METHOD FURTHER DISCUSSED AND ILLUSTRATED.
SUMMARY
In the following chapter some phases of method not fully treated before
will be discussed and illustrated.
1. The proposal to treat literary masterpieces as units of thought
implies a searching study and sifting out of the essential idea in each
poem or selection. In some, both of the longer and shorter pieces, it is
not difficult to detect the motive. In Bryant's "Ode to a Waterfowl," it
is even suggested as a sort of moral at the close. Likewise in the "Pied
Piper of Hamelin," and in Burns's "Tam O'Shanter." In "Glaucis and
Philemon," as well as in "The Golden Touch," even a child can quickly
discern the controlling idea of the myth. But in many of our choicest
literary products it requires deliberate thought to discover the poet's
deeper meaning, especially that idea which binds all the parts together
and gives unity to the whole. In Lowell's address "To the Dandelion," we
may find in each stanza the gleam of the golden thread which unifies the
whole. The first lines suggest it:--
"Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold."
And again in the second stanza:--
"'Tis the Spring's largess which she scatters now
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand."
In the succeeding stanzas he calls to mind how the dandelion suggests
the riches of the tropics, the full promise of summer, the pure joys of
childhood, the common loving courtesies of life, the rich love and
prodigality of nature, and the divinity in every human heart.
When by reflection we bind all these thoughts together, and find that
they focus in the idea that the best riches abound and even burst forth
out of common things and from the hearts of common men and women, we
realize that the poet has brought us to the point of discovering a deep
and practical truth, which, put to work in the world, would bring rhythm
and harmony into human life.
But such a deep impression is not made by a superficial or fragmental
study of the poem.
A somewhat similar result may be wrought out by the study of Lowell's
poem, "An Incident in a Railroad Car," and the idea is well expressed in
the verse:--
"Never did poesy appear
So full of heaven to me as when
I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear
To lives of coarsest men."
The study of a poem or other masterpiece in this way, to get at its
inner life and continuity, reveals to us an interesting process of
mental elaboration and comparative thought. Such self-active reflection
is the subsoiling of the mind.
To set children to work upon problems of this sort, to put them in the
way of thinking and feeling for themselves, and that too even in the
longer classics like "Evangeline," "Enoch Arden," "Silas Marner," etc.,
is to bring such studies into the realm of great culture-producing
agencies.
Many minor questions of method will be solved by having these centres of
thought, these problems for thinkers. Teachers are bothered to know what
sort of questions to ask. It would be safe to say, those questions which
move in the direction of the main truth, toward the solution of the
chief problem. But let the questions be shrewd, not revealing too much,
stimulating to thoughtfulness and heading off errors. To what extent
shall geographical, historical, or biographical facts be gathered for
the enrichment and clarifying of the poem? Those materials which throw
necessary light on the essential ideas, omitting what is irrelevant and
secondary.
A careful study of the life of Alexander, by Plutarch, will bring to
light, more than anything else, his magnanimity. The thing that so much
distinguished him from other men was his large, liberal temper,
displayed on many various occasions. It reminds the mature student of
that remarkable utterance of Burke, "Great affairs and little minds go
ill together." The large-minded statesmanship with which Burke discusses
conciliation with the colonies is of like quality with this magnanimous
spirit of Alexander.
One who reads receptively Emerson's "The Fortune of the Republic" will
open his eyes on two opposite but closely related ideas, the serious
faults,--the low political tone, the materialism, the spread-eagle strut
and slovenly mediocrity of much in American life,--and over against this
the splendid promise, manliness, and intense idealism of our national
life. To work out this conception in the brains of young people and let
it kindle their hearts with some true glow of patriotism, is the highest
form of teaching. Such instruction would convert every schoolhouse into
a true temple of freedom and patriotism.
But in order to reach these results both teachers and pupils must put
their minds to the stretch of earnest work. In the introduction to the
above-named essay of Emerson, in the "Riverside Literature Series,"
occurs the following interesting and suggestive passage: "Yet many of
his most notable addresses were given before audiences of young men and
women, and out of the great body of his writings it is not difficult to
find many passages which go straight to the intelligence of boys and
girls in school. The plan of this series forbids the use of extracts,
or many numbers might be filled with striking and appropriate passages
from Emerson's writings; but there are certain essays and addresses
which, though they may contain some knotty sentences, are in the main so
interesting to boys and girls who have begun to think, they are so
inspiring and yield so much to any one who will take a little trouble to
use his mind, that it is obviously desirable to bring them in convenient
form to the attention of schools. Some of the best things in literature
we can get only by digging for them; and there is great satisfaction in
reading again and again masterpieces like the essays in this collection,
with a fresh pleasure in each reading as new ideas spring up in the mind
of the attentive reader."
It will be a day rich in promise and fruitful of great things when the
general body of our teachers take hold of our great American classics in
this determined spirit, treating them as wholes and grasping firmly the
essential fundamental ideas.
2. It is in the thought-analysis of a reading lesson that a teacher's
wit and wisdom are brought to the severest test. The words of
Shakespeare may be applied to the teacher:--
"A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatched wit and judgment."
There is much danger of wasting time in formal questions, questions
striking no spark of interest, questions on familiar words that really
need no elucidation, vague and unpremeditated questions that make no
forward step. Simple, far-reaching questions, which touch the pupils'
deeper thoughtfulness in preparing the lesson and stimulate his
self-active effort, are needed. If the teacher has become keenly
interested, he will ask more telling questions. If he has probed into
the author's secret,--the thing which he has been hinting at and only
gives occasional glimpses of to whet your curiosity,--he will discover
that thought-getting is almost a tantalizing process with great writers.
The teacher must spur and almost tantalize the children with a similar
shrewdness of question.
Problem-raising questions, involving thoughtful retrospect and shrewd
anticipation, questions which cannot be answered offhand but lead on to
a deeper study, are at a premium. Ruskin says:--
"And, therefore, first of all, I tell you earnestly and authoritatively
(I know I am right in this), you must get into the habit of looking
intensely at words and assuring yourself of their meaning, syllable by
syllable,--nay, letter by letter." Again he says, of a well-educated
gentleman, that "above all he is learned in the peerage of words; knows
the words of true descent and ancient blood at a glance from words of
modern canaille."
In order to make his thought unmistakable, I quote at length a passage
from Ruskin's "Sesame and Lilies":--
"And now, merely for example's sake, I will, with your permission, read
a few lines of a true book with you, carefully; and see what will come
out of them. I will take a book perfectly known to you all; no English
words are more familiar to us, yet nothing perhaps has been less read
with sincerity. I will take these few following lines of 'Lycidas':--
"'Last came, and last did go,
The pilot of the Galilean lake;
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain),
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake,
How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,
Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold:
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else, the least
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs!
What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said.'
"Let us think over this passage, and examine its words.
"First, is it not singular to find Milton assigning to St. Peter, not
only his full episcopal function, but the very types of it which
Protestants usually refuse most passionately? His 'mitred' locks! Milton
was no Bishop-lover; how comes St. Peter to be 'mitred'? 'Two massy keys
he bore.' Is this, then, the power of the keys claimed by the Bishops of
Rome, and is it acknowledged here by Milton only in a poetical license,
for the sake of its picturesqueness; that he may get the gleam of the
golden keys to help his effect? Do not think it. Great men do not play
stage tricks with doctrines of life and death: only little men do that.
Milton means what he says; and means it with his might, too,--is going
to put the whole strength of his spirit presently into the saying of it.
For though not a lover of false bishops, he was a lover of true ones;
and the lake-pilot is here, in his thoughts, the type and head of true
episcopal power. For Milton reads that text, 'I will give unto thee the
keys of the kingdom of Heaven,' quite honestly. Puritan though he be, he
would not blot it out of the book because there have been bad bishops;
nay, in order to understand him, we must understand that verse first; it
will not do to eye it askance, or whisper it under our breath, as if it
were a weapon of an adverse sect. It is a solemn, universal assertion,
deeply to be kept in mind by all sects. But perhaps we shall be better
able to reason on it if we go on a little farther, and come back to it.
For clearly, this marked insistence on the power of the true episcopate
is to make us feel more weightily what is to be charged against the
false claimants of episcopate; or generally, against false claimants of
power and rank in the body of the clergy; they who, 'for their bellies'
sake, creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold.'
"Do not think Milton uses those three words to fill up his verse, as a
loose writer would. He needs all the three; specially those three, and
no more than those--'creep,' and 'intrude,' and 'climb'; no other words
would or could serve the turn, and no more could be added. For they
exhaustively comprehend the three classes, correspondent to the three
characters, of men who dishonestly seek ecclesiastical power. First,
those who 'creep' into the fold; who do not care for office, nor name,
but for secret influence, and do all things occultly and cunningly,
consenting to any servility of office or conduct, so only that they may
intimately discern, and unawares direct the minds of men. Then those who
'intrude' (thrust, that is) themselves into the fold, who by natural
insolence of heart, and stout eloquence of tongue, and fearlessly
perseverant self-assertion, obtain hearing and authority with the common
crowd. Lastly, those who 'climb,' who by labor and learning, both stout
and sound, but selfishly exerted in the cause of their own ambition,
gain high dignities and authorities, and become 'lords over the
heritage,' though not 'ensamples to the flock.'
"Now go on:--
"'Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast.
Blind mouths--'
"I pause again, for this is a strange expression; a broken metaphor, one
might think, careless and unscholarly.
"Not so: its very audacity and pithiness are intended to make us look
close at the phrase and remember it. Those two monosyllables express the
precisely accurate contraries of right character, in the two great
offices of the Church--those of bishop and pastor.
"A Bishop means a person who sees.
"A Pastor means one who feeds.
"The most unbishoply character a man can have is therefore to be Blind.
"The most unpastoral is, instead of feeding, to want to be fed,--to be a
Mouth.
"Take the two reverses together, and you have 'blind mouths.' We may
advisably follow out this idea a little. Nearly all the evils in the
Church have arisen from bishops desiring power more than light. They
want authority, not outlook. Whereas their real office is not to rule;
though it may be vigorously to exhort and rebuke; it is the king's
office to rule; the bishop's office is to oversee the flock; to number
it, sheep by sheep; to be ready always to give full account of it. Now
it is clear he cannot give account of the souls, if he has not so much
as numbered the bodies of his flock. The first thing, therefore, that a
bishop has to do is at least to put himself in a position in which, at
any moment, he can obtain the history from childhood of every living
soul in his diocese, and of its present state. Down in that back street,
Bill, and Nancy, knocking each other's teeth out!--Does the bishop know
all about it? Has he his eye upon them? Has he had his eye upon them?
Can he circumstantially explain to us how Bill got into the habit of
beating Nancy about the head? If he cannot, he is no bishop, though he
had a mitre as high as Salisbury steeple; he is no bishop,--he has
sought to be at the helm instead of the masthead; he has no sight of
things. 'Nay,' you say, it is not his duty to look after Bill in the
back street. What! the fat sheep that have full fleeces--you think it is
only those he should look after, while (go back to your Milton) 'the
hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, besides what the grim wolf with
privy paw' (bishops knowing nothing about it) 'daily devours apace, and
nothing said'?
"'But that's not our idea of a bishop.' Perhaps not; but it was St.
Paul's; and it was Milton's. They may be right, or we may be; but we
must not think we are reading either one or the other by putting our
meaning into their words.
"I go on.
"'But, swolln with wind, and the rank mist they draw.'
"This is to meet the vulgar answer that 'if the poor are not looked
after in their bodies, they are in their souls; they have spiritual
food.'
"And Milton says, 'They have no such thing as spiritual food; they are
only swolln with wind.' At first you may think that is a coarse type,
and an obscure one. But, again, it is a quite literally accurate one.
Take up your Latin and Greek dictionaries, and find out the meaning of
'Spirit.' It is only a contraction of the Latin word 'breath,' and an
indistinct translation of the Greek word for 'wind.' The same word is
used in writing. 'The wind bloweth where it listeth;' and 'So is every
one that is born of the Spirit,' born of the breath, that is, for it
means the breath of God, in soul and body. We have the true sense of it
in our words 'inspiration' and 'expire.' Now, there are two kinds of
breath with which the flock may be filled; God's breath and man's. The
breath of God is health and life and peace to them, as the air of heaven
is to the flocks on the hills; but man's breath--the word he calls
spiritual--is disease and contagion to them, as the fog of the fen. They
rot inwardly with it; they are puffed up by it, as a body by the vapors
of its own decomposition. This is literally true of all false religious
teaching; the first and last and fatalest sign of it is that 'puffing
up.'
"Lastly, let us return to the lines respecting the power of the keys,
for now we can understand them. Note the difference between Milton and
Dante in their interpretation of this power; for once the latter is
weaker in thought; he supposes both the keys to be of the gate of
heaven; one is of gold, the other of silver; they are given by St. Peter
to the sentinel angel, and it is not easy to determine the meaning
either of the substances of the three steps of the gate or of the two
keys. But Milton makes one, of gold, the key of heaven; the other, of
iron, the key of the prison, in which the wicked teachers are to be
bound who 'have taken away the key of knowledge, yet entered not in
themselves.'
"We have seen that the duties of bishop and pastor are to see and feed,
and, of all who do so, it is said, 'He that watereth, shall be watered
also himself.' But the reverse is truth also. He that watereth not,
shall be withered himself, and he that seeth not, shall himself be shut
out of sight,--shut into the perpetual prison house. And that prison
opens here as well as hereafter; he who is to be bound in heaven must
first be bound on earth. That command to the strong angels, of which the
rock-apostle is the image, 'Take him, and bind him hand and foot, and
cast him out,' issues, in its measure, against the teacher for every
help withheld, and for every truth refused, and for every falsehood
enforced; so that he is more strictly fettered the more he fetters, and
further outcast as he more and more misleads, till at last the bars of
the iron cage close upon him, and as 'the golden opes, the iron shuts
amain.'
"We have got something out of the lines, I think, and much more is yet
to be found in them; but we have done enough by way of example of the
kind of word-by-word examination of your author which is rightly called
'reading,' watching every accent and expression, and putting ourselves
always in the author's place, annihilating our own personality, and
seeking to enter into his, so as to be able assuredly to say, 'Thus
Milton thought,' not 'Thus I thought, in misreading Milton.'"
3. In reading successive poems and prose selections from different
authors, strong resemblances in thought or language are frequently
detected. It is a thought-provoking process to bring such similar
passages to a definite comparison. Even where the same topic is treated
differently by two authors, the different or contrasted points of view
are suggestive. Calling such familiar passages to mind is in itself a
good practice, and it is well to cultivate this mode of turning previous
knowledge into use.
To illustrate this point, let us call to mind some familiar passages,
touching the winter snow-storm and the fireside comforts, from Whittier,
Emerson, and Lowell.
Whittier's description of a snow-storm in "Snow-Bound" is well known:--
"Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag wavering to and fro
Crossed and recrossed the winged snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.
"So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake and pellicle
All day the hoary meteor fell;
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below,--
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle."
Again the fireside joy is expressed:--
"Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed,
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
"What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow."
If these passages and others in "Snow-Bound" are familiar to the
children in previous study, the reading of Emerson's "The Snow-Storm,"
might set them to recalling a whole series of pictures from Whittier:--
"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
"Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore,
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow."
The architecture of the snow can be compared point by point in both
authors, in the objects about the farmhouse, while the picture of the
snug comforts of the fireplace is in both.
Of a somewhat different, yet closely related, character is the
description in the Prelude to Part Second, in the "Vision of Sir
Launfal":--
"Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek;
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars;
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight;
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt
Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt,
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees
Bending to counterfeit a breeze;
Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew
But silvery mosses that downward grew;
Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief
With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf;
Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear
For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops
And hung them thickly with diamond drops,
Which crystalled the beams of moon and sun,
And made a star of every one:
No mortal builder's most rare device
Could match this winter-palace of ice;
'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay
In his depths serene through the summer day,
Each flitting shadow of earth and sky,
Lest the happy model should be lost,
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry
By the elfin builders of the frost.
"Within the hall are the song and laughter,
The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly,
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter
With the lightsome green of ivy and holly;
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide;
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap
And belly and tug as a flag in the wind;
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap,
Hunted to death in its galleries blind;
And swift little troops of silent sparks,
Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear,
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks
Like herds of startled deer."
The elfin builders of the frost have raised even more delicate
structures than the snow. The descriptive power of the poets in
picturing nature's handiwork cannot be better seen than in these
passages. It is hardly worth while to suggest the points of resemblance
which children will quickly detect in these passages, as the comparison
of--
"Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide,"
with this,--
"The merrier up its roaring draught.
The great throat of the chimney laughed."
Such passages, suggesting like thoughts in earlier studies, are very
frequent and spring up in unexpected quarters.
For example, Emerson, in "Waldeinsamkeit," says:--
"I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me."
Again, in the "Apology," he says:--
"Think me not unkind and rude
That I walk alone in grove and glen;
I go to the god of the wood
To fetch his word to men."
And Lowell, in "The Bobolink":--
"As long, long years ago I wandered,
I seem to wander even yet.
The hours the idle schoolboy squandered,
The man would die ere he'd forget.
O hours that frosty eld deemed wasted,
Nodding his gray head toward my books,
I dearer prize the lore I tasted
With you, among the trees and brooks,
Than all that I have gained since then
From learned books or study-withered men."
And Whittier says:--
"Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers never dumb
Of Nature's unhoused lyceum."
It would not be difficult to recall other passages from Bryant,
Shakespeare, Byron, and many others, expressing this love of solitude in
woods or on the seashore, and the wisdom to be gained from such
communion with nature. This active retrospect to gather up kindred
thoughts out of previous studies and mingle them with the newer influx
of radiant ideas from master minds is a fruitful mode of assimilating
and compounding knowledge. It may be advisable at times for the teacher
to bring together a few additional passages from still wider sources,
expressive of a thought kindred to that worked out in the class. Such
study leads to a self-reliant, enthusiastic companionship with the
thoughts of great men, and is most profitable.
4. There is a pronounced value in dramatic representation of literary
selections. The impersonating of characters gives an intensity and
realism to the thought that cannot be effected in any other way. In some
cases it is possible to provide a stage and some degree of costuming, to
lend more complete realization of the scenes.
In favor of such dramatic efforts it may be said that children, even in
the earlier grades, are naturally dramatic, and enjoy greatly both
seeing and participating in them. It gives scope to their natural
tendency toward action, rather than repose, and proper verbal expression
is more easily secured in conjunction with action than without it. In
this connection it may be said that acting lends greater freedom and
spontaneity to the reading.
Schlegel, in his description of dramatic art, says:--
"Even in a lively oral narration, it is not unusual to introduce persons
in conversation with each other, and to give a corresponding variety to
the tone and the expression. But the gaps, which these conversations
leave in the story, the narrator fills up in his own name with a
description of the accompanying circumstances, and other particulars.
The dramatic poet must renounce all such expedients; but for this he is
richly recompensed in the following invention. He requires each of the
characters in his story to be personated by a living individual; that
this individual should, in sex, age, and figure, meet as near as may be
the prevalent conceptions of his fictitious original, nay, assume his
entire personality; that every speech should be delivered in a suitable
tone of voice, and accompanied by appropriate action and gesture; and
that those external circumstances should be added which are necessary to
give the hearers a clear idea of what is going forward. Moreover, these
representatives of the creatures of his imagination must appear in the
costume belonging to their assumed rank, and to their age and country;
partly for the sake of greater resemblance, and partly because, even in
dress, there is something characteristic. Lastly, he must see them
placed in a locality which, in some degree, resembles that where,
according to his fable, the action took place, because this also
contributes to the resemblance: he places them, _i.e._, on a scene. All
this brings us to the idea of the theatre. It is evident that the very
form of dramatic poetry, that is, the exhibition of an action by
dialogue without the aid of narrative, implies the theatre as its
necessary complement."
"The invention of dramatic art, and of the theatre, seems a very obvious
and natural one. Man has a great disposition to mimicry; when he enters
vividly into the situation, sentiments, and passions of others, he
involuntarily puts on a resemblance to them in his gestures. Children
are perpetually going out of themselves; it is one of their chief
amusements to represent those grown people whom they have had an
opportunity of observing, or whatever strikes their fancy; and with the
happy pliancy of their imagination, they can exhibit all the
characteristics of any dignity they may choose to assume, be it that of
a father, a schoolmaster, or a king."
In his book, "Imagination and Dramatic Instinct," S. S. Curry says:--
"Since dramatic instinct is so important, the question naturally arises
respecting the use of dialogues for its education. There are those who
think that all histrionic art is useless; that it is even deleterious to
character to assume a part.
"The best answer to this is the study of the little child. The very
first means a child adopts to get out of itself, or to realize the great
world about it, is by dramatic action and instinct. No child was ever
born with any mind at all, that had not some of this instinct; and the
more promising the child, the more is it dramatic and imaginative.
Dramatic instinct is universal. It is the secret of all success; it is
the instinct by which man sees things from different points of view, by
which he realizes the ideal in character in contrast to that which is
not ideal."
"Professor Monroe was once asked by a clergyman for private lessons. He
told him that was impossible. 'Well,' said the minister, 'what can I do
then?' 'Go home and read Shakespeare dramatically.' Why was such advice
given? Because the struggle to read Shakespeare would get the minister
out of himself. The struggle to realize how men of different types of
character would speak certain things would make him conscious whether
he, himself, spoke naturally. He would, in short, become aware of his
mannerisms, of his narrow gamut of emotions, his sameness of point of
view; he would be brought into direct contact with the process of his
own mind in thinking."
The supreme value of a vivid and versatile imagination in giving full
and rich development to the whole mind is now a vital part of our
confession of faith. The question is how to cultivate such a resourceful
imagination. The literature of the creative imagination is felt to be
the chief means, and the dramatic instinct toward interpreting,
assimilating and expressing human thought and feeling opens the avenue
of growth.
Dr. Curry says:--
"Dramatic instinct should be trained because it is a part of the
imagination, because it gives us practical steps toward the development
of the imagination, because it is the means of securing discipline and
power over feeling. Dramatic instinct should be trained because it is
the insight of one mind into another. The man who has killed his
dramatic instinct has become unsympathetic, and can never appreciate any
one's point of view but his own. Dramatic instinct endows us with broad
conceptions of the idiosyncrasies, beliefs, and convictions of men. It
trains us to unconscious reasoning, to a deep insight into the motives
of man. It is universally felt that one's power to 'other himself' is
the measure of the greatness of his personality. All sympathy, all union
of ourselves with the ideals and struggles of our race, are traceable to
imagination and dramatic instinct."
He further emphasizes the idea that dramatic instinct has two
elements--imagination and sympathy. "Imagination affords insight into
character; sympathy enables us to identify ourselves with it." "Together
they form the chief elements of altruism. They redeem the mind from
narrowness and selfishness; they enable the individual to appreciate the
point of view, the feelings, motives, and characters of his fellow-men;
they open his eyes to read the various languages of human art; they
enable him to commune with his kind on a higher plane than that of
commonplace facts; they lift him into communion with the art and spirit
of every age and nation. Without their development man is excluded from
the highest enjoyment, the highest communion with his kind, and from the
highest success in every walk of life."
Dramatization is the only means by which we can bring the reading work
of the school to its full and natural expression. The action involved in
it predisposes the mind to full and natural utterance. The fulfilment of
all the dramatic conditions lends an impetus and genuineness to every
word that is spoken. It has been often observed that boys and girls
whose reading is somewhat expressionless become direct and forcible when
taking a part in a dialogue or dramatic action. It would be almost
farcical not to put force and meaning into the words when all the other
elements of action and realism are present.
Educational progress is everywhere exerting a distinct pressure at those
points where greater realism, deeper absorption in actualities, is
possible. This is the significance of outdoor excursions, of
experiments, laboratories, and object work in nature study. In geography
and history it is the purpose of pictures, vivid descriptions,
biographical stories, and the accounts of eye-witnesses and real
travellers, etc.
In literature we possess, embodied in striking concrete personalities,
many of the most forcible ideas that men have conceived and dealt with
in the history of the world. It is very desirable that children should
become themselves the vehicles for the expression of these ideas. The
school is the place where children should become the embodiment of
ideas. It would be a grand and not impractical scheme of education to
propose to make the school a place where each child, in a well-chosen
succession, should be allowed to impersonate and become the embodiment
of the constructive ideas of our civilization.
We reason much concerning the educative value of carpentry, of the
various forms of manual skill in wood and iron, of weaving, gardening,
and cooking, of the work of shoemaker, basket-maker, and potter, and of
the educative value of these constructive activities; for the purposes
of universal education, is it not of equal importance that children
become skilled in the histrionic art, in the apt interpretation and
expression of good manners, in that deeper social insight and versatile
tact which are the constructive elements in conduct? Or, putting it in
a more obvious form, is it any more important for a person to know how
to construct a bookcase or even a steam-engine, than to shape his speech
or conduct skilfully in meeting a board of education or a business
manager.
It is not the purpose of the school to educate players or public
readers, any more than to train carpenters or machinists. But the
reading exercises in school should culminate in the ability to
sympathetically interpret a considerable variety of human life and
character as presented in our best literature. Modern educators,
however, are not satisfied, in any important study, with theoretical
knowledge derived from books. They demand that knowledge shall pass over
into some sort of practice and use. Reading passes naturally and without
a break from the interpretation of life to its embodiment in conduct. In
this important respect it is the most practical of all studies. Its
subject matter, derived from literature, consists largely of an
interesting variety of typical and artistically beautiful character
delineations from the hands of the supreme master of this art. Dramatic
representation is the last and indispensable step in the art of reading;
and the interest that naturally attaches to it, from early childhood up
through all the stages of growth, removes one chief obstacle to its
introduction.
Keeping in mind that wisdom, skill, and versatility in conduct are the
natural and appropriate outcome of successful dramatic representation,
it is not at all extravagant to say that the average child will have far
more use for this result, both now and in all the vicissitudes of later
life, than for skill in carpentry, or ironwork, or weaving, etc.
Nor have we any disposition to detract from the value usually attributed
to manual training in its various forms by its advocates.
It is not uncommon for teachers generally to employ the dialogue form
when the selection admits of it, and to assign the parts to different
children. Our purpose, however, in the fuller discussion and emphasis of
the dramatic element is to suggest a more liberal employment of dramatic
selections, and to provide for a much fuller dramatic representation,
using simple, inexpensive costumes and stage surroundings where
possible.
When we examine in detail the number of dramatic selections in a set of
readers, or among the masterpieces sometimes read in the classes below
the high school, we shall find a number of purely dramatic works. "The
Merchant of Venice" and "Julius Caesar" are well adapted to seventh and
eighth grades, and there are many selections in which the dialogue is an
important feature, as in "The Cricket on the Hearth," "King of the
Golden River," "Tanglewood Tales," "Lady of the Lake," "Marmion,"
"Pilgrim's Progress," "Grandfather's Chair," and many others.
"The Courtship of Miles Standish" has been published in a form
specially adapted for school exhibitions by Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.
Longfellow's "Giles Corey of the Salem Farms," in the "Riverside
Series," is a drama well suited to sixth grade. The story of "William
Tell," derived from Schiller's drama, is adapted to sixth and possibly
to fifth grade.
Some of the ballads are cast in the form of the dialogue, and can be
easily treated so in the school, as "Proud Lady Margaret," "Robin Hood
and the Widow's Sons," "King John and the Abbot of Canterbury," and many
others. The Robin Hood stories are full of dialogue and could be easily
dramatized, and so with "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and others.
An examination of our literature from this point of view will discover a
strong dramatic element in a large portion of it, and the cultivation of
this spirit will qualify the children for a better appreciation of many
of the great works.
5. Treatment of the "Odyssey."
The "Odyssey" is probably as well known as any masterpiece in the
world's literature. For the sake of illustration, therefore, we will
enter upon a brief discussion of the mode of handling it as a unit in
the school.
There are abundant sources in English from which the teacher can get an
adequate knowledge of this great poem without using the original Greek.
A few of the leading books which the teacher may consult are as follows:
"The Story of Ulysses" (Cook). A very simple, abbreviated narrative of
Ulysses' wanderings, sometimes used as a reading book in fourth or fifth
grade. (Public School Publishing Co.)--"Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses." A
pleasing prose rendering of the chief incidents of the story, more
difficult than the preceding. Sometimes used as a reader. (Ginn &
Co.)--"Church's Stories of the Old World," in which "The Adventures of
Ulysses" forms a chapter. A good short treatment of the story in simple
language. (Ginn & Co.)--"Ulysses among the Phaeacians," consisting of
selections from five books of the "Odyssey" as translated into verse by
Bryant. This seems well adapted for use as a reading-book in fourth or
fifth grade, and will be discussed more fully as such. (Houghton,
Mifflin, & Co.)--"The Odyssey of Homer" by Palmer, is an excellent
prose-poetic rendering of the whole poem, and is of great service to the
teacher. (Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.)--Another excellent prose
translation, by Butcher and Lang, has been much used. (The Macmillan
Co.)--Bryant's "Homer's 'Odyssey,'" a complete poetic rendering of the
whole twenty-four books of the poem, is probably the best basis for
school reference and study of the poem.--"National Epics," by Rabb, has
a good narrative and introduction for the "Odyssey," and a list of
critical references. (A. C. McClurg & Co.)--"Art and Humanity in Homer,"
by Lawton, has an interesting discussion of the "Odyssey." Other famous
translations of the whole "Odyssey" were made by Alexander Pope, William
Cowper, George Chapman, and others.
It is not unusual in schools for teachers to give children of the third
or fourth grade an oral introduction to the whole story in a series of
lessons. This requires skill in presenting and discussing the episodes,
and should be attended by good oral reproductions by the children. Such
oral work should be done in distinct lessons apart from the regular
reading. Later, in fourth or fifth grade, the story is sometimes read in
class from one of the simple prose narratives of Miss Cook, or Lamb, or
Church. In the fifth or sixth grade, "Ulysses among the Phaeacians" forms
an interesting reading-book, with which to acquaint the children more
fully with the poetic beauty and descriptive detail of the original, so
far as it can be secured in English. In connection with such reading it
may be interesting to choose from Bryant's complete translation other
selected parts of the story, and encourage the children to read them, if
books from the library or homes can be provided.
We may dwell for a moment upon those qualities of Homer's story which
have commanded the admiration of the great poets in different ages and
countries. The peculiar poetic charm and power of the original Greek are
probably untranslatable, although several eminent poets have attempted
it. But we have at least both prose and verse renderings of it that are
beautiful and poetic.
Some of the critics have said that the whole poem is a perfect unit in
thought,--much more so than the "Iliad,"--centring in the person of
Ulysses. His wanderings and his final return constitute the thread of
the narrative. In the main it is a story of peace, with descriptions of
cities, islands, palaces, strange lands, and peaceful arts and manners.
After their return from Troy we meet Nestor and Menelaus, dwelling
happily in their palaces and surrounded with home comforts. Ulysses,
himself, the great sufferer, is tossed about the world, or held captive
on sea-girt, far-away islands. He passes through a series of wonderful
adventures, keeping his alertness and balance of mind so completely that
his name has become a synonym in all lands for shrewdness and far-seeing
wisdom. And it is not only a wise perception, but a self-control in the
midst of old and new temptations which is most remarkable. This
over-mastering shrewdness or calculation even overdoes itself and
becomes amusing, when he tries, for example, to deceive his guardian
goddess as to who he is. The descriptions of women and of domestic life
are famous and delightful. The constancy of Penelope, her industry and
shrewdness in outwitting the suitors, have given her a supreme place
among the women of story. The descriptions of peaceful manners and
customs, of public games, of feasting and music, of palace halls and
ornament, are among the great literary pictures of the world.
The particular adventures through which Ulysses passed with Circe, with
the Sirens, with Polyphemus, with Eolus, with the lotus-eaters, and
others, are plainly suggestive of the dangers which threaten the
thoughtless minded, those who plunge headlong into danger without
forethought. Ulysses does not give way to folly or passion, is bold and
skilful in danger, and persevering to the last extreme.
In the treatment of the "Odyssey," the teacher will need a general
knowledge of Greek mythology, which can be easily derived from "Greek
Gods, Heroes, and Men" (Scott, Foresman, & Co.), and from several other
of the reference books. Some study of Greek architecture, sculpture, and
modes of life will be instructive and helpful, as given in Smith's
"History of Greece" and other histories. Pictures of Greek temples and
ruins, sculpture, and palaces will be pleasing and attractive to
children. (See Luebke's "History of Art," Vol. I, Dodd, Mead, & Co.) Some
of the children's books also contain good pictures.
A good map, indicating the supposed wanderings of Ulysses in the
Mediterranean, is given in several of the books, _e.g._ in Palmer's
"Odyssey," and fixes many of the most interesting events of the story.
The teacher should not overlook the geography of the story and its
relation to this and later studies in history, literature, and
geography.
In using "Ulysses among the Phaeacians" as a reader in fourth or fifth
grade, the first unit of study is the voyage of Ulysses on his raft,
from the time of leaving Calypso till he is wrecked by the storm and
driven upon the island of Scheria, the home of the Phaeacians. We will
suggest a few points in the treatment. The supposed places and the route
of the voyage can be traced on the map. Let the teacher sketch it on the
board in assigning the lesson. Suggest that the children locate in the
sky the stars and constellations by which Ulysses is to direct his
course. The story of the construction of the raft on which Ulysses is to
make this journey, just preceding this part of the story, could be read
to the class by the teacher, as it is not contained in these extracts.
In length of time how does this voyage compare with a voyage across the
Atlantic to-day? Why is it said, in line 329, that the Great Bear "alone
dips not into the waters of the deep"?
From previous studies, the children may be able to tell of Ulysses' stay
upon the island with Calypso. What may the children know of Neptune? Why
is he angered with Ulysses? A picture of Neptune with the trident is in
place. Explain the expression "while from above the night fell
suddenly." Was Ulysses justified in saying, "Now must I die a miserable
death"? In spite of the desperate storm, in what ways does Ulysses
struggle to save his life? How do the gods assist him? In what way does
this experience of Ulysses remind us of Robinson Crusoe's shipwreck and
escape?
With how many men had Ulysses started on his way to Troy? Now he alone
escapes after great suffering and hopeless buffetings. In what way
during this voyage and shipwreck did Ulysses display his accustomed
shrewdness and foresight? After landing, what dangers did he still fear?
The nearly three hundred lines of Book V, which give this account of
Ulysses' voyage and shipwreck, will require several lessons, and the
above questions are but a few of those raised in its reading and
discussion. When Neptune, Ulysses, or Ino speak, let the speaker be
impersonated so as to give greater force and reality. In the next book
(VI), there is more of dialogue and better opportunity for variety of
manner and voice.
It would be tedious to enter into further detail suggesting questions.
But we may believe that a spirited treatment of this part of the story
of Ulysses in reading lessons, including his stay and treatment among
the Phaeacians, will give the children much appreciation of the beauty
and power of this old story. By means of occasional readings of other
selected parts of the "Odyssey," from Bryant or Palmer, some of the most
striking pictures in the story of his wanderings can be presented. Even
the children may find time for some of this additional, outside reading.
In any event the story of Ulysses, as a piece of great literature, can
thus be brought home to the understandings and hearts of children, and
will constitute henceforward a part of that rich furniture of the mind
which we call culture.
SUMMARY OF SIGNIFICANT POINTS IN READING
1. The teacher's effort is first directed to a vivid interpretation of
the author's thought and feeling, and later to an expressive rendering
of the thought.
2. Every exertion should be made to lead the children to an absorbed and
interested attention in the selections.
3. The author's leading motive in the whole selection should be firmly
grasped by the teacher. By centring all discussion toward this motive,
unnecessary digressions will be avoided.
4. The teacher will hardly teach well unless he has saturated himself
with the spirit of the selection, and enjoys it. To this end he needs
not only to study the selection, but also the historical, geographical,
biographical, and other side-lights.
5. The teacher needs great freedom and versatility in the use of his
materials. Warmth, animation, and freedom of manner are necessary.
6. Children often do not know how to study a reading lesson. In the
assignment and in the way of handling the lesson they should be taught
how to get at it, how to understand and enjoy it.
7. In the assignment of the lesson the thought of the piece should be
opened up in an interesting way, and such difficulties as children are
not likely to grapple with and master for themselves pointed out and
approached. Difficult words need to be pronounced and hard passages
explained.
8. The assignment should be unmistakably clear and definite, so as to
insure a good seat study.
9. The seat study should be chiefly on parts already discussed in class.
10. During the recitation proper, strong class attention by all the
members of the class is a first necessity. Much knowledge, alertness,
and skill are necessary to secure this. One must keep all the members of
the class in the eye constantly, and distribute the questions and work
among them promptly and judiciously, so as to secure concentrated
effort.
11. The teacher can often judge a recitation better without looking at
the book while the class is reading.
12. Skill in questioning is very useful in reading lessons.
(_a_) Questions to arouse the thought should appeal to the experience
of children.
(_b_) Questions to bring out the meaning of words or passages, or
to expose errors or to develop thought, should be clear and
specific, not long and ambiguous.
13. Let the teacher be satisfied with reasonable answers, and not insist
on the precise verbal form present to his own mind.
14. The teacher needs to awaken strongly the imagination in picturing
scenes, in interpreting poetic images and figures, and in impersonating
characters. The picture-forming power is stimulated by apt questions, by
suggestion of the teacher, by interpretation, by appeal to experience,
by dramatic action.
15. The use of the dialogue and dramatic representation is among the
best means of awakening interest and producing freedom and
self-forgetfulness.
16. The pupil should give his own interpretation, subject to correction,
and interpret parts in relation to the whole.
17. Without too much loss of time children should learn to help
themselves in overcoming difficulties in solving problems.
18. Sometimes it is well for children to come prepared to ask definite
questions on parts they do not understand.
19. The tendency to more independent and mature thinking is encouraged
by comparing similar ideas, figures of speech, and language in different
poems and from different authors.
20. There should be much effective reading and not much mere oral
reproduction. The paraphrase may be used at times to give the pupil a
larger view of the content of the piece.
21. Let the pupil reading feel responsible for giving to the class the
content of the printed page. Often it is best to face the class.
22. The teacher should occasionally read a passage in the best style for
the pupils, not for direct imitation, but to suggest the higher ideals
and spirit of good reading. A high standard is thus set up.
23. Children should be encouraged to learn by heart the passages they
like. In the midst of the recitation it is well occasionally to memorize
a passage.
24. The teacher must drill himself in clear-cut enunciation of short
vowels, final consonants, and pure vowel sounds. Cultivate also a quick
ear for accurate enunciation in the pupils and for pleasing tones.
Frequent drill exercise, singly and in concert, is necessary.
25. Use ingenuity by indirect methods to overcome nasality, stuttering,
nervously rapid reading, slovenly and careless expression, monotone, and
singsong.
26. By means of physical training, deep breathing, vigorous thought
work, encourage to self-reliant manner and good physical position.
27. Give variety to each lesson; avoid monotony and humdrum.
28. Each lesson should emphasize a particular aim, determined by the
nature of the selection or by the previous bad habits and faults of the
children in reading. It is impossible to give proper emphasis to all
things in each lesson, and indefiniteness and monotony are the result.