"ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES."
JUST now in England we feel a vivid interest in every- thing that is French. Mr. .Melrose has chosen a good moment for publishing a translation of Madame Yvonne Sarcey's new book of advice to girls, "The Road to Happiness" (3s. 61. net). Incidentally Madame Sarcey enables us to study some interesting types of very young French women. In her preface she modestly disclaims any literary talent. Here is her excuse for writing :—" I adore youth with an overflowing love. I desire its happiness, and try to serve it with the best of my powers." Her readers will not, we think, accept this verdict as it stands. Madame Sarcey has plenty of literary gift, but she does not adore her young countrywomen, nor will she lead any one to fall in love with them through the medium of her pages. She is intending, one must, however, remember, not to instruct the foreigner, but to edify and correct the French. Con- sequently, no doubt, she has forgone all temptation to flattery. We gather, to our great surprise, that the besetting fault—or
should we say defect ?—of the rising generation of cultivated Parisian women is depression. Madame Sarcey sets herself to dose them for this insidious disease. But for the moment we are more interested in the complaint than the cure. What ails these young people that they should be so sad ?
The first chapter of "The Road to Happiness" is headed " Bored Youth." In it the reader is introduced to a young lady who is " bored everywhere." " Her feelings are never moved any more than is her pity ; the picturesque in men and things escapes her. The absorbing interest of work in all its forms, of art in its many aspects, and ideas which upheave this simmering, round old world of ours, everything—even the charm of little children—leaves her indifferent." Certainly she seems a very dull person ! Chapter the second is beaded " Luck," and opens with a story of a girl of nineteen who committed suicide because she " failed in a singing examina- tion at the Conservatoire." After such an opening we are not surprised to find Madame Sarcey complaining bitterly of modern education, which is, she declares upon the authority of a Paris nerve doctor, a hotbed for neurasthenia. Apparently there is just now a rage in Paris for making girls pass public examinations. Our author takes us to a large hall in the Rue Mabillon, where a crowd of girls, accompanied by their mothers, are ranged in face of the examiners. The spectator is constrained, we are told, to divide the students into two classes, " the brave and the cowardly." The latter are utterly upset and " demoralised " by " the smallest un- expected check "; they "at once dissolve in tears and remain stupidly silent." What is the object, Madame Sarcey asks, of forcing girls who are not intended to teach through what is evidently to them a terrible ordeal ? The girl who prepares for this examination is too often " thoroughly disagreeable." " She weeps when she finds herself obliged to spend a few moments in company with her friends, she deliberately refuses the distractions which expand a growing mind. The destinies of France might depend upon her lesson-books, and she cries with a tragic air, 'I haven't time!' All the learning which made the French woman of a former generation so charming is, according to Madame Sarcey, left out of a modern education. The modern girl has read for a purpose till she cannot read for pleasure. She does not know " how to receive guests pleasantly, write a charming letter, wear gracefully a dress made at home, listen with discretion, and speak without saying silly things." The system of cramming through which she has passed fits her for neither simple nor intellectual society. She cannot " prepare a dinner, iron a chemisette, decorate and arrange a room, keep house economically, balance the budget to the best advantage, take care of a baby. These are sciences for which I look in vain on the syllabus of the famous teacher's certifi- cate." On the other hand, her mental attainments are not such as fit her for less homely duties. All the graces of deportment are neglected. A young lady will shake hands with her elders while "allowing her eyes and smile to wander." She is not " in touch with intellectual movements," or at any rate she has not the art of " discussing them with moderation." She is unfitted for happiness in any sphere. She may in later life be conscientious over her children ; she does not know how to " bring them up with delight." Over-strenuous work leads to over-strenuous play, and it is doubtful, we are told, whether holidays are as much enjoyed as they used to be. Physical like mental culture may go too far. "Nowadays young people go in too much for amuse- ments. They are palpitating, insatiable, mad for movement and excitement ; as soon as one entertainment is over another must be organised. Matches follow picnics, and dances succeed walks or rides ; and when by chance they are not distracted they are bored." Hotter and hotter becomes Madame Sarcey in condemnation of examinations, until at last she exclaims that they are of no use at all " except to frighten away husbands7" Still, of course the majority of those who take the redoubtable " senior certificate" do marry, but even then its evil effects are not over. Young married women read " philosophy,"—and Madame Sarcey means by philosophy the works of Nietzsche and Schopenhaner. Hand- in-hand with these lugubrious guides they sound the. very depths of low spirits. Their "sole ambition is this depressing dream : to be individual '" ; and, " amid a medley of words," they " only remember that ' I ' is a god," while " the psychological study of their 'I ' often prevents their observing ether beluga with a ' me ' deserving of pity or kindness, leings in whom they might take an interest." Madame Sarcey's strictures are not altogether applicable to England. Nevertheless a great many wise persons on this side of the Channel are dissatisfied with the results of that higher education of women for which in the past they fought so courageously. There are just now so many instructed fools, young women who regard all education as a means of detecting prejudice, and then confuse prejudice and principle. May not a mental strain which stops far short of a mental breakdown overset the nice balance of common-sense, and in doing so endanger the moral poise ? The fruit of folly is poison. Among the highest educational authorities as well as among mothers of families there are great searchings of heart. Reforms should be considered, if only to stem the tide of reaction. Absolute absorption in physical culture seems as bad in its results as absorption in mental. It is said that in the rich and fashionable world, the world which brings up its daughters simply to enjoy themselves, and in which physical perfection is most highly prized and most fre- quently attained, the aspirations of young women have been materialised to an alarming extent. They do not lack sense; they lack sentiment. Exorcise sentiment, and you will find that you have knocked out a great deal besides nonsense, and made room for nothing but the love of money, which is regarded as the only medium in which happiness lives.
The absolute candour with which Madame Sarcey directs her young readers and their mothers to set their hearts upon a satisfactory marriage is offensive to English taste. No doubt she would say that we are all hypocrites about this matter in England, for she shows a great deal of stereotyped prejudice against us ; but the fact remains that, however ardently we desire to see our daughters settled in life, we like our ambition to be decently bidden, at least from them, and we do not ask for their conscious co-operation. The chapter headed " How to Become Attractive though Plain" contains some advice which is not " pretty "; but whoever read a French book which was " pretty " throughout ? "Plain people," Madame Sarcey encourages her young audience to recollect, " are often the objects of the great passions," and she tells them of an actress who accentuates all her defects of face and figure so that, if not admirable, she may be at least remark- able. " Compare me with any one you like," cries the actress, " you will find no one uglier. And this discovery delights her." Madame Sarcey would have her courage emulated. We in England would not.
But neither poverty of looks nor riches of instruction have all to do with the growing number of old maids in Paris. The race for husbands is becoming inevitably harder, and these French girls are warned with a didacticism which reminds one of Miss Edgeworth's " Moral Tales" to avoid social pride. We are told of a charming young woman who, having no "dot," never married at all, not because she had no chance, but because she would not marry the chemist! No persuasion would induce her. She was, we understand, wholly without excuse, because she did not dislike him, having never seen him ! No. She said her father was in a public office, and she wished to marry a soldier,—not some particular soldier, but a soldier of some sort. Poor romantic child ! She is now, we understand, a depressed old maid, while the shopkeeper has a fortune, shared no doubt by some more worldly wise young lady, who after all has perhaps passed examinations, and may also be depressed. The folly of the first young person's pride is increased, apparently, by the fact that she and the chemist had a cousin in common, a benevolent lady who endeavoured to negotiate the alliance ! May one in France not aspire to a social position other than that occupied by a cousin's cousin ?
What, then, is the summing up of Madame Sarcey's advice. Well, we think it might be stated thus. Give up trying to be clever, and try to be charming. Try harder and harder, for there is no such thing as chance. Little girls should be taught early "to guide their luck." Usefulness is pleasing ; therefore be useful. Unselfishness is charming; therefore be unselfish. Reading makes a good talker ; therefore read—as much as will improve your talk. Good looks fascinate ; therefore cultivate them to the best of your ability. If you have none, regard ugliness as an asset, and learn—in any school—to avoid insignificance. Above all, cheer up I There is no quality so repellent as melancholy. Good husbands are not to be had for the asking, and all love, whether of husband, child, or friend, must be consciously gained and retained by a charm which is set working by determined effort. To succeed is to be happy. Somehow the advice grates horribly on the English ear; but it would not be easy to explain the reason, at any rate not to that clever and charming writer, Madame Yvonne Saseey.
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