by Saki
THE SCHARTZ-METTERKLUME METHOD
Lady Carlotta stepped out on to the platform of the small wayside stationand took a turn or two up and down its uninteresting length, to kill timetill the train should be pleased to proceed on its way. Then, in theroadway beyond, she saw a horse struggling with a more than ample load,and a carter of the sort that seems to bear a sullen hatred against theanimal that helps him to earn a living. Lady Carlotta promptly betookher to the roadway, and put rather a different complexion on thestruggle. Certain of her acquaintances were wont to give her plentifuladmonition as to the undesirability of interfering on behalf of adistressed animal, such interference being “none of her business.” Onlyonce had she put the doctrine of non-interference into practice, when oneof its most eloquent exponents had been besieged for nearly three hoursin a small and extremely uncomfortable may-tree by an angry boar-pig,while Lady Carlotta, on the other side of the fence, had proceeded withthe water-colour sketch she was engaged on, and refused to interferebetween the boar and his prisoner. It is to be feared that she lost thefriendship of the ultimately rescued lady. On this occasion she merelylost the train, which gave way to the first sign of impatience it hadshown throughout the journey, and steamed off without her. She bore thedesertion with philosophical indifference; her friends and relations werethoroughly well used to the fact of her luggage arriving without her.She wired a vague non-committal message to her destination to say thatshe was coming on “by another train.” Before she had time to think whather next move might be she was confronted by an imposingly attired lady,who seemed to be taking a prolonged mental inventory of her clothes andlooks.
“You must be Miss Hope, the governess I’ve come to meet,” said theapparition, in a tone that admitted of very little argument.
“Very well, if I must I must,” said Lady Carlotta to herself withdangerous meekness.
“I am Mrs. Quabarl,” continued the lady; “and where, pray, is yourluggage?”
“It’s gone astray,” said the alleged governess, falling in with theexcellent rule of life that the absent are always to blame; the luggagehad, in point of fact, behaved with perfect correctitude. “I’ve justtelegraphed about it,” she added, with a nearer approach to truth.
“How provoking,” said Mrs. Quabarl; “these railway companies are socareless. However, my maid can lend you things for the night,” and sheled the way to her car.
During the drive to the Quabarl mansion Lady Carlotta was impressivelyintroduced to the nature of the charge that had been thrust upon her; shelearned that Claude and Wilfrid were delicate, sensitive young people,that Irene had the artistic temperament highly developed, and that Violawas something or other else of a mould equally commonplace among childrenof that class and type in the twentieth century.
“I wish them not only to be _taught_,” said Mrs. Quabarl, “but_interested_ in what they learn. In their history lessons, for instance,you must try to make them feel that they are being introduced to thelife-stories of men and women who really lived, not merely committing amass of names and dates to memory. French, of course, I shall expect youto talk at meal-times several days in the week.”
“I shall talk French four days of the week and Russian in the remainingthree.”
“Russian? My dear Miss Hope, no one in the house speaks or understandsRussian.”
“That will not embarrass me in the least,” said Lady Carlotta coldly.
Mrs. Quabarl, to use a colloquial expression, was knocked off her perch.She was one of those imperfectly self-assured individuals who aremagnificent and autocratic as long as they are not seriously opposed.The least show of unexpected resistance goes a long way towards renderingthem cowed and apologetic. When the new governess failed to expresswondering admiration of the large newly-purchased and expensive car, andlightly alluded to the superior advantages of one or two makes which hadjust been put on the market, the discomfiture of her patroness becamealmost abject. Her feelings were those which might have animated ageneral of ancient warfaring days, on beholding his heaviestbattle-elephant ignominiously driven off the field by slingers andjavelin throwers.
At dinner that evening, although reinforced by her husband, who usuallyduplicated her opinions and lent her moral support generally, Mrs.Quabarl regained none of her lost ground. The governess not only helpedherself well and truly to wine, but held forth with considerable show ofcritical knowledge on various vintage matters, concerning which theQuabarls were in no wise able to pose as authorities. Previousgovernesses had limited their conversation on the wine topic to arespectful and doubtless sincere expression of a preference for water.When this one went as far as to recommend a wine firm in whose hands youcould not go very far wrong Mrs. Quabarl thought it time to turn theconversation into more usual channels.
“We got very satisfactory references about you from Canon Teep,” sheobserved; “a very estimable man, I should think.”
“Drinks like a fish and beats his wife, otherwise a very lovablecharacter,” said the governess imperturbably.
“_My dear_ Miss Hope! I trust you are exaggerating,” exclaimed theQuabarls in unison.
“One must in justice admit that there is some provocation,” continued theromancer. “Mrs. Teep is quite the most irritating bridge-player that Ihave ever sat down with; her leads and declarations would condone acertain amount of brutality in her partner, but to souse her with thecontents of the only soda-water syphon in the house on a Sundayafternoon, when one couldn’t get another, argues an indifference to thecomfort of others which I cannot altogether overlook. You may think mehasty in my judgments, but it was practically on account of the syphonincident that I left.”
“We will talk of this some other time,” said Mrs. Quabarl hastily.
“I shall never allude to it again,” said the governess with decision.
Mr. Quabarl made a welcome diversion by asking what studies the newinstructress proposed to inaugurate on the morrow.
“History to begin with,” she informed him.
“Ah, history,” he observed sagely; “now in teaching them history you musttake care to interest them in what they learn. You must make them feelthat they are being introduced to the life-stories of men and women whoreally lived—”
“I’ve told her all that,” interposed Mrs. Quabarl.
“I teach history on the Schartz-Metterklume method,” said the governessloftily.
“Ah, yes,” said her listeners, thinking it expedient to assume anacquaintance at least with the name.
* * * * *
“What are you children doing out here?” demanded Mrs. Quabarl the nextmorning, on finding Irene sitting rather glumly at the head of thestairs, while her sister was perched in an attitude of depresseddiscomfort on the window-seat behind her, with a wolf-skin rug almostcovering her.
“We are having a history lesson,” came the unexpected reply. “I amsupposed to be Rome, and Viola up there is the she-wolf; not a real wolf,but the figure of one that the Romans used to set store by—I forget why.Claude and Wilfrid have gone to fetch the shabby women.”
“The shabby women?”
“Yes, they’ve got to carry them off. They didn’t want to, but Miss Hopegot one of father’s fives-bats and said she’d give them a number ninespanking if they didn’t, so they’ve gone to do it.”
A loud, angry screaming from the direction of the lawn drew Mrs. Quabarlthither in hot haste, fearful lest the threatened castigation might evennow be in process of infliction. The outcry, however, came principallyfrom the two small daughters of the lodge-keeper, who were being hauledand pushed towards the house by the panting and dishevelled Claude andWilfrid, whose task was rendered even more arduous by the incessant, ifnot very effectual, attacks of the captured maidens’ small brother. Thegoverness, fives-bat in hand, sat negligently on the stone balustrade,presiding over the scene with the cold impartiality of a Goddess ofBattles. A furious and repeated chorus of “I’ll tell muvver” rose from
the lodge-children, but the lodge-mother, who was hard of hearing, wasfor the moment immersed in the preoccupation of her washtub.
After an apprehensive glance in the direction of the lodge (the goodwoman was gifted with the highly militant temper which is sometimes theprivilege of deafness) Mrs. Quabarl flew indignantly to the rescue of thestruggling captives.
“Wilfrid! Claude! Let those children go at once. Miss Hope, what onearth is the meaning of this scene?”
“Early Roman history; the Sabine Women, don’t you know? It’s theSchartz-Metterklume method to make children understand history by actingit themselves; fixes it in their memory, you know. Of course, if, thanksto your interference, your boys go through life thinking that the Sabinewomen ultimately escaped, I really cannot be held responsible.”
“You may be very clever and modern, Miss Hope,” said Mrs. Quabarl firmly,“but I should like you to leave here by the next train. Your luggagewill be sent after you as soon as it arrives.”
“I’m not certain exactly where I shall be for the next few days,” saidthe dismissed instructress of youth; “you might keep my luggage till Iwire my address. There are only a couple of trunks and some golf-clubsand a leopard cub.”
“A leopard cub!” gasped Mrs. Quabarl. Even in her departure thisextraordinary person seemed destined to leave a trail of embarrassmentbehind her.
“Well, it’s rather left off being a cub; it’s more than half-grown, youknow. A fowl every day and a rabbit on Sundays is what it usually gets.Raw beef makes it too excitable. Don’t trouble about getting the car forme, I’m rather inclined for a walk.”
And Lady Carlotta strode out of the Quabarl horizon.
The advent of the genuine Miss Hope, who had made a mistake as to the dayon which she was due to arrive, caused a turmoil which that good lady wasquite unused to inspiring. Obviously the Quabarl family had beenwoefully befooled, but a certain amount of relief came with theknowledge.
“How tiresome for you, dear Carlotta,” said her hostess, when the overdueguest ultimately arrived; “how very tiresome losing your train and havingto stop overnight in a strange place.”
“Oh dear, no,” said Lady Carlotta; “not at all tiresome—for me.”