THE RETURN FROM THE CHILDREN
The discussion must naturally limit itself largely to the immediate
return that we may ask of the children from their lessons in literature;
since it is not possible to do more than hint at their ultimate effects.
It is, of course, a matter of pedagogical morality to ask from them some
immediate and practical return, or some actual literary contributions to
the lessons. There are certain modifications of the modern doctrine that
every stimulation of the mind or the emotions should eventuate in
activity--modifications that apply to all the fine arts. The aesthetic
experience is a complete experience in itself; the apprehension, the
enjoyment, and the final appreciation which one passes through in his
contact with a beautiful piece of art--a picture, a symphony, an
ode--constitute a complete psychic experience; they eventuate in a
better taste, a higher ideal, the record of a pure and noble joy. They
do not demand further activity. We need not feel, therefore, that it is
a matter of necessity to ask that in every case the class make some
tangible response to every literary impression.
But the teacher of literature must feel that he shares with all their
other teachers the responsibility and the duty of making social beings
of the children, of equipping them with the means of expression and
communication, so that they may turn back into the sum-total a product
in exchange for the material they draw out. He must, therefore,
associate with the lessons a legitimate amount of exercise for his class
in imparting what they have learned and in creating literary products
for themselves.
The first and simplest return we ask is the oral comment, the immediate
discussion that accompanies the presentation of the work. When a story
has been read, there should always be opportunity for question and
comment. This the teacher must guide and restrain. Of course, he should
be hospitable to suggestions and contributions, patient, and generous to
questions. But he must be cautious never to let the talk even on the
part of the smallest children remain mere prattle, or degenerate into an
aimless scamper around the paddock; he will see that there is a point or
a line to cling to, and he will manage that this shall be done. Every
teacher knows how one petty or commonplace child, one would-be wit or
skeptic, can drag the discussion into the dust and keep it there, unless
he is promptly and perhaps vigorously suppressed. Of course, in these
discussions there is very small opportunity for training the voice and
criticizing the language. Let there be, if possible, a free flow of
comment and contribution, uninterrupted by any corrections except those
of the most egregious errors. The teacher who guides it should study his
questions, and even with the little ones should bring into the light of
discussion the vital and salient things, and by means of a question from
time to time, keep the conference away from triviality and gossip. He
will begin to train his children from the beginning to make legitimate
inductions from their material, and will require them to give reasons
based upon the actual story or poem. He will be able to lead them to
find the precise point of departure in the story for the introduction of
their personal experience or their new incident, and he will help them
in every case to make clear the application of their own material to the
discussion.
It is in this spontaneous and free, but guided, conference that the
children get most good out of the literature lessons. Of course, as they
grow older the discussion of persons and their conduct, and the ethical
and social bearing of events and opinions, may be broadened and
deepened. As they grow older, too, more correctness and style and
fulness may be demanded in their impromptu contributions to the
discussion. A child may, without suspecting it, and consequently without
self-consciousness, acquire some considerable skill in extemporaneous
speaking and some genuine intellectual ease in conversation from these
class discussions.
Another natural return to be asked from the children is the repetition
of the story, in whole or in part, by members of the class in their own
words; though of course, after many hearings of it well told the
children will have incorporated into their own vocabulary the most
useful and characteristic words. This exercise should never be allowed
to pass into a careless and slipshod performance; the children should be
alive and responding alertly to the call made upon them. Their grammar,
their sentences, their emphases and intonations may appropriately be
corrected more vigorously in this exercise than in the spontaneous
discussion.
The best literary effect is not secured by having the story retold
immediately after the children have heard it, nor by having them
understand beforehand that it is to be retold as a formal exercise. It
may be brought out of them on some later occasion so as to give it the
air of an independent contribution to the pleasure of the class.
Nothing is more deadly to the atmosphere of a story than the certainty
on the part of the children that they are going to be called upon to
retell it. This should never become a habitual exercise. It helps in a
literary as well as a social way to divide the story in the retelling
among the children according to movements, or even according to
incidents, since this calls attention to its parts and organization.
We may reasonably expect all the poems taught as literature to be
memorized, since it does not take many repetitions of a poem to fix it
in a child's memory. The vocal production of this poem gives the best
opportunity for cultivating the child in voice, in enunciation and
pronunciation. The teacher should not, of course, seem querulous and
exacting in small matters, and it is better to leave a few careless
spots in any one poem than to spoil the children's pleasure in it by too
close criticism; but he can do much to help all the children toward a
distinguished manner of expression. These memorized poems, like the
stories they learn, should not be regarded as formal exercises to be
recited once and be done with. They should be called for from time to
time as contributions to the pleasure of the whole class. Time is
profitably given now and then to a story or verse tournament, a
_sang-fest_, when the whole store of things acquired is brought out and
enjoyed. In the two older classes each child may be required to choose,
prepare, and present to the class a bit of literature. The choice and
preparation must be done in consultation with the teacher; the
presentation to the class regarded as a contribution to their artistic
experience and accepted without criticism.
Paraphrasing is a process of doubtful value. It is never possible to
express the precise meaning or mood in other words, and in the case of
verse it serves to destroy the sense of inviolability of form that one
would desire to develop and deepen. The direction, "State the same
thought in other words," should never be given. To one delicately alive
to the value of words and the shades of thought, it is a mere
contradiction in terms. The same may be said of the practice of getting
the children to substitute synonyms; in literature, especially in
poetry, there can be no true synonyms, and no precisely synonymous
expressions.
Many pleasant experiments are to be made in connecting some of the
handwork of the youngest children with their literature. The attempt to
realize some of their images in actual stuff constitutes an artistic
experiment that has its literary reverberations, and helps to deepen
the association. Let them make a cloak for _Little Red Riding-Hood_, a
fairies' coach of a nut shell, a boat, a tent--or whatever little object
or property is imbedded in the story. Out of practically every story,
and out of many of the poems, they get an inspiration for a picture or a
bit of modeling. Such associations with literature are legitimate and
natural. This appears very clear when we reflect that we are hoping to
cultivate the taste and imagination of the children, and to teach them
to love human life, with all that this implies, as well as to drill them
in language, grammar, and writing.
It seems necessary to handle aspects of the problem of language and
writing in connection with literature in several different places, as we
come upon the topic from different points of view. As has been said
before, it is the duty of the teacher of literature, and of the lessons
in literature, to help along the work in the language arts. It is even
fair to assume that the children will take more interest in their
composition lessons, and will get more profit out of them, when they are
attached to something they have done in literature; but this is because
they get out of literature more impulse toward creation, and more
inspiration toward a beautiful and striking manner of expression. But
composition is not merely a medium of creative expression; it is a
means of plain communication, and should be developed in both directions
and from both sources. This means that the children should write in
connection with all their subjects, so that they do not, on the one
hand, associate "English" and writing with literature only, and do not,
on the other hand, run the risk of forming no style but a literary
style.
It is certainly true that we disquiet ourselves and persecute the
children unnecessarily concerning the whole matter of writing during the
elementary period. The children scarcely acquire the process of writing
as a manual thing in the first four years. During the next four by good
luck and much toil, most of them manage to reduce it to the stage of a
tool. Their consciousness of the process added to their consciousness of
their spelling and grammar, leaves them little freedom in using the
written composition as an avenue of spontaneous expression. Add to this
the fact that a large part of this period--the period of ten to
fourteen--is the beginning of the great reticence. They are not telling
what they know or feel; they have narrowed their vocabulary down to the
absolutely necessary terms; they have seen through every device by which
the teacher seeks to get them to express themselves. Their written
compositions will be, therefore, dogged exercises, and should be
connected, as far as possible, with colorless information subjects.
There are exceptional children and exceptional classes, indeed, to whom
these generalizations do not apply. We have all heard of classes in
distant elementary schools which "loved" to write.
But there will of necessity be a certain amount of composition that will
fall in with the work in literature, and will constitute one of the
logical returns we ask of the children. This the teacher would like to
have as spontaneous and as literary as possible. In general, we should
like it to be creative, and not critical or reproductive. We would
encourage them to devise new adventures of Odysseus, or of Robin Hood,
to give an experience of their own organized into a genuine story, an
interpretation and effective description of some incident or event that
has interested them or been invented by them. It is necessary, if you
expect to get anything literary or creative out of them, to help to put
them in the creative and literary mood. Talk over with them the thing
they mean to do; see that they have the vocabulary they will obviously
need; enlarge their range of comparison and allusion by discussion; lead
them to divide their material into suitable parts with some acceptable
sequence; enrich their topics by kindred material; guide them into the
observation and interpretation of material in the imaginative and
literary way.
Some aspects of this process are illustrated in the following
experience: A teacher had been reading Howard Pyle's _Robin Hood_, with
occasionally one of the original ballads interspersed (but not the
traditional "Robin Hood and the Potter"), for three months; the children
had also memorized during the same time three short lyrics; and in every
lesson there had been discussions; the time had come when they must make
something. They decided to follow the plan of their book and tell how
Robin Hood added a new member to his band. These children were making
pottery by way of handwork, and had lately had an interesting visit to
see a potter working with his wheel. So the suggestion naturally made by
some member of the class, that the new member of Robin Hood's band be a
potter, was received with instant favor. The teacher read them "Peter
Bell," and their hero promptly became a peddler-potter--the very same,
suggested an agile child, whom Tom, the Piper's son, found beating his
ass, and upon whom he played the merry trick. By this time the class
could be restrained no longer. They climbed over one another's
shoulders, literally and figuratively, with eager suggestions and
copious details. After discussing the plan long enough to suggest an
organization of the material into three natural parts, the children were
set to work. The orderly and patient children produced satisfactory
stories, abundant in material and beautiful in detail. All the others
produced stories which, however disorderly and careless, were breathless
with feeling and overflowing with stuff. Some of them adopted Tom, the
Piper's son, as the new member of the band, not being able to forgive
the potter for beating the ass; some adopted them both; others, only the
Potter, duly lessoned and converted; all provided for the donkey. When
they were aroused and provided, there was a spontaneous outflow of what
was in every case, allowing for the varying temperaments and
acquirements of the children, a really literary production.
As long as the children are seriously hampered with the mechanics of
writing, they should be allowed to dictate their work, when any
practical plan can be devised for this. When the class is not too large,
they should be taught to make a co-operative product, the teacher taking
down what they agree upon, revising it to suit them. In the case of the
older children these spontaneous and "literary" productions should not
be too minutely criticized, and the revising and rewriting of them
should not become a matter of drudgery. They should have other and more
colorless written work upon which they may be drilled, lest the drill
should kill their creative impulse or spoil their pleasure in the
created product. Their more important productions may be filed and given
back to them six months later for their own correction. This critical
review of their own work is generally an occasion of much pride, and the
acquisition of some wholesome self-knowledge.
It is possible that this attempt to distinguish literary writing from
other composition may convey the impression that literature and literary
production are set off, quite apart from life, and the children's other
experiences and interests. This would be a misfortune. Whenever any
aspect of their lives, their work, or their play appeals to their
emotions and their imaginations, when they are provided with a large
vocabulary and have opened for them avenues of comparison, they will
turn back a literary product. But it is seldom desirable to create this
atmosphere in connection with their other studies, and the literary
style and method is not a desirable one for all subjects.
For the sake of the practice in writing and composing, and for the sake
of acquiring ease in telling in writing what they know or desire to
communicate, the children may write something every day. But not oftener
than once in six weeks can we build up in a class the atmosphere,
furnish the material, and bring up the enthusiasm for the production of
something worth while in a literary way--story, essay, play, or poem.
To set the elementary child, or even the high-school scholar, tasks of
investigating in literature, as if he were a little college student is a
serious mistake; or to set for him themes which call for such opinions
and judgments as could be safely given only by a mature person. For
instance, to ask the eighth grade in the average school to write a
character-sketch of Shylock is to make a bid for insincerity and
unfounded judgment. But satisfactory results may be obtained by giving
the children a simple syllabus of questions and suggestions, indicating
quite suitable problems for them to work at in their out-of-school
reading; this little syllabus is then made the basis of class
discussion, and parts of it finally, of written work. It requires some
skill to make such a syllabus, since it must not be made up of leading
questions nor of tediously detailed suggestions, neither must it attempt
to exhaust the material; but must be calculated to stimulate the
children to observe and to think, and must be designed to guide them
into those aspects of the story, play or poem that they may suitably
and profitably consider. Such a guide should be placed in the hands of
young students including secondary children, whenever they are studying
a mature and complex masterpiece.
The dramatization and acting of any bit of literature that yields to
this process is in many ways the most satisfactory return we can ask. In
a previous chapter much has been said about the various dramatic
settings and accompaniments of literature. From the treatment of rhymes
and jingles as suggestions for games and plays, on through the genuine
dramatization of a story, to the presentation of _The Merchant of
Venice_ or some other developed literary drama, the teacher should
forward as much as possible this mode of calling out the children. They
must, of course, be guided by the teacher in the choice of a story for
dramatization, seeking one that has clearly marked movements, some
distinct events, a pretty well-rounded plot, occasion for dialogue, and
other dramatic possibilities. The class may early be guided to the
division of the story into its natural acts and scenes, which implies
the omission of superfluous incidents and details. The difficulty comes
in the supplying of the actual dialogue. The resourceful teacher will
secure this dialogue by various means; for some of the scenes it will
flow off without effort from the class in lesson assembled, one child
suggesting a remark, another the reply, these being recorded and
criticized by the class. For certain other scenes the dialogue may be
prepared by groups of two or more children working apart from the class.
For certain crucial and lofty scenes the teacher should make the "book."
The whole must be submitted for discussion in the class, and may in the
end call for considerable revision from the teacher; for the younger
children cannot be expected to know and to meet the demands of dramatic
dialogue--it must not only be speech, and fairly good as conversation,
but it must forward the play with every sentence. Of course, this
revision must never be so sweeping as radically to remake the play, or
even to alter the essential character that the children have given it,
no matter how crude it may seem to the teacher and to other mature
persons who hear it. Let it stand as a bit of child-art, just as we
rejoice to let crude productions stand as folk-art.
Of course, when the older children present a literary play or any part
of it, they must memorize and give it conscientiously as it is written.
Indeed, the rendering with understanding and appreciation, of whatever
they have learned of good and beautiful literature is, after all, the
most satisfactory and natural return. If even in high school we asked
this of the children, instead of those themes of crude or stale literary
criticism which we all too often get, great would be the gain in
freshness, in sincerity, in appreciation, and in ultimate taste.
If we accustom the children to it from the beginning, and never intimate
to them that it is difficult, it is about as easy to get verse out of
them as prose. This is particularly true if the exercise is a social or
co-operative one, in which the whole class unites to produce the ballad
or the song. What the single child could not accomplish, the group does
with perfect ease. And when the poem is done, nobody can tell who
suggested this rhyme, this word, this whole line; but the whole is a
product of which each child is proud, though he alone could never have
compassed it. The communal story, ballad, song, or play is a unique and
interesting performance, and any teacher who has ever assisted in making
it feels sure that he has seen far into the social possibilities of art
and the philosophy of literature. Every teacher must devise his own plan
of getting this co-operative, communal, social bit of literature made,
but every teacher of literature should try it.
All this, of course, has to do with the immediate practical return from
the studies in literature. Concerning the ultimate, distant return we
cannot speak in terms of teaching and learning. Art is long; like the
human child, being destined to a long and vicissitudinous life, it had a
long childhood; and this is true of its growth in each individual as of
its growth in the race. So far as regards many of the most desired
results of literature, we can but sow the seed, and wait years for the
bloom--a lifetime, maybe, for the fruit. But though we may not reach a
hand through all the years to grasp the far-off interest of our toil, we
have every reason to believe that the harvest will be fair.