To give you rings and other things to pay for doing right,
But if you’ll do to others what you’d have them do to you,
You’ll be as blest as if the best of fairy tales were true.
Very young children can be taught to realize that the true reward
of right conduct comes from added self-respect and from winning the
esteem of others, and whenever a child is given a tale in which a boy
or a girl receives some wonderful treasure for kindness or courtesy or
truthfulness, the narrator will do well to interpolate a sentence like
this: “And the best part of it was that Albert was happy because he had
done what was right. That thought gave him a glad feeling even more than
the big, shiny dollar.”
Many fairy tales and fables are of particular ethical value for little
children, and the narrator can draw much from the field of general
literature; biography and history hold many good examples, while the
Bible is a rich storehouse of material. Ella Lyman Cabot’s excellent
work, _Ethics for Children_, discusses the ethical side of story-telling
in such a detailed and complete way that it should be in the hands of
every mother and teacher. The book gives valuable suggestions, not only
to workers with little folk, but to those who have the training of
grammar grade and high-school pupils also. Carolyn Sherwin Bailey’s
_Stories for Sunday Telling_ contains some good material for the mother
and the primary teacher, while the several books by Sara Cone Bryant
(listed in Chapter Seven, “Telling the Story”) will be helpful.
The following list is one that has been used with good results:
STORIES TO DEVELOP OR STAMP OUT CERTAIN TRAITS AND INSTINCTS
_Deceit_
ÆSOP: The Fox that Lost Its Tail (ADAMS, WILLIAM: _Fables and
Rhymes—Æsop and Mother Goose_).
_Malice_
ÆSOP: The Dog in the Manger (ADAMS, WILLIAM: _Fables and
Rhymes—Æsop_).
_Sympathy and Compassion_
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: A Lesson for Kings (_Ethics for Children_).
SAWYER, RUTH: The Gipsy Mother’s Story of Joseph and Mary
(_This Way to Christmas_).
_Honesty_
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: The Little Loaf (_Ethics for Children_).
_Faithfulness to Duty_
BRYANT, SARA CONE: The Little Hero of Haarlem (_How to Tell
Stories_).
CARY, PHŒBE: The Leak in the Dike (_Poems_).
_Inattention_
BRYANT, SARA CONE: Epaminondas and His Auntie (_How to Tell
Stories_).
GRIMM, JACOB: Stupid Hans (_German Household Tales_).
_Obedience_
PARTRIDGE, E. N. and G. E.: The Little Cowherd Brother
(_Story-Telling in the Home and School_).
_Generosity_
BAILEY, CAROLYN SHERWIN: The Boy Who Had a Picnic (_Stories and
Rhymes for the Child_).
BAILEY, C. S., and LEWIS, CLARA M.: The Woodpecker Who Was
Selfish (_For the Children’s Hour_).
BRYANT, SARA CONE: The Cloud (_How to Tell Stories_).
BULFINCH, THOMAS: Baucis and Philemon (_The Age of Fable_).
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: Margaret of New Orleans (_Ethics for
Children_).
CARY, ALICE: The Pig and the Hen (_Poems_).
GRIMM, JACOB: The Star Dollars (_German Household Tales_).
GRIMM, JOSEPH: The Elves and the Shoemaker (_German Household
Tales_).
WILDE, OSCAR: The Happy Prince.
_Love and Sweetness_
BRYANT, SARA CONE: The Mirror of Matsuyama (_How to Tell
Stories_).
TOLSTOÏ, LEO: Where Love Is, There God Is Also (See BRYANT:
_How to Tell Stories_).
_Forgiveness_
BIBLE: The Prodigal Son.
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: Lincoln and William Scott (_Ethics for
Children_).
HUGO, VICTOR: The Bishop and Jean Valjean (_Les Misérables_).
MOULTON, LOUISE CHANDLER: Coals of Fire (In CABOT: _Ethics for
Children_).
TOLSTOÏ, LEO: A Spark Neglected Burns the Whole House (In
CABOT: _Ethics for Children_).
_Cleanliness_
BAILEY, CAROLYN S.: The Child Who Forgot to Wash
(_Story-Telling Time_).
KINGSLEY, CHARLES: Tom, the Chimney Sweep (_Water Babies_).
LINDSAY, MAUD: Dust under the Rug (_Mother Stories_).
RICHARDS, LAURA E.: The Pig Brother (_The Pig Brother and Other
Stories_).
_Perseverance_
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: The Story of Helen Keller (_Ethics for
Children_).
CATHER, KATHERINE DUNLAP: Old Jan’s Twilight Tale; The Joyous
Vagabond; The Whittler of Cremona; The Border Wonderful;
Jacopo, the Little Dyer (_Boyhood Stories of Famous Men_).
HOLLAND, RUPERT S.: The Boy of the Medici Gardens (_Historic
Boyhoods_).
_Industry_
BRYANT, SARA CONE: The Gold in the Orchard; The Castle of
Fortune; The Sailor Man (_How to Tell Stories_).
_Contentment_
BROWNING, ROBERT: Pippa Passes (_Poems_).
BRYANT, SARA CONE: The Rat Princess (_How to Tell Stories_).
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: The Discontented Pendulum (_Ethics for
Children_).
CATHER, KATHERINE DUNLAP: The Discontented Pig.
MENEFEE, MAUD: Pippa Passes (_Child Stories from the Masters_).
_Kindness_
ÆSOP: The Lion and the Mouse (ADAMS: _Fables and Rhymes—Æsop
and Mother Goose_).
ANDERSEN, H. C.: Five Peas in a Pod (_Wonder Stories Told to
Children_).
BAILEY, C. S.: The Little Brown Lady (_Story-telling Time_).
BROWN, ABBIE FARWELL: St. Francis of Assisi and the Wolf (_Book
of Saints and Friendly Beasts_).
BRYANT, SARA CONE: Prince Cherry (_Stories to Tell to
Children_); Why Evergreen Trees Keep Their Leaves (_How to Tell
Stories_).
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: Dama’s Jewels (_Ethics for Children_).
GRIMM, JACOB: Snow White and Rose Red; Snow White and the Seven
Dwarfs; Queen Bee (_German Household Tales_).
LONGFELLOW, HENRY: The Bell of Atri (_Poems_); (see also WIGGIN
and SMITH: _The Children’s Hour_).
PARTRIDGE, E. N. and G. E.: The Stone Lion; Little Paulina’s
Christmas (_Story-Telling in the Home and School_).
RICHARDS, LAURA E.: Florence Nightingale and the Shepherd Dog
(_Florence Nightingale, the Angel of the Crimea_).
STOCKTON, FRANK R.: Old Pipes and the Dryad (LYMAN:
_Story-Telling: What to Tell and How to Tell It_).
_Greed_
ÆSOP: The Dog and His Shadow (In ADAMS: _Fables and Rhymes—Æsop
and Mother Goose_).
HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL: The Golden Touch (_Wonder-Book_).
_Courtesy_
CABOT, ELLA LYMAN: A Four-Footed Gentleman (_Ethics for
Children_).
History and biography offer a particularly rich field from which to draw
material for older children, for nothing drives home with more force a
lesson in patriotism, loyalty, faithfulness, heroism, or obedience than
to read of some one who has been put to the test and has triumphed.
Dozens of characters worth emulating will occur to any teacher, and the
following books will be found of particular value:
SOURCES OF MATERIAL TO USE IN THE TEACHING OF ETHICS
BALDWIN, JAMES: _American Book of Golden Deeds_.
BOLTON, SARAH K.: _Famous Leaders among Men_; _Lives of Poor
Boys Who Became Famous_; _Lives of Girls Who Became Famous_.
LANG, ANDREW: _The True Story Book_.
LANG, JEANIE: _The Story of Robert the Bruce_.
RICHARDS, LAURA E.: _Florence Nightingale, the Angel of the
Crimea_.
PART TWO
THE USE OF STORY-TELLING TO ILLUMINATE SOME SCHOOLROOM SUBJECTS—STORIES
FOR TELLING
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STORY-TELLING TO INTENSIFY INTEREST IN HISTORY
It has been said by Walter Prichard Eaton, “The pupil who gets a mark
of one hundred and thereafter hates Shakespeare, has failed—rather, his
teacher has,”—and it is equally true that the instructor also has failed
whose classes look upon history as a series of dates and dull facts
instead of a colorful story.
To teach history successfully means to give the child vivid pictures of
the past, to enable him to see as a whole the march of a race or of a
nation across the canvas of time, to watch the legions of warriors go
to victory or defeat, to hear the voices of statesmen whose wisdom has
builded empires, to walk side by side with the men and women whose lives
make up the annals of the world. To be of value to the child, history
must be felt, just as a work of literature must be felt. He must live
it, must approve the worthy and disapprove the unworthy, must rejoice in
and sympathize with the fortunes and misfortunes of its characters, else
it cannot be anything more to him than the chronology in the almanac,
disliked during his school days and forgotten as soon as they are over.
Story-telling can make history alive and vital because of its power
to convey the child to distant scenes and ages, and through it he may
become, not only a spectator, but a participant in every human activity.
If our libraries were to be swept away and publishing houses should
shut their doors, we could still teach history to children, and teach
it successfully, through the art of the narrator. By the medium of the
story we can make the child see what has been done by his ancestors
and other people in the past; by it we can interpret to him how his
forefathers lived and acted, how other people have attempted to do what
he is trying to do or sees done, and give him a vivid idea of human ways
of living and conduct. This is history in the larger sense, and it was
taught successfully by the story-teller in the past.
Before the days of printing, when books were manuscripts that no one but
monks could read and kings could afford to own, story-telling was the
only way in which this subject was taught. Tales of bygone days were told
in castle halls and to groups of eager listeners on the village green,
and boys and girls of King Alfred’s time knew as much of their country’s
story from the lips of wandering bards as those of our generation know
from cramming the contents of textbooks. They knew it because through
the tales they heard they were able to relive it, and what has been done
before can be done again. Because of the story’s power to vivify, modern
children can relive the world’s story just as those in medieval times
relived it, and history can be made a subject fraught with delight to the
child.
Child attention centers first upon familiar things, and radiates from
them to the unknown. Through his interest in creatures that are a
part of his environment, the kindergarten tot becomes interested in
those of other regions, in the men, women, children, and animals that
are part of the life of some other child. Through knowledge of his
immediate surroundings he comes to acquire knowledge of life in other
surroundings, and according to the appeal it makes to his imagination, he
understands and sympathizes with it, and his social sense is broadened.
Therefore, in the study of history, the attention should be focused
upon local environment, and from it should radiate to other sections
of the world. In other words, by what the child sees happening around
him, he must be led to see what has happened in the past and what is
happening now in distant regions. This requires imagination, and a boy
or a girl cannot see or feel these events if they are presented as a
dry chronology, because under those conditions they do not arouse the
imagination. He must behold them flashed on a canvas like a colorful
picture, and because the story can do this, because it can make real to
the imagination situations that cannot be experienced, through it he can
be led to see and feel all that we desire him to see and feel.
The biographical story, the tale of the leader who towers above his
fellows like the Matterhorn above the Valais foothills, is a boon to
every teacher of history. Because it is unified in plot and dramatic
in appeal to the imagination, it is the most easily handled of all the
history material, and should be used freely. But if children are not to
have a distorted idea of the story of the human race, we must not stop
with the biographical tale. We must give them also a conception of the
part the masses have had in the making of the great human story, of the
yeomen of England, upon whose sturdy shoulders the foundation of British
liberty stands, of the vassals of Italy, France, and Germany, of the
army of unknown toilers who built the Pyramids and the Chinese Wall.
Sometimes, in satisfying the child’s hero-love, we make him one-sided by
laying too much stress upon individual achievement and not enough upon
the work of the multitude. We do not lead him to value the importance of
the humble who toil in the rank and file. This is not as it should be. We
should make it clear to him that the stokers who feed the furnace of the
man-of-war are as splendidly patriotic as the admiral who commands the
fleet, and are as necessary to their land, because, were there no coal
heavers, there could be no navy.
Sometimes, too, because martial events are more spectacular than those of
peace, we give the impression that they are the only important and heroic
ones, and fail to convince the children of the fact that the peasants
of Lorraine, who tilled their fields until they blossomed like gardens,
served their land as loyally as the soldiers who marched to victory under
the oriflamme of Henry of Navarre. We are too prone to center the child
interest around military affairs, and neglect to emphasize the importance
of conflicts of another kind. The history of every modern industry, of
every achievement that has meant anything to the world, is a story of
struggle, of victory over opposing forces. It has its succession of
events, its periods of triumph and defeat, its moments of suspense, and
its thrilling climax, and if presented in all its possibilities, is as
fascinating to childhood as Napoleon’s Russian campaign. Let us not fail
to give these narratives of struggle that are unstained by human blood,
and in doing it lead children to understand that there are other ways of
serving one’s land besides riding a war horse or carrying a musket.
We teach that Robert Fulton invented the first steamboat, but it is only
the exceptional child-leader who makes the most of that event, who throws
upon the canvas, for youth to behold, the story of the struggle and
disappointment, the triumph and despair, of the young American engineer.
To give them the fact that the _Clermont_ made a successful trip from New
York to Albany in 1807, is like telling the end of a story without the
beginning or intervening chapters, and a snatch of a tale never has the
effect of the whole. But if the children have all the light and shade of
that splendid narrative of invention, of the labor beside the Seine, of
the hope and discouragement there, it becomes a fascinating, unforgotten
tale. They remember the _Clermont_ episode because they have enjoyed
a story, and years afterward, when they see a ferryboat or an ocean
greyhound, they will think of the New Englander through whose dreams and
labor it came to be.
To the teacher who looks upon history as a great, fascinating tale, who
regards it as a narrative instead of a mere bunch of dates and periods,
who knows the story of man’s inner development as well as that of his
outer, and who uses the myths, legends, and epics of a land as side
lights to illuminate its true story, great results are possible. There is
no phase or period of history that he cannot make intensely interesting
to the child, no page of the world’s story that will not teem with life
and color to the boy or girl who receives it from such an instructor. It
may be an account of events in his own land, of happenings in the stern,
white north country or in the opalescent south, it may be of knights in
glittering armor or of serene-faced, brown-cowled friars, of men from the
masses or from the ranks of the exalted, but it will breathe and pulsate
for him, it will give him the information that he should receive, and it
will give him an understanding that no memorizing of dates and outlines
can give, because he has lived with those who made history, because he
has suffered, rejoiced, and achieved with them.
Every great historian is more than a recounter of events of the past. He
is an artist who fits himself into the moods of men and women who lived
and accomplished before his time, puts them into his pages as creatures
of flesh and blood, and gives to their activities as much freshness
and interest as have the events that happen before our eyes. Motley,
Guizot, Hume, Hallam, Froissart, and our own Parkman, Lodge, Prescott,
and Bancroft created as splendidly as ever Hugo, Corneille, or Balzac
created, because they endowed characters of fact with as much life as
these other men gave to characters of fiction; and consequently, with
sources rich in inspiration from which to draw, the teacher who aspires
to vivify history by story-telling is confronted by no hopeless task. He
need only go to the works of the standard historians for his background,
and then, by giving the imagination sufficient play to supply setting and
detail of situation, he can carry a joyful lesson to the children. This
is well illustrated in the following story of Western discovery. Children
love it and ask to have it told again and again, while if the bare facts
are given them in outline form, it means little to them. Not every
teacher is gifted to the degree of Miss Hood and can hope to weave a fact
of history into a tale that deserves to rank as a children’s classic; but
every teacher can put history into story form with enough skill to make
it hold delight for his pupils and cause them to go from his instruction
with a fondness for history, an understanding of what history really
means, which is worth infinitely more than a thousand dates or outlines
crammed into the mind for an examination or recitation, or stored there
permanently to rust and grow useless, because they have no meaning, and
therefore no broadening or illuminating effect upon his life.
THE SEARCH FOR THE SEVEN CITIES
By MARGARET GRAHAM HOOD
_The Story of Tejos_
In the year 1530, when Nuño de Guzmán was governor of New Spain, he had
an Indian slave of whom he was very fond and who was likewise fond of his
master. He was a good servant and different in many ways from all the
other slaves in the palace, and it often pleased Nuño de Guzmán to talk
with him.
“Tejos,” said De Guzmán to him one day, “tell me of your home when you
were a boy, and tell me of your father and mother.”
Then Tejos turned away from his master and stood for a long time silent.
“Master,” he said at last, “when Tejos was a boy he lived not in this
land, nor was he a slave. His home was in a land far, far to the
northward. My lord, it was a great land. Beyond the home of my father
there was yet another country greater still. In that farther land were
seven great cities, and even the smallest of them was as great as this
city of Mexico. So rich were the people of those cities that they made
arrowheads of emeralds, and scraped the sweat from their bodies with
scrapers made of gold, and put precious stones over their doors. Their
houses were wide and high. My father carried to these people the feathers
that they wore upon their heads, and in return they gave him gold and
turquoises and emeralds. My father took Tejos with him twice, my lord,
when he journeyed with feathers to those cities, and though Tejos was
then but a small boy, he still remembers the long streets where were only
the stores of jewelers who sold the precious stones and made them into
ornaments for the people.”
“And where,” asked Nuño de Guzmán breathlessly, “where is this land?”
“It is far away from here, my lord,” answered Tejos, sadly. “Forty days
you must journey to reach it, and the land through which you must travel
is a desert lying between two seas, and there is neither water nor food
to be had.”
Scarcely waiting to sleep, De Guzmán began to gather a force to march in
search of this wonderful land. Far and wide the story spread and on all
sides the talk was of
_The Land of the Seven Cities_
With four hundred Spaniards and twenty thousand Indians, De Guzmán
marched from Mexico, and the people waited each day to hear that he had
conquered a great empire in the north.
As he went, rumors of the Seven Cities kept coming to him, and his men
were often so excited he could hardly get them to sleep enough. For days
they pressed eagerly forward, hoping each day to find the Seven Cities
at hand; but instead of this, the country each day grew more desolate,
the mountains grew steeper and the roads harder to find, while the Seven
Cities, instead of coming nearer, were always farther and farther to the
north.
Then the Indians began to desert and the Spaniards to complain. “We have
been deceived,” they said, “and we shall all die in this bleak land. Let
us return to Mexico.”
For a while Nuño de Guzmán cheered them by holding ever before them the
reward that awaited them, but at last he too grew discouraged and afraid;
they all turned about and marched sadly back to Mexico.
“We will go back now,” said Nuño de Guzmán, “but some day I will have the
right sort of an army and I will come again. Tejos himself shall lead me,
and I will yet find and conquer those Seven Cities.”
But when he returned to Mexico, Tejos was dead, and the story of Nuño de
Guzmán’s misfortunes discouraged others; so for six years no one went to
seek the Seven Cities. Then a strange thing happened.
_The Wanderings of Cabeza de Vaca_
Into the town of Culiacan there one day came wandering four strange men.
They were barefooted and almost naked. The little clothing they wore was
made of skins and hung in rags about them. Their hair lay in a tangled
mass upon their shoulders, and their beards reached almost to their knees.
They fell at the feet of the first Spaniard they met, crying, “Thank God!
Thank God! At last! At last!” Then they seized his hands and kissed them,
kissed each other, and danced about, clapping their hands and shouting
for joy.
“They are madmen,” said the people who gathered around to look at them.
“What shall we do with them?”
“No, no,” cried the oldest of the strangers. “No, no! You do not
understand. We are poor wanderers who have been lost for years among the
Indians. We have been slaves; our companions have died, but at last we
have escaped and now, for the first time in years, we see Christians and
Spaniards and our joy overcomes us. Can you wonder at it, dear friends?”
“Lost among the Indians!” murmured the people in astonishment. “Made
slaves by the Indians! Terrible! What can it mean?”
“There is something very strange about it,” said one.
“Let us take them before our Capitán,” said another, and they took them
at once to the Capitán.
“Who are you?” he asked rudely, looking with disgust at their dirt and
rags.
“I am Cabeza de Vaca,” said the oldest man. “I am a noble of Castile who
came with Narvaez to conquer Florida. The fleet was wrecked and all were
lost save these three companions and me. We have been all these years
since among the Indians.”
“I do not believe a word of it,” said the Capitán. “There is something
strange about it. These men may be criminals. Put them into prison until
we find out.”
For three months they lay in the prison. Then they were sent for by the
Alcalde Melchior Diaz. He received them with all kindness, and to him
they were allowed to tell their story.
“Is it true,” he said to the oldest man, “that you are Cabeza de Vaca of
Castile?”
“It is true,” answered Cabeza de Vaca. “Ten years ago I sailed with
Narvaez to the Florida coast to take part in his great expedition, but,
alas! all our ships were wrecked and only a few of us escaped to the
mainland. There most of those who did escape died, and we four, three
of us Spaniards and one a negro, have wandered ever since among the
Indians. We wept for joy at sight of our own people when we reached your
town, but they have treated us worse than did the Indians.”
“Do not think of that now,” said kind Melchior Diaz. “It was a mistake;
you shall now be treated with all the kindness that is your due. Tell me
your story.”
Then Cabeza de Vaca began the story of his wanderings:
“After Narvaez and the ships were lost,” said he, “we escaped to the
mainland and were taken captive by the Indians. They were a poor, starved
people who lived on roots and berries and whatever they could get, and
who often went for days without a mouthful. I do not know how many years
they held us as slaves, but it was for many years and our sufferings were
great.
“We tried always to get to the north, and little by little we got further
westward and northward.
“At last we escaped from those Indians who held us as slaves and fell in
with others farther west who had never seen a white man. We had with us a
rattle such as is used by their medicine men, and this, with our beards,
made them think we were from heaven. They fell on their faces before us
and gave us all that they had.
“We told these people we wished to go to where the sun sets, and they
said, ‘No, you cannot go there. The people are too far away.’