required that the teacher in the lowest class should be a man of kind manners, and that he need know no language but the German. This scandalized the whole German nation. A schoolmaster ignorant of Latin! Critics appeared from the first with the most cogent reasons for distrusting the “new methods.” But Ratke had the confidence of the prince, and all went merrily for a time. The instruction was simplified; and, besides the mother-tongue, arithmetic, singing, and religion were taught.
But he encountered numerous obstacles at Gotha: the teachers of the town, it would appear, did not fully share his views; the town adhered to the Reformed Church and Ratke was a Lutheran,—a fact which caused no end of trouble; and the prince was not altogether satisfied with the fulfilment of Ratke’s promises of reform. The pastor of the Reformed Church of Gotha preferred formal charges of heterodoxy against him, and maintained, besides, that Ratke made too little provision for the study of music and the catechism; that too much time was given to recreation; that the discipline was altogether too mild; and that the children were permitted to pass from one study to another too rapidly. Singular charges, these! And the more singular when one recalls the long hours and the harsh discipline of the seventeenth century.
The opposition was strong, and at the end of eighteen months the Gotha experiment was brought to an abrupt close. Ratke was not only dismissed, but was imprisoned on the charge that he “had claimed and promised more than he knew that he could bring to pass.” After spending the best of a year in prison,
