　salaries　of　from　thirty　shillings

to　five　pounds　a　week；　I　will　estimate　your　chances　of　converting　your

millions　of　little　scholastic　hells　into　little　scholastic　heavens。

If　you　are　a　distressed　gentlewoman　starting　to　make　a　living；　you　can

still　open　a　little　school；　and　you　can　easily　buy　a　secondhand　brass

plate　inscribed　PESTALOZZIAN　INSTITUTE　and　nail　it　to　your　door；

though　you　have　no　more　idea　of　who　Pestalozzi　was　an