Chapter 1

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CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS

BY

MAUD MENEFEE

BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY

_ILLUSTRATED_

RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY _CHICAGO_ _NEW YORK_ _LONDON_

COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901 By MAUD MENEFEE

TO ANDREA HOFER

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.

THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.

PAGE

PIPPA _Robert Browning_ 9 From "Pippa Passes."

MIGNON _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_ 17 From "Wilhelm Meister."

SIEGFRIED _Richard Wagner_ 27 From "Niebelungen Ring."

A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY _Robert Browning_ 39 From "Amphibian."

HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_ 45 From "Faust."

BEATRICE _Dante Alighieri_ 55 From "The Inferno."

PARSIFAL _Richard Wagner_ 61 From "Parsifal."

THE ANGELUS 67 About the painting by Jean François Millet.

FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN 73

THE HOLY NIGHT 79 About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio.

SAUL AND DAVID _Robert Browning_ 95 From "Saul."

A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION 103

A WORD LIST 103

A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

THE SPINNER _Jean François Millet_ _Frontispiece_

INNOCENCE _Jean Baptiste Greuze_ 10

MIGNON _Paul Kiessling_ 18

SIEGFRIED _F. Leeke_ 28

"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW" _Yeend King_ 40

LISEUSE _Jules Le Febvre_ 46

THE BEATA BEATRICE _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_ 56

ASPIRATION _George Frederick Watts_ 62

THE ANGELUS _Jean François Millet_ 68

THE HOLY NIGHT _Antonio Allegri da Correggio_ 80

THE DIVINE SHEPHERD _Bartolomé Estéban Murillo_ 96

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: God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!

--_From Browning's "Pippa Passes."_

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 passed in silken robes, they looked with shining 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 shining 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 shining, 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 grass 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 passed 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 God: ... 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 passed, singing, and her song reached the man; and it was to him as if God 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."_

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 fashion. But often, when they passed 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 shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.

But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together when work was over.

In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the greatest wonder.

Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones. Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his part.

Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people stood still and looked with wonder.

Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real joy might be a long, long way off from them.

And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I sing or stir with the beautiful music!"

But, children, Mignon never found it.

The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was not in it.

Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a blessed deed in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy on her heart, and she was more weary than any child who serves all day. And after awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life, and the poet tells us that she died. We read in his strange book that they bore her to the dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there white and beautiful. Four boys clothed in blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving white plumes. And when the people had come in and stood together very silently, the most beautiful singing voices began--

"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"

The four boys answered:

"''Tis a tired playmate whom we bring you. Let her rest in your still dwelling. Let us weep. Let us remain with her!'"

But the sweet voices rang out,

"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears let the fresh air dry. Haste back into life! Let the day give you _labor_ and _joy_, till evening bring you rest.'"

And the listening children understood.

SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.

[Music:]

_Richard Wagner._

THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.

Long, long ago, before the sun learned to shine so brightly, people believed very strange things. Why, even the wisest thought storm clouds were war-maidens riding, and that a wonderful shining youth brought the springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed into the water they said to one another, "See, it is some of the shining gold, some of the magic Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the Rhine-gold we would be masters of the world--the whole world;" and they would stretch out their arms and look away on every side. Even little children began looking for the hidden gold as they played, and they say that Odin, a god who lived in the very deepest blue of the sky, came down and lay in the grass to watch the place where he thought it was.

Now this gold was hidden in the very deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon that everyone feared lay upon it night and day. Almost all the people in the world were wanting and seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes that they were forgetting everything else, even the sweet message and the deed they had brought the world. Some of them went about dreaming and thinking of all the ways there were of finding it. But they seldom did anything of all they thought, so they were called the Mist-men. And there were others, who worked always, digging in the darkest caverns of the mountains, and lived underground and almost forgot the real light, watching for the glow of the gold. These were called the Earth-dwarfs, for they grew very small and black living away from the light. But there were a great many blessed ones who lived quite free and glad in the world, loving and serving one another and not thinking very much of the gold.

There was a boy whose name was Siegfried, and though he lived with an Earth-dwarf in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the magic gold or the world. He had never seen a man, and he had not known his mother, even, though he often thought of her when he stood still at evening and the birds came home. There was one thing she had left him, and that was a broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf, strove night and day to mend it, thinking he might slay the dragon. But though he worked always, it was never done, for no one who feared anything in the world could weld it, because it was an immortal blade. It had a name and a soul.

Each evening when Siegfried thought of his sword he would come bounding down the mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One night he came laughing and shouting, and leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi. He ran round and round, and darted here and there, until Siegfried could go no more for laughing, and the bear broke from the rope and ran into the woods. When Siegfried turned he saw that the poor little dwarf was crouched trembling behind the anvil, and he stopped laughing, and looked at him.

"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing, but the fire began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.

"Do you not know what fear is?" cried the dwarf at last.

"No," said the boy, and he went over and took up the sword; and lo! the blade fell apart in his hand. They stood still and looked at each other. "Can a man fear and make swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said nothing, but the forge fire flashed and sparkled, and the broken sword gleamed, in the strangest way.

The boy smiled, and gathering up the pieces he ground them to fine powder; and when he had done, he placed the precious dust in the forge and pulled at the great bellows, so that the fire glowed into such a shining that the whole cave was light.

But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller as he watched the boy. When he saw him pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it on the fire, and heard him singing at his work, he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried only laughed and went on singing. When he took out the bar and struck it into the water there was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood there with Mimi, and they raged and cried together. But still Siegfried only laughed and sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his hammers. At every blow he grew stronger and greater, and the sword bent and quivered like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful cry, he lifted it above his head with both his hands; it fell with a great blow, and behold! the anvil was severed, and lay apart before him.

The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the most wonderful peace, and the forge light seemed to grow into full day. The immortal sword was again in the world. But Mimi and the Mist-men were gone.

And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures how Siegfried went out into the early morning, and how the light glittered on the trembling leaves and sifted through in little splashes. He stood still, listening to the stir of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the chirp of the birds. Two birds were singing as they built a nest, and he wondered what they said to one another. He cut a reed and tried to mock their words, but it was like nothing. He began to wish that he might speak to some one like himself, and he wondered about his mother; why had she left him? It seemed to him he was the one lone thing in the world. He lifted his silver horn and blew a sweet blast, but no friend came. He blew again and again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the leaves stirred to a great rustling; and the very earth seemed to tremble. He looked, and behold! he had waked the dragon that all men feared; and it was coming toward him, breathing fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not know what fear was; he only laughed and leaped over it, as he plunged; and when it reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal blade straight into its heart.

Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword he smeared his finger with the blood, and it burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth to ease the pain. Then suddenly the most strange thing happened: he understood all the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo! the bird on the very branch above was singing of his mother and of him, and of the gold that was his if he would give up his sword and would love and serve none in the world. And more, she sang on of one who slept upon a lonely mountain: a wall of fire burned around, that none could pass but he who knew no fear.

Siegfried listened to hear more, but the bird fluttered away before him. He saw it going, and he forgot the gold and the whole world, and followed it. It led him on and on, to a lonely mountain, where he saw light burning; and he climbed up and up, and always the light grew brighter. But when he was nearly at the top, and would have bounded on, he could not, for Odin stood there with his spear across the way. The fire glowed and flashed around them, but the sword gleamed brighter than anything that ever shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and leaped into the flame. And there at last, in the great shining, this Siegfried beheld a mortal like himself. He stood still in wonder. He saw the light glinting on armor, and he thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!" And he went over and took the helmet from the head. Long ruddy hair, like flame, fell down. Then he raised the shield, and behold! in white glistening robes he saw the maid Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful! The light glowed into a great shining as he looked, and, hardly knowing, he leaned and kissed her, and she awoke.

And it seemed to Siegfried that he had found his mother and the whole world.

Yes! there came floating by Me, who lay floating too. Such a strange butterfly! Creature as dear as new:

* * * * *

I never shall join its flight, For, naught buoys flesh in air. If it touch the sea--good night! Death sure and swift waits there.

--_From Browning's "Amphibian."_

A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.

At the very farthest end of the meadow there is water, blue with sky. It flows on and on, growing broad and strong farther down, to turn the mill wheel. But here in the meadow, you can see far off on the other side, and hear the cows ripping off the tender grass, and smell the perfume of wild plums.

Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching the water. How sleepily it moved, and what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he could count the pebbles at the bottom; and there, swimming straight toward him, came a tiny fish, making little darts from one side to another, and snapping at the tadpoles on the way. Then he stopped just in front of him.