Child Stories from the Masters Part 1

Child Stories from the Masters.

by Maud Menefee.

FOREWORD.

In writing these stories, no attempt has been made to follow the plot or problem of the poems, which in almost every case lies beyond the child's reach. The simple purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion of only a stanza or scene, has been used as opportunity for picturing and reflecting something of the poetry and intention of the originals.

As story-teller to the same circle of children for several years, it became necessary to draw upon the great literary fount for suggestion, and it was found that "Pippa," the art child of industry, could add a poetic impulse toward the handwork of spinning, thread-winding, weaving, the making of spinning wheels, winders, and looms, without too great violence to the original poem itself.

"Mignon," as the creature of an art that exists for art's sake, was set to contrast with Pippa, who through service finds a song to heal and to inspire.

"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight stories, were given with their musical _motifs_.

The writer hopes for "Child Stories" that it may serve to suggest to teachers how they may utilize the great store of poetry and art at hand.

To do this they are themselves under the joyful necessity of keeping close to the great sources. On this last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says: "A view of the world is a perpetual stimulant to thought, always prompting one to reflect on the immediate fact or event before him, and to discover its relation to the ultimate principle of the universe. It is the only antidote for the constant tendency of the teacher to sink into a dead formalism, the effect of too much iteration and of the practice of adjusting knowledge to the needs of the feeble-minded by perpetual explanation of what is already simple _ad nauseam_ for the mature intelligence of the teacher. It produces a sort of pedagogical cramp in the soul, for which there is no remedy like a philosophical view of the world, unless, perhaps, it be the study of the greatest poets, Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."

MAUD MENEFEE.

Chicago, August, 1901.

A SONG.

The year's at the spring The day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: G.o.d's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!

--_From Browning's "Pippa Pa.s.ses."_

PIPPA.

All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his errand when he heard the busy song.

Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all.

The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked, if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.

Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a beautiful woman pa.s.sed in silken robes, they looked with s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.

The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling, whirling spools.

Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so s.h.i.+ning and full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next, making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring spools.

One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the day:

"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long year; come to me gentle and s.h.i.+ning, and I will do whatever loving deed you bring me."

And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!

She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the gra.s.s blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound silk.

She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.

But little Pippa did not know this; she had pa.s.sed on singing.

Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.

And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:

"All service ranks the same with G.o.d: ... there is no last nor first."

The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.

Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown faint, and he waited.

And it chanced that Pippa pa.s.sed, singing, and her song reached the man; and it was to him as if G.o.d called. He rose up strong and brave, and leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.

At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for the joy you gave."

But the day knew.

And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all day.

Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom, The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom, A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?

Know'st thou it well?

Ah! there--Ah, there would I fare!

--_From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."_

[Ill.u.s.tration: _By Paul Kiessling_

MIGNON]

MIGNON.

Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing remarkable things.

The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they were quite happy after their own fas.h.i.+on. But often, when they pa.s.sed down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.

The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could see the most s.h.i.+ning pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.