The Yverdon station fronted on a great open common dotted with a few trees. There were a good many mothers and children sitting on the benches, and a number of young lads playing ball. The town itself is one of the quaintest, quietest, and sleepiest in Switzerland. From 1803 to 1810 it was a place of pilgrimage for philanthropists from all parts of Europe; for at that time Pestalozzi was at the zenith of his fame, having under him one hundred and sixty-five pupils from Europe and America, and thirty-two ***** teachers, who were learning his method.
But Yverdon has lost its former greatness now! Scarcely any English travellers go there and still fewer Americans. We fancied that there was nothing extraordinary in our appearance; nevertheless a small crowd of children followed at our heels, and the shopkeepers stood at their open doors and regarded us with intense interest.
"No English spoken here, that is evident," said Salemina ruefully;
"but you have such a gift for languages you can take the command to-day and make the blunders and bear the jeers of the public. You must find out where the new Pestalozzi Monument is,--where the Chateau is,--where the schools are, and whether visitors are admitted,--whether there is a respectable hotel where we can get dinner,--whether we can get back to Geneva to-night, whether it's a fast or a slow train, and what time it gets there,--whether the methods of Pestalozzi are still maintained,--whether they know anything about Froebel,--whether they know what a kindergarten is, and whether they have one in the village. Some of these questions will be quite difficult even for you."
Well, the monument was not difficult to find, at all events. We accosted two or three small boys and demanded boldly of one of them, "Ou est le monument de Pestalozzi, s'il vous plait?"
He shrugged his shoulders like an American small boy and said vacantly, "Je ne sais pas."
"Of course he does know," said Salemina; "he means to be disagreeable; or else 'monument' isn't monument."
"Well," I answered, "there is a monument in the distance, and there cannot be two in this village."
Sure enough it was the very one we sought. It stands in a little open place quite "in the business heart of the city,"--as we should say in America, and is an exceedingly fine and impressive bit of sculpture. The group of three figures is in bronze and was done by M. Gruet of Paris.
The modelling is strong, the expression of Pestalozzi benign and sweet, and the trusting upturned faces of the children equally genuine and attractive.
One side of the pedestal bears the inscription:-A
Pestalozzi 1746-1827
Monument erige par souscription populaire MDCCCXC
On a second side these words are carved in the stone:-Sauveur des Pauvres a Neuhof Pere des Orphelins a Stanz Fondateur de l'ecole populaire a Burgdorf Educateur de l'humanite a Yverdon Tout pour les autres, pour lui,--rien!
An older monument erected in 1846 by the Canton of Argovia bears this same inscription, save that it adds, "Preacher to the people in 'Leonard and Gertrude.' Man. Christian. Citizen. Blessed be his name!"
On the third side of the Yverdon Monument is Pestalozzi's noble speech, fine enough indeed, to be cut in stone:-"J'ai vecu moi-meme comme un mendiant, pour apprendre a des mendiants a vivre comme des hommes."
We sat a long time on the great marble pedestal, gazing into the benevolent face, and reviewing the ******, self-sacrificing life of the great educator, and then started on a tour of inspection.
After wandering through most of the shops, buying photographs and mementoes, Salemina discovered that she had left the expensive tumbler in one of them. After a long discussion as to whether tumbler was masculine or feminine, and as to whether "Ai-je laisse un verre ici?" or "Est-ce que j'ai laisse un verre ici?" was the proper query, we retraced our steps, Salemina asking in one shop, "Excusez-moi, je vous prie, mais ai-je laisse un verre ici?",--and I in the next, "Je demands pardon, Madame, est-ce que j'ai laisse un verre dans ce magasin-ci?--J'en ai perdu un, somewhere."
Finally we found it, and in response not to mine but to Salemina's question, so that she was superior and obnoxious for several minutes.
Our next point of interest was the old castle, which is still a public school. Finding the caretaker, we visited first the museum and library--a small collection of curiosities, books, and mementoes, various portraits of Pestalozzi and his wife, manuscripts and so forth. The ******-hearted woman who did the honours was quite overcome by our knowledge of and interest in her pedagogical hero, but she did not return the compliment. I asked her if the townspeople knew about Friedrich Froebel, but she looked blank.
"Froebel? Froebel?" she asked; "qui est-ce?"
"Mais, Madame," I said eloquently, "c'etait un grand homme! Un heros! Le plus grand eleve de Pestalozzi! Aussi grand que Pestalozzi soi-meme!"
("PLUS grand! Why don't you say plus grand?" murmured Salemina loyally.)
"Je ne sais!" she returned, with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. "Je ne sais! Il y a des autres, je crois; mais moi, je connais Pestalozzi, c'est assez!"
All the younger children had gone home, but she took us through the empty schoolrooms, which were anything but attractive. We found an unhappy small boy locked in one of them. I slipped behind the concierge to chat with him, for he was so exactly like all other small boys in disgrace that he made me homesick.
"Tu etais mechant, n'est ce-pas?" I whispered consolingly; "mais tu seras sage demain, j'en suis sure!"
I thought this very pretty, but he wriggled from under my benevolent hand, saying "Va!" (which I took to be, "Go 'long, you!") "je n'etais mechant aujourd'hui et je ne serai pas sage demain!"
