CHAPTER NINE

STORY-TELLING TO AWAKEN AN APPRECIATION OF MUSIC

The public school aims not only to give boys and girls a training that shall equip them with ability to gain a livelihood and provide for their material wants, but to give them resources within themselves from which to draw pleasure, broaden and deepen the emotional powers, enrich the soul by endowing it with capacity to respond to the beautiful and fine, and make them more sympathetic toward the joys and sorrows of their fellows. That is why the curriculum includes a course in music, drawing, and subjects that are branches of a great art. We do not expect to make professional musicians or painters of all the children who receive instruction, but aim to give the average child, the one who will grow to be an average, ordinary man, an appreciation of the things that give color and beauty to life and make him richer in mind and happier.

Taste is formed by what is heard in youth, and the child whose early years are associated with ragtime grows to be a devotee of ragtime, while he who hears the music of the masters becomes a man who loves great music. This is why the average European has a knowledge and love of melody that amazes Americans. He has heard good music from infancy. It is sung in the public meeting places of his town and whistled in the streets. The gamin of Naples, Rome, and Venice knows the arias from the operas as well as American children know their national anthem, and Verdi, Donizetti, and Rossini are more than names to him. He has heard their melodies from infancy, and his father or uncle or some street story-teller has familiarized him with the plots of their librettos. He knows something of the artists who sing the rôles, also, because the tailor and the barber and the baker not infrequently go to hear them, and they are a topic of conversation in the home. Here in America we have not had such opportunities. With us the opera and the symphony orchestra are exotics which only a minority has been trained to enjoy, and consequently we cannot be regarded as a musical people.

It is natural that this should be so, because, as compared with Continental lands, we are very young, and youth cannot hope to compete with maturity. But artistic standards in the United States are being raised steadily. Most of our great cities now have symphony orchestras and a season of opera, while the municipal band concert is part of the life of comparatively small towns, and the programs are of a higher order than formerly. We are on the upward move, and meanwhile every leader of children should do his part in the great work of helping to elevate the national musical standard.

The schools are doing something, but not enough, because much of the instruction they give is of a technical nature, and although pupils can read in several keys and beat time correctly, it does not follow that they are acquiring a capacity for the enjoyment of good music. Until one has sufficient mental development to understand something of the price that must be paid for artistic success, much attention to the technical vitiates interest in music, just as the dissecting method of study kills interest in literature. Many teachers make more of an effort to have children learn to read music than they do to have them enjoy it, and this close attention to the mechanics of the art makes the music period burdensome instead of enjoyable. Before the child can see any incentive in learning do—re—mi, he must hear and enjoy music and must understand that do—re—mi is a key that will unlock gates into larger fields of enjoyment. Because the hour is replete with drudgery rather than joy, the discipline of the music class is often a good deal of a problem, and although it is not an ideal condition, it exists more frequently than most people realize. A teacher whose class distinguished itself in sight singing at an institute, was asked how she made its members so proficient.

“Simply by keeping a strap on my desk and using it about every seven minutes,” she replied; “and those who did not have actual contact with it kept straight because they knew it was there.”

This is perhaps an extreme case, but the school-rooms in which the music lesson is a period of nervous strain for both teacher and pupils are numerous, and it is not strange that sometimes trustees question whether it might not be well to eliminate music from the list of public-school subjects.

An adage of the old Italian school of vocalists, whose methods have given so many glorious songsters to the world, was, “To sing, you must be happy,” and one of the most celebrated prima donnas of today attributes a large measure of her success to the fact that during childhood her mother had the wisdom never to make music burdensome by forcing her to it, but played for her and sang to her without stint, giving her countless opportunities of hearing music and leading her to love it. Then when she began formal study at twelve, her teacher did not harass her with exercises, but gave simple songs that she liked to sing, songs chosen to give her voice the exercise it needed and to appeal to the natural love of melody.

We might well apply this plan to our public-school music, and arrange courses so that children will hear much good music, even if the amount of technical work has to be greatly lessened. It is here that the story may do its far-reaching work in helping to make the music period pleasurable to the children and causing them to respond with keener pleasure to a higher standard of music.

Many narrators exclaim, “It is not possible for me to lead children to appreciate the great music when I do not know the great music myself.”

But it is possible. Of course it is easier for one who is familiar with the masterpieces of melody to lead children to them than for one who is not; but even though the mother or teacher was not in her own childhood familiar with Mozart or Mendelssohn, she can bring children to appreciate these artists because the talking machine has made it possible. She need not try to acquaint them with the technical terms, and mechanics of music, but she can arouse an interest that is the twin sister of inspiration, and she can do it in such a way that every minute devoted to the work is filled with delight. She can tell the life story of some great composer and familiarize the child with selections from his work that will guide him away from the cheap and tawdry. She can give him incidents connected with the composition of musical gems, and a glimpse into the great treasure house of musical literature that will cause him to want to know more of the achievements of the immortal melody makers. It is not necessary that one be a musician in order to do this. Most schools and many homes are now supplied with talking machines, and the records manufactured by the different companies bring masterpieces within the reach of all. Even the catalogs are rich in suggestion, and following the cues supplied by them, a little thought and labor will bring most gratifying results. Almost all the great composers had eventful childhoods, and the early days of Mendelssohn, Mozart, Bach, Haydn, Handel, Beethoven, Chopin, Verdi, Wagner, and many others are rich in incidents that children enjoy hearing. These biographies, sources for which are listed in the appended bibliography (page 94), if told in story form and followed by selections from the artist’s works, will make an impression and arouse an interest as nothing else can do. Do not, however, make the mistake of beginning with the man and leading down to his childhood. Begin with his early years and lead up to his achievements. The child will become interested in the man only through his childhood, because children are near his own interests, while adults are not. Many inexperienced story-tellers do not understand this, and are disappointed in their failure to hold their little hearers. This was demonstrated not long ago in a university course in story-telling. An incident in the childhood of Mozart was to be given in story form to introduce some of that composer’s works to a group of children. Eighty per cent of the five hundred preparing the paper began thus: “When the great Mozart was a little boy.” That introduction meant nothing to the children, because they did not know “the great Mozart,” and were not interested in strange men. But they were intensely interested in hearing about a child who long, long ago was sailing down the Danube with his father and sister Marianne and was very much distressed because the father would have to pay duty on the harp they carried and therefore, when they reached Vienna, Marianne could not have a new dress that she sadly needed. Little eyes sparkled and little hands clapped when the children heard how, as they reached the customhouse of the Austrian capital, young Wolfgang asked his father if he might play something on the harp, and his rendition so delighted and amazed the officials that the duty was waived and Marianne was shabbily clad no longer.

There are many musical stories besides those of lives of the composers that should be given to children: tales of the violin makers of Cremona, the minnesingers, the troubadours, the meistersingers, Pan and his pipes, Apollo and the lyre, David and the harp, King Alfred and the harp, the harp at Tara, the Crusaders bringing some stringed instruments into Europe, the development of the orchestra, the evolution of the harp from the bended bow of the early tribesmen, and the making of the piano. Stories of some of the operas, especially those based on the legends of the Grail and the Rhinegold, are delightful tales to give to children.

A good way to introduce children to a composer is by combining the story of his life with selections from his work, as in the following story about Schubert. This method may be applied to the study of any composer. Libraries are rich in materials, and the talking-machine companies bring the music within the reach of all; so there is no reason why the story-teller should not do his part in making our nation a music-loving land, as well as give pleasure to the children under his guidance.

“Whoever puts a beautiful thought or melody into the world,” writes an Indian poet, “gives more than a diamond of Golconda.” Whoever helps a child to understand and enjoy beautiful thoughts and melodies, gives in almost as great a measure as their creator. He too is a builder, leaving behind him something fit to stand, and labor of that kind does not go unrequited.

A BOY OF OLD VIENNA

Little Franz could hardly wait for the sun to rise. He had lain awake all night thinking of what morning would bring, and it seemed as if the long, dark hours would never end. But now it was dawn, and he knew that very soon the sun would gild the hilltops, and then the thing of which he had dreamed for days would come to pass.

“Are you up, Franz?” his mother called from below.

“Yes,” he answered cheerily, “up and dressing.”

The mother smiled at him as he ran down into the kitchen, for she knew how eagerly he had looked forward to this day. Josef, the kindly neighbor, had promised to take him that very morning to a warehouse where many fine pianos were kept, and he would spend hours among the beautiful instruments there. No wonder he was glad! The one his father provided for him was cheap and harsh, for Herr Schubert was just a poor schoolmaster and had few coins to spend for anything besides food and clothing. But that did not keep Franz from doing wonders with his music. He learned all he could from his brothers, and worked away at the poor piano because he could not help it. Now that he was soon to touch the keyboard of a really splendid instrument, he felt like a prince in a fairy tale.

They went out of the house and along the dingy street in which the Schuberts lived. Across the Danube they passed by the old stone bridge that led to the Ringstrasse, then northward into that part of the city where the warehouses stood. Groups of citizens in holiday attire hurried by, and now and then some great lord or lady in a fine carriage passed them on the way to worship at St. Stephen’s. But Franz thought only of reaching the warehouse, and he walked so fast that Josef, who was short and fat, began to grow red in the face and pant, and he was quite as glad as the boy when they reached the building.

Franz lost no time in getting to a piano. Sunday comes just once a week, and another would not come for seven long days. He sat down at one of the lovely instruments, playing and singing as if nothing in the world mattered so much as music. He was only eleven years old, and boys of that age usually want to be out with others, engaged in the sports and games boys love. But not so with Franz Schubert. He was happiest at his music. He played and played and was so busy that he did not see a stranger come into the warehouse or hear his voice in earnest conversation with Josef.

“You say he has had no music masters?” the man asked wonderingly.

Josef shook his head. “None but his brothers, Ignace and Ferdinand, and once, for a very short time, his father sent him to a singing tutor. But he said he could teach him nothing, for when he thought to give him something new he found he had learned it already.”

“Surely he is a wonder child,” the stranger remarked. “Be sure to tell his father to bring him tomorrow and we will try him.”

Then he passed out, but Franz did not see him. Nor did he know a word that had been spoken until on the way home, when Josef told him that the emperor’s choirmaster had passed by and was so pleased with his singing and playing that he wanted him in the royal choir.

So little Franz Schubert became a choir boy, and the master wondered more and more that one so young could know so much of music.

Then he went to a boys’ school. His clothes were not very fine, for he was poor. But he wore the best he had, a light gray suit that was far from handsome. Some of the richer boys thought it funny and nicknamed him “the miller.” But when Franz passed the severe singing examination so well that he was given one of the gold-braided honor uniforms, they did not tease him again. No one else did as well in the orchestra as the little Schubert lad. No one else sang as understandingly as he, and his master and fellow students, like the royal choirmaster, called him a wonder child. Every boy in the school liked him, and Franz liked them all too, but especially a young man named Spaun. And Spaun’s name is remembered to this day just because once upon a time he was kind to little Franz Schubert. He was almost twenty when Franz was but eleven, but they were jolly companions and the best of friends.

One day Franz said, “If I had some paper I know I could write a song.”

But paper he had not, because his father could not afford to buy it. Spaun always had a little money to spend, however, so Franz got the paper and wrote the song, and after that his friend supplied him with writing material. He enjoyed doing it because he liked the lad, but he did not realize that it would mean much to the world. It did mean a great deal, however, for some of the songs Franz wrote during his school days are still sung as among the sweetest in the world, and perhaps but for Spaun’s paper they might not have been written.

Well, Franz grew up just as other boys grow, and still he went on loving music and working at it, playing and writing songs. Almost everything he read or saw made him think of a melody, and every melody that formed in his brain was beautiful.

One evening he went into a restaurant in Vienna for his dinner. He had a small copy of Shakespeare in his pocket, and as he waited to be served he took it out and read. His eye fell upon the lines:

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, And Phœbus ’gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies.

They made him think of a song, and he looked about for paper upon which to write it. He asked the waiter to get him a piece, but the waiter could find nothing but a bill of fare. Schubert took that and wrote his melody, and when Shakespeare’s words were sung to it, the song sounded like this:

[At this point in the story run a record of “Hark, hark the lark.”]

Another time he was passing through a poor quarter of Vienna and heard a peasant serenading a girl. Schubert did not think the song a very pretty one, and he went home and wrote one that he liked better. This is how it sounds:

[Record of “The Serenade.”]

When Franz Schubert was a little child, he heard his father tell an old German story. It was called “The Erl King” and was about a witchlike creature who was supposed to take children from their parents. Franz always remembered it, and after he grew to manhood and read Goethe’s poem, “The Erl King,” a friend told him how the master came to write it. One wild winter night the poet was visiting in the home of a physician and a man came riding through the storm, seeking help for the child he had with him. The little fellow was delirious with fever and kept clinging to his father, crying and begging him not to let the Erl King take him away. The incident affected Goethe so deeply that he wrote the poem, and Schubert, hearing the story, was so touched by it that he composed wonderful music to go with the master’s words.

[Record of “The Erl King.”]

Another poem of Goethe’s that he read told of a wild rose growing on a heath. A boy saw the rose and said, “I will pluck you.” The rose said, “No, no. If you do I will prick you.” The foolish boy laughed and picked the rose, and it kept its word. This is the song Schubert made of the poem:

[Record of “Hedge Roses.”]

So you see that almost everything made Franz Schubert think of music. He wrote many, many songs and much other music, and although it is almost a hundred years since he died, his name and his works will live as long as men love melody. The greatest singers in the world use his songs over and over because rich and poor alike love them, and whenever singers want to be very sure of pleasing they sing some of the songs of him who was once a boy in old Vienna, Franz Schubert.

SOURCES OF MATERIAL TO AWAKEN AN APPRECIATION OF MUSIC

BARBER: _Wagner Opera Stories_.

BENDER: _Some Great Opera Stories_ (General Operas).

CATHER, KATHERINE DUNLAP: _Pan and His Pipes and Other Stories_; _Boyhood Stories of Famous Men_.

CHAPIN, ANNA ALICE: _The Heart of Music_; _Makers of Song_; _Stories of the Wagner Operas_; _The Story of the Rhinegold_.

CROWEST, FREDERICK JAMES: _The Life of Verdi_.

DOLE, NATHAN HASKELL: _A Score of Famous Composers_.

DUTTON COMPANY: _The Master Musician Series_.

FRYBERGER, AGNES: _Listening Lessons in Music_.

GUERBER, HELÈNE A.: _Stories of the Wagner Operas_.

HENSEL, SEBASTIAN: _The History of the Mendelssohn Family_.

LISZT, FRANZ: _Life of Chopin_.

PICTURES TO USE IN TELLING MUSICAL STORIES

BEYSCHLAG: Orpheus and Eurydice.

BORCKMAN: Mozart and His Sisters before Maria Theresa; Beethoven and the Rusmnowsky Quartette.

CARLO DOLCI: St. Cecilia at the Organ.

DUNCAN: Story of Minstrelsy.

GIULIO ROMANO: Apollo and the Muses.

HAMMAN: Mozart at Vienna; Preludes of Bach; Haydn Crossing the English Channel; Handel and George I of England.

HARPFER: Mozart at the Organ.

LEYDENDECKER: Beethoven at Bonn.

MERLE: Beethoven at the House of Mozart.

ROSENTHAL: Morning Prayers in the Family of Bach.

SCHLOESSER: Beethoven in His Study.

SCHNEIDER: Mozart and His Sister.

SHIELDS: Mozart Singing His Requiem.

Portraits of all the great musicians.[1]

[1] Brown, Perry, or Cosmos Pictures, or they may be obtained from Victor Talking Machine Company, especially the living artists.