IMAGINATION AND THE FAIRY STORY
What is child imagination?
The Puritans thought the imaginative person was a liar. Old Salem said
that such a vision as is conjured into reality by the imagination
constituted witchcraft. Even to-day there are parents and teachers
who believe that the child who has the power to pierce the veil of
reality and see into a beyond is a dreamer who lacks stability of mind
and practicality of purpose. But the unexplainable power by means of
which a human mind grasps a bundle of bare, dry facts, sorts them over
speculatively and then pieces them together into a new, luminous bit
of mind stuff, different from anything seen, or heard or handled by
that personality before--this is the miracle working of what we know as
constructive imagination. Edison chaining electricity and perpetuating
the human voice imaged these wonders before he realized them. Moissant
saw air craft through the telescope of his mind before he built bird
machines. Jane Addams saw, felt, imaged herself alone, poor and an
outcast before she could successfully help her fellows. In adult
life, the power to image the unreal, the power to feel with another
personality spells genius, as well as imagination.
_Child imagination is a kaleidoscopic mind method of seeing, and
piecing, and patching together ideas gathered by the senses, and making
of them a new concept._
No child ever saw a live fairy, but any child will explain a fairy to
you, quite plausibly, because he has formed his own fairy concept. A
being with hair like his favorite small girl friend, and the stature of
his little sister’s doll, having wings like the dragon fly he saw last
summer and dressed in something colored and soft and rustling like his
mother’s dresses, a person capable of doing all that the story books
say she can do--this is a child’s mind picture of a fairy.
No one of us ever saw Heaven but all of us can describe it. A place
of this world’s grass and flowers and music and familiar, beloved
personalities transplanted, renewed, translated--this is our manner of
describing, of seeing Heaven.
The child’s method of imaging a fairy and our method of imaging Heaven
are identical. From known, experienced, familiar perceptions we make a
new, as yet unexperienced concept. If we want a child to see Heaven,
we must help him to see fairies. Success, happiness, efficiency,
belief--all these in adult life are dependent upon the proper
stimulating of the child’s constructive imagination.
_A good fairy story is the best stimulus to child imagination._
Not any fairy story, selected with slight discrimination and told to
a child just because it is a story of fancy, however. “Blue Beard,”
“Ali Baba,” “The Cruel Stepmother” do little but cause child nightmares
and give children ideas of cruelty, vengeance and crime. These
concepts will present themselves to the child soon enough in the daily
newspapers. Let us shut them out of the story hour. In selecting
a fairy story to tell to children, we will first analyze it with
exceeding care, asking ourselves these questions in regard to it:
_What constitutes the imaginative element of this story?_
_Is its point of unreality an idea which we want to give permanence in
the child’s mind?_
_Is the story told in a series of such familiar, known images that
there is material in it for stimulating the child’s constructive
imagination?_
If a fanciful story survives these three tests, we may be sure that it
is perfect.
There is Hans Andersen’s story of “The Faithful Tin Soldier.” Its
climax is told in a lesson of heroism and faithfulness, qualities that
we wish to make permanent in the child’s mind through the medium of the
imagination. And how are these qualities presented? We find that they
are made real to children by means of familiar settings; a little boy
is playing with new toys upon his birthday, we see the child going to
bed, there is the coming-alive of the toys in the play-room, the tin
soldier’s experiences in the street, his return to the kitchen. Every
child knows toys, a birthday, a play-room, a city street in the rain, a
kitchen; but out of these patches of gray, every-day pigment Andersen
paints for children a new, colored picture of fancy. Presented in terms
of the real we have the unreal; a live tin soldier who is as heroic and
faithful as we wish our children to be. This is a perfect imaginative
story, a bit of unreality which we wish to make real for children and
told in terms of child experience.
Alice Brown’s wonderful allegory, “The Gradual Fairy,” is also perfect
in its theme and construction. Its hero, the Green Goblin, wishes to
become a fairy. The story of his changing his ugly colors for those
of the flowers when he promises never to hurt them again, losing his
harsh, shrill voice by being kind to the brook, and so gradually
finding beauty, is a marvellously compelling bit of imagery to leave
with a child and it is told in familiar, right-at-hand word pictures.
In the several chapters of Jean Ingelow’s, “Mopsa, the Fairy,” child
hearers are transported to familiar places, but places where the
unusual, the beautiful happens. The story tells of the Winding Up
Places where tired-out horses are put in green pastures and are allowed
to grow back to colt-hood, and where weary working folks are wound up,
like clocks, and given such vigor that they never run down again.
Charles Kingsley, from the reality of a dirty chimney sweep and a sooty
chimney, takes children voyaging into his paradise of fancy under the
sea. Eugene Field gives children a permanent picture of Santa Claus
in his legend of “Claus.” There is the little lad, Claus, up in the
Northland, finding his greatest happiness in carving wooden dolls and
animals for the children. When his parents disappear, Claus lights
his father’s forge fire and in the wonder light of the Northern star
pledges himself to create child happiness. The elves bringing him gifts
of metal and precious stones for his work, the forest giving him its
trees and greens, the reindeer drawing his sleigh full of toys, the
snow and frost speeding him on his way--these give children the true
meaning of Claus’ world saint-ship in terms of the imagination.
Apply this threefold test to every imaginative story and your selection
will be infallible.
_What does the story image?_
_Do I want to vivify this image for my children?_
_How does it stimulate the imagination?_
The old, loved fairy stories that have lived for centuries stand this
test. The story of Cinderella leaves a child with a mental picture of
a cinder maid full blown into a princess but with this image is the
lesson of rewarded faithfulness to duty, and the story plot is built up
of familiar concepts; the kitchen, a pumpkin, a party, a chiming clock,
a tiny slipper. “The House in the Wood,” “Little Daylight,” “The Many
Furred Creature,” “Snow White and Rose Red,” “The Goose Girl,” “Briar
Rose,” “Spindle, Needle and Shuttle,” “The Elves and the Shoemaker,”
“The Story of Midas,” “The Star Dollars,” “Why the Sea is Salt,” “Tom
Thumb,” all these world-old fanciful tales take children far afield but
they leave them better off, ethically, than before they heard them and
each story is a healthy stimulus to the imagination.
What is the place of the fairy story in the story hour?
A good fairy story is like the touch of spice that gives the needed
zest to a dish, it is the sweet at the end of the meal, it should not
be spoiled by over use, by voraciousness. We will select our fairy
stories with the utmost care, measuring each by our threefold rule. We
will tell these perfect fairy tales occasionally only, realizing that
they will bear frequent retelling and are to be the classics of the
child’s story literature.
One of the most beautiful of all fairy stories, Mary Wilkins Freeman
wrote. “The Blue Robin” is perfect in treatment and theme.
THE BLUE ROBIN
The country over which King Chrysanthemum reigned was very far inland,
so there was very little talk about the sea-serpent, but everybody was
agitated over the question whether there was, or was not, a Blue Robin.
The whole kingdom was divided about it. The members of parliament
were “F. B. R.,” for Blue Robin or “A. B. R.,” against Blue Robin. The
ladies formed clubs to discuss the question, and sometimes talked whole
afternoons about it, and the children even laid down their dolls, and
their tops to search for the Blue Robin. Indeed, many children had to
be kept tied to their mother’s apron-strings all the time to prevent
them from running away to a Blue Robin hunt. It was a very common
thing to see ladies going to a Blue Robin club, with a child at each
apron-string, pulling back and crying, “I want to go hunting the Blue
Robin! I want to go hunting the Blue Robin!”
The country was agitated over this question for many years, then
finally there were riots about it.
People had to lock themselves in their houses, and when the Blue Robin
party was uppermost, paint blue robins on their front doors, and when
it was not, wash them off. After the riots commenced, it was really
almost all that people could do to paint blue robins on and wash them
off, their front doors.
At last King Chrysanthemum had to take extreme measures. He decided to
consult the Wise Man. A committee was chosen of eight F. B. R.’s, and
eight A. B. R.’s, and a chairman, and they set out at once, marching
four abreast, the chairman with his chair leading the way, to consult
the Wise Man. He had to be found before he could be consulted, however,
and that was a very difficult matter. The Wise Man considered it the
height of folly to live like other people in a house immovably fixed
upon one spot of ground, and therefore he always carried his house
about with him, as a turtle carries his shell.
He had fashioned a little dwelling of cloth and steel ribs, something
like an umbrella, which he strapped to himself, and lived in, traveling
all over the country in pursuit of wisdom.
The committee marched a whole week, before they came upon the Wise Man
one afternoon in a pasture where huckleberries grew. He was standing
quite still when they approached and made their obeisances. The
Chairman of the committee placed his chair, a rocking-chair with a red
plush cushion, before the Wise Man, seated himself, and spoke. “All
Hail, Wise Man!” said he in a loud voice.
The Wise Man’s house had a little door in front like a coach door, and
two tiny windows. One of the windows had the curtains drawn, but out of
the other looked the Wise Man’s calm blue right eye. There was so much
wisdom in his two eyes that he knew people could not comprehend it, so
he always curtained one window. The house was about one foot higher
than his head, and reached to his ankles. They could see his feet in
their leather sandals below it.
The Wise Man said not one word in response to the Chairman’s
salutation, only looked at him with his blue right eye. Then the
Chairman laid the matter before the Wise Man and besought his aid in
the terrible situation of the country. After the Chairman had ceased
speaking there was a silence for half an hour. Not a sound was to be
heard except the creaking of the Chairman’s rocking-chair. Then the
Wise Man cleared his throat. The committee leaned forward expectantly,
but they had to wait another half hour before he spoke, and then it was
not very satisfactory. “Ideas are not as thick as huckleberries in this
pasture,” was all he said.
The committee looked at one another, and nodded ruefully. It was quite
true, but it did not help them in their dilemma. They waited another
half hour; then the Wise Man began moving off across the pasture in his
house.
“Oh, stop, stop!” cried the Chairman. “Stop, stop!” cried the
committee. They all ran after him, and begged him not to go away until
he had given them some useful advice.
“Offer a reward!” called out the Wise Man, as he scudded away.
“For what, for what!” cried the committee.
“For finding the Blue Robin,” called out the Wise Man, and then a puff
of wind caught his umbrella-like house, and he was lifted quite off his
feet, and bobbed away out of sight over the huckleberry-bushes.
The committee hastened back to the city, and reported. Another special
parliament was called, and the reward for finding the Blue Robin was
offered. That was really a difficult matter, because the Princess
Honey was only five years old, and the customary reward--her hand in
marriage--could hardly be offered. However, it was stated that if the
finder of the Blue Robin was of suitable age when the Princess was
grown, she should be his bride; and furthermore that he and all his
relatives should be pensioned for life and that he should be appointed
Poet Laureate, and given a regiment, a steam yacht, a special train,
and a pound of candy every day from the national candy mills. The offer
was painted in blue letters on yellow paper, and pasted up all over the
country, and then the search began in good earnest. Business all over
the kingdom was at a standstill. Nobody did anything but hunt the Blue
Robin.
People ate nothing in those days but cornmeal pudding, hastily mixed
and boiled. There was no bread baked, because all the bakers and all
the housewives were out hunting the Blue Robin. The mothers untied the
children from their apron-strings, and the schools were all closed,
because it was agreed that finding the Blue Robin and establishing
peace in the kingdom, was of more importance than books, and all
the children who were old enough were out hunting--that is, all the
children except Poppy.
It should be stated here that everybody in this country, with the
exception of the Princess, had a flower-name. The Princess was so much
sweeter, that only the inmost sweetness of all flowers was good enough
for her name, and she was called Honey.
Poppy was about ten years old, and his father was an editor of a
newspaper, and very poor. He could scarcely support his five children.
His wife had died the year before, and he could not afford to hire a
housekeeper.
So Poppy had to stay at home, and keep the house, and take care of his
four young brothers and sisters, while his father was away editing,
and he could not hunt the Blue Robin. It was a great cross to him, but
he loved his little brothers and sisters, and he made the best of it.
After the search for the Blue Robin began, his father was much busier,
and had often to be away all night, so Poppy had to rock and trot the
twin babies, Pink and Phlox, and go without sleep, after working hard
cooking and washing dishes and sewing all day. Poppy had to mend the
children’s clothes, and he was even trying to make some little frocks
for Petunia and Portulacca. They were twins also, five years old.
As Poppy sat in the window and sewed, with his right foot rocking
Pink’s cradle, and his left foot rocking Phlox’s, with Petunia and
Portulacca sitting beside him on their little stools, he told them all
he had ever heard about the wonderful Blue Robin.
“Nobody is even quite certain he has seen it, himself,” said Poppy,
“but he knows somebody else, who knows somebody else, who has; and if
you ever could find the first somebody, why he could tell where the
Blue Robin was.”
“Can’t they find the first somebody?” asked Portulacca.
“I guess he died before people were born,” said Poppy. Then he went on
and told Petunia and Portulacca how there was a wonderful blue stone
in the King’s crown, which was unlike all other precious stones, and
said to be the Blue Robin’s egg; and how there was a little Blue Book
in the King’s library which had a strange verse in it about the Blue
Robin.
Then Poppy repeated the verse. He had learned it at school. It ran in
this way:
“He who loveth me alone,
Can tell me not from stick or stone;
He who loveth more than me,
Shall me in fullest glory see.”
“What does that mean?” asked Petunia and Portulacca.
“I don’t know,” replied Poppy. Then he mended faster than ever. Many
children ran past the window, hunting the Blue Robin, but he did not
complain, even to himself.
That night his father did not come home, and Pink and Phlox cried as
usual, and he had to rock them, and trot them. About midnight, however,
they both fell asleep in their cradles, and Poppy began to think he
might get a little rest himself. He could scarcely keep his eyes open.
Petunia and Portulacca had been sound asleep in their cribs ever since
seven o’clock.
Everything was very still, and he was just dozing, when he heard a
sound which made him start up wide awake at once, although the children
never stirred. He heard a single sweet bird-pipe, sweeter than anything
he had ever heard in his life, and it seemed to be right in the room at
his elbow. When the babies fell asleep Poppy had blown out the candle,
the hearth-fire had gone out, and the room had been very dark, but
now something was shining on the table like a lamp, which gave out a
wonderful blue light. The sweet pipe came again. Poppy stared at the
blue light on the table, which grew brighter and brighter, until he saw
what it was. The Blue Robin shone on his table like a living sapphire,
its blue wings seeming to fan the blue light into flames, its blue
breast brighter than anything he had ever seen.
While all the world was out searching for the Blue Robin, it had come
of its own accord to the poor little faithful boy in his poor little
home.
The children all slept soundly, and did not stir. Poppy stood up
trembling, and went over to the table, and immediately the Blue Robin
flew to his hand, and clung there.
Then Poppy went out of the house, and down the road to the King’s
palace with the Blue Robin on his hand. Although it was so late,
scarcely anybody had gone to bed. They were all out with lanterns,
hunting for the Blue Robin.
When Poppy with the Blue Robin on his hand came in sight, all the
lanterns went out.
“What is that?” the people cried, “what is that wonderful blue light?”
They crowded around Poppy.
Then all of a sudden they shouted, “Poppy has found the Blue Robin!
Poppy has found the Blue Robin!” and followed him to the King’s Palace.
The shouts were heard in the newspaper office where Poppy’s father was
hard at work, and he ran to the window. When he saw his son with the
Blue Robin, he was overwhelmed with joy. He stuck his pen behind his
ear and came down on the fire-escape, and also went to the palace. The
King had not gone to bed, though it was so late, neither had the Queen.
They were talking about the Blue Robin and the perilous state of the
country with the Prime Minister, on the front door-step.
When they saw Poppy and the Blue Robin, and all the people, and heard
the shouts of joy, the King tossed his crown in the air, the Prime
Minister swung his hat, and the Queen ran in and wrapped up the
Princess Honey in a little yellow silk gown, and brought her to see
the wonderful sight.
It was wonderful--the Blue Robin on Poppy’s hand seemed to light the
whole city. Poppy, by the King’s order, stood on the top door-step, and
everybody could see the bird on his hand. Then the Blue Robin began to
sing, and sang an hour without ceasing, so loud that everybody could
hear.
When the bird stopped singing, the King advanced. “You shall now
receive your reward,” he said to Poppy, “and I will take the Blue
Robin, and put him in a golden cage, and have him guarded by a regiment
of picked soldiers.”
The King extended his hand and Poppy his, but just as the King touched
the Blue Robin, he disappeared. There came a faint song from far above
the city roofs, and people tipped back their heads, and strained their
eyes, but they could not see the Blue Robin; they never saw him again,
as long as they lived.
However, he had been seen by many witnesses, and the object of the
search was attained. There were no longer two parties in parliament,
and the country was in a state of perfect peace. Indeed, parliament
only met afterward to agree, and eat cake and ice cream, and shake
hands.
Poppy had his reward at once--that is, everything but the hand of the
Princess Honey--and he and his father and his little brothers and
sisters, were very rich and happy, until he grew to be a man. Then the
Princess Honey had grown to be a beautiful maiden, and he married her
with great pomp, and the King gave them the Blue Robin’s egg for a
wedding-present.
MARY WILKINS FREEMAN.
_By the Courtesy of the Author._
SOME PERFECT FAIRY STORIES
THE HAPPY PRINCE _Oscar Wilde, in The Happy Prince_
THE GRADUAL FAIRY _Alice Brown, in The One-Footed Fairy_
THE STORY OF CLAUS _Eugene Field, in A Little Book of
Profitable Tales_
THE FAITHFUL TIN SOLDIER _Hans Christian Andersen_
OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD _Frank R. Stockton, in Fanciful Tales_
LITTLE DAYLIGHT _Sara Cone Bryant, in How to Tell Stories
to Children_
BRIAR ROSE _Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith, in
The Fairy Ring_
THE ELF-HILL _Hans Christian Andersen_
OLE LUK-OIE _Hans Christian Andersen_
THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE _Miss Mulock_