Part 27

How far can children be said to have the germ of a feeling for nature, or, to use the more comprehensive modern term, cosmic emotion? It is a matter of common observation that they have not the power to embrace a multitude of things in a single act of contemplation. Hence they have no feeling for landscape as a harmonious complex of picturesquely varied parts. When they are taken to see a ‘view’ their eye instead of trying to embrace the whole, as a fond parent desires, provokingly pounces on some single feature of interest, and often one of but little æsthetic value. People make a great mistake in taking children to ‘points of view’ under the supposition that they will share in grown people’s impressions. Perez relates that some children taken to the Pic du Midi found their chief pleasure in scrambling up the peak and saying that they were on donkeys.[205] Mere magnitude or vastness of spectacle does not appeal to the child, for a sense of the sublime grows out of a complex imaginative process which is beyond his young powers. So far as immensity affects him at all, as in the case of the sea, it seems to excite a measure of dread in face of the unknown; and this feeling, though having a certain kinship with the emotion of sublimity, is distinct from this last. It has nothing of the joyous consciousness of expansion which enters into the later feeling. It is only to certain limited objects and features of nature that the child is æsthetically responsive. He knows the loveliness of the gilded spring meadow, the fascination of the sunlit stream, the awful mystery of the wood, and something too perhaps of the calming beauty of the broad blue sky. That is to say, he has a number of small rootlets which when they grow together will develop into a feeling for nature.

Footnote 205:

_Op. cit._, p. 103.

Here, too, the analogy between the child and the uncultured nature-man is evident. The savage has no æsthetic sentiment for nature as a whole, though he may feel the charm of some of her single features, a stream, a mountain, the star-spangled sky, and may even be affected by some of the awful aspects of her changing physiognomy. Are we not told, indeed, that a true æsthetic appreciation of the picturesque variety of nature’s scenes of the weird charm of wild places, and of the sublime fascinations of the awful and repellent mountain, are quite late attainments in the history of our race?[206]

Footnote 206:

An excellent sketch of the growth of our feeling for the romantic and sublime beauty of mountains is given by Mr. Leslie Stephen in one of the most delightful of his works, _The Playground of Europe_.

_Early Attitude towards Art._

We may now look at the child’s attitude towards those objects and processes of human art which from the first form part of his environment and make an educative appeal to his senses; and here we may begin with those simple musical effects which follow up certain impressions derived from the natural world.

It has been pointed out that sounds form a chief source of the little child-heart’s first trepidations. Yet this prolific cause of disquietude, when once the first alarming effect of strangeness has passed, becomes a main source of interest and delight. Some of nature’s sounds, as those of running water, and of the wind, early catch the ear, and excite wonder and curiosity. Miss Shinn illustrates fully in the case of her niece how the interest in sounds developed itself in the first years.[207] This pleasure in listening to sounds and in tracing them to their origin forms a chief pastime of babyhood.

Footnote 207:

_Op cit._, p. 115 ff.

Æsthetic pleasure in sound begins to be differentiated out of this general interest as soon as there arises a comparison of qualities and a development of preferences. Thus the sound of metal (when struck) is preferred to that of wood or stone. A nascent feeling for musical quality thus emerges which probably has its part in many of the first likings for persons; certain pitches, as those of the female voice, and possibly timbres being preferred to others.

Quite as soon, at least, as this feeling for quality of sound or tone, there manifests itself a crude liking for rhythmic sequence. It is commonly recognised that our pleasure in regularly recurring sounds is instinctive, being the result of our whole nervous organisation. We can better adapt successive acts of listening when sounds follow at regular intervals, and the movements which sounds evoke can be much better carried out in a regular sequence. The infant shows us this in his well-known liking for well-marked rhythms in tunes which he accompanies with suitable movements of the arms, head, etc.

The first likings for musical composition are based on this instinctive feeling for rhythm. It is the simple tunes, with well-marked easily recognisable time-divisions, which first take the child’s fancy, and he knows the quieting and the exciting qualities of different rhythms and times. Where rhythm is less marked, or grows highly complex, the motor responses being confused, the pleasurable interest declines. It is the same with the rhythmic qualities of verses. The jingling rhythms which their souls love are of simple structure, with short feet well marked off, as in the favourite, ‘Jack and Gill’.

Coming now to art as representative we find that a child’s æsthetic appreciation waits on the growth of intelligence, on the understanding of artistic representation as contrasted with a direct presentation of reality.

The development of an understanding of visual representation or the imaging of things has already been touched upon. As Perez points out, the first lesson in this branch of knowledge is supplied by the reflexions of the mirror, which, as we have seen, the infant begins to take for realities, though he soon comes to understand that they are not tangible realities. The looking-glass is the best means of elucidating the representative function of the image or ‘Bild’ just because it presents this image in close proximity to the reality, and so invites direct comparison with this.

In the case of pictures where this direct comparison is excluded we might expect a less rapid recognition of the representative function. Yet children show very early that picture-semblances are understood in the sense that they call forth reactions similar to those called forth by realities. A little boy was observed to talk to pictures at the end of the eighth month. This perhaps hardly amounted to recognition. Pollock says that the significance of pictures “was in a general way understood” by his little girl at the age of thirteen months.[208] Miss Shinn tells us that her niece, at the age of forty-two weeks, showed the same excitement at the sight of a life-size painting of a cat as at that of real cats.[209] Ten months is also given me by a lady as the date at which her little boy recognised pictures of animals by naming them ‘bow-wow,’ etc., without being prompted.

Footnote 208:

_Mind_, iii., p. 393.

Footnote 209:

_Notes on the Development of a Child_, i., p. 71 f.

This early recognition of pictures is certainly remarkable even when we remember that animals have the germ of it. The stories of recognition by birds of paintings of birds, and by dogs of portraits of persons, have to do with fairly large and finished paintings.[210] A child, however, will ‘recognise’ a small and roughly executed drawing. He seems in this respect to surpass the powers of savages, some of whom, at least, are said to be slow in recognising pictorial semblances. This power, which includes a delicate observation of form and an acute sense of likeness, is seen most strikingly in the recognition of individual portraits. Miss Shinn’s niece in her fourteenth month picked out her father’s face in a group of nine, the face being scarcely more than a quarter of an inch in diameter.[211] I noticed the same fineness of recognition in my own children.

Footnote 210:

See Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, pp. 311 and 453 ff. The only exception is a photograph which is said to have been ‘large,’ p. 453.

Footnote 211:

_Op. cit._, i., p. 74.

One point in this early observation of pictures is curious enough to call for especial remark. A friend of mine, a psychologist, writes to me that his little girl, aged three and a half, “does not mind whether she looks at a picture the right way up or the wrong; she points out what you ask for, eyes, feet, hands, tail, etc., about equally well whichever way up the picture is, and never asks to have it put right that she may see it better”. The same thing was noticed in the other children of the family, and the mother tells me that her mother observed it in her children. I have found a further illustration of this indifference to the position of a picture in the two children of another friend of mine. Professor Petrie tells me that he once watched an Arab boy looking at a picture-book. One, a drawing of horses and chariot, happened to have a different position from the rest, so that the book being held as before, the horses seemed to be going upwards; but the boy was not in the least incommoded, and without attempting to turn the book round easily made it out. These facts are curious as illustrating the skill of the young eye in deciphering. They may possibly have a further significance as showing how what we call position—the arrangement of a form in relation to a vertical line—is a comparatively artificial view of which a child as yet takes little if any account. He may be able to concentrate his attention so well on form proper that he is indifferent to the point how the form is placed. Yet this matter is one which well deserves further investigation.[212]

Footnote 212:

Professor Petrie reminds me that a like absence of the perception of position shows itself in the way in which letters are drawn in early Greek and Phœnician writings.

A further question arises as to whether this ‘recognition’ of pictures by children towards the end of the first year necessarily implies a grasp of the idea of a picture, that is, of a representation or copy of something. The first reactions of a child, smiling, etc., on seeing mirror-images and pictures, do not seem to show this, but merely that he is affected much as he would be by the presence of the real object, or, at most, that he recognises the picture as a kind of thing. The same is, I think, true of the so-called recognition of pictures by animals.

That children do not, at first, seize the pictorial or representative function is seen in the familiar fact that they will touch pictures as they touch shadows and otherwise treat them as if they were tangible realities. Thus Pollock’s little girl attempted to smell at the trees in a picture and ‘pretended’ to feed some pictorial dogs.

When the first clear apprehension of the pictorial function is reached, it is difficult to say. Miss Shinn thought that her niece “understood the purport of a picture quite well” at the age of forty-five weeks. She draws this conclusion from the fact that at this date the child in answer to the question ‘Where are the flowers?’ leaned over and touched the painted flowers on her aunt’s gown, and then looked out to the garden with a cry of desire.[213] But this inference seems to me very risky. All that the child’s behaviour proves is that she ‘classed’ real and painted flowers together, while she recognised the superiority of the former as the tangible and probably the odorous ones. The strongest evidence of recognition of pictorial function by children is, I think, their ability to recognise the portrait of an individual. But even this is not quite satisfactory. It is conceivable, at least, that a child may look on a photograph of his father as a kind of ‘double’. The boy C. took his projected photograph very seriously as a kind of doubling of himself. The story of the dog, a Dandy Dinmont terrier, that trembled and barked at a portrait of his dead mistress[214] seems to me to bear this out. It would surely be rather absurd to say that the demonstrations of this animal, whatever they may have meant, prove that he took the portrait to be a memento-likeness of his dead mistress.

Footnote 213:

_Op. cit._, i., p. 72.

Footnote 214:

Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 453.

We are apt to forget how difficult and abstract a conception is that of pictorial representation, how hard it is to look at a thing as pure semblance having no value in itself, but only as standing for something else. A like slowness on the part of the child to grasp a sign, as such, shows itself here as in the case of verbal symbols. Children will, quite late, especially when feeling is aroused and imagination specially active, show a disposition to transform the semblance into the thing. Miss Shinn herself points out that her niece, who seems to have been decidedly quick, was as late as the twenty-fifth month touched with pity by a picture of a lamb caught in a thicket, and tried to lift the painted branch that lay across the lamb. In her thirty-fifth month, again, when looking at a picture of a chamois defending her little one from an eagle, “she asked anxiously if the mamma would drive the eagle away, and presently quite simply and unconsciously placed her little hand edgewise on the picture so as to make a fence between the eagle and the chamois”.[215] Such ready confusion of pictures with realities shows itself in the fourth year and later. A boy nearly five was observed to strike at the figures in a picture and to exclaim: “I can’t break them”. The Worcester Collection of observations illustrates the first confused idea of a picture. “One day F., a boy of four, called on a friend, Mrs. C., who had just received a picture, representing a scene in winter, in which people were going to church, some on foot and others in sleighs. F. was told whither they were going. The next day he came and noticed the picture, and looking at Mrs. C. and then at the picture said: ‘Why, Mrs. C., them people haven’t got there yet, have they?’”

Footnote 215:

_Op. cit._, ii., p. 104.

All this points, I think, to a slow and gradual emergence of the idea of representation or likeness. If a child is capable in moments of intense imagination of confusing his battered doll with a living reality, he may be expected to act similarly with respect to the fuller likeness of a picture. Vividness of imagination tends in the child as in the savage, and indeed in all of us, to invest a semblance with something of reality. We are able to control the illusory tendency and to keep it within the limits of an æsthetic semi-illusion; not so the child. Is it too fanciful to suppose that the belief of the savage in the occasional visits of the real spirit-god to his idol has for its psychological motive the impulse which prompts the child ever and again to identify his toys and even his pictures with the realities which they represent?

As might be expected this impulse to confuse representation and represented reality shows itself very distinctly in the first reception of dramatic spectacle. If you dress up as Father Christmas, your child, even though he is told that you are his father, will hardly be able to resist the illusion that your disguise so powerfully induces. Cuvier relates that a boy of ten on watching a stage scene in which troops were drawn up for action, broke out in loud protestations to the actor who was taking the part of the general, telling him that the artillery was wrongly placed, and so forth.[216] This reminds one of the story of the sailors who on a visit to a theatre happened to see a representation of a mutiny on board ship, and were so excited that they rushed on the stage and took sides with the authorities in quelling the movement.

Footnote 216:

Quoted by Perez, _op. cit._, p. 216.

I believe that this same tendency to take art-representations for realities reappears in children’s mental attitude towards stories. A story by its narrative form seems to tell of real events, and children, as we all know, are wont to believe tenaciously that their stories are true. I think I have observed a disposition in imaginative children to go beyond this, and to give present actuality to the scenes and events described. And this is little to be wondered at when one remembers that even grown people, familiar with the devices of art-imitation, tend now and again to fall into this confusion. Only a few days ago, as I was reading an account by a friend of mine of a perilous passage in an Alpine ascent, accomplished years ago, I suddenly caught myself in the attitude of proposing to shout out to stop him from venturing farther. A vivid imaginative realisation of the situation had made it for the moment a present actuality.

Careful observations of the first attitudes of the child-mind towards representative art are greatly needed. We should probably find considerable diversity of behaviour. The presence of a true art-feeling would be indicated by a special quickness in the apprehension of art-semblance as such.

In these first reactions of the young mind to the stimulus of art-presentation we may study other aspects of the æsthetic aptitude. Very quaint and interesting is the exacting realism of these first appreciations. A child is apt to insist on a perfect detailed reproduction of the familiar reality. And here one may often trace the fine observation of these early years. Listen, for example, to the talk of the little critic before a drawing of a horse or a railway train, and you will be surprised to find how closely and minutely he has studied the forms of things. It is the same with other modes of art-representation. Perez gives an amusing instance of a boy, aged four, who when taken to a play was shocked at the anomaly of a chamber-maid touching glasses with her master on a _fête_ day. “In our home,” exclaimed the stickler for regularities, to the great amusement of the neighbours, “we don’t let the nurse drink like that.”[217] It is the same with story. Children are liable to be morally hurt if anything is described greatly at variance with the daily custom. Æsthetic rightness is as yet confused with moral rightness or social propriety, which, as we have seen, has its instinctive support in the child’s mind in respect for custom.

Footnote 217:

_Op. cit._, pp. 215, 216.

Careful observation will disclose in these first frankly expressed impressions the special directions of childish taste. The preferences of a boy of four in the matter of picture-books tell us where his special interests lie, what things he finds pretty, and how much of a genuine æsthetic faculty he is likely to develop later on. Here, again, there is ample room for more careful studies directed to the detection of the first manifestations of a pure delight in things as beautiful, as charming at once the senses and the imagination.

The first appearances of that complex interest in life and personality which fills so large a place in our æsthetic pleasures can be best noted in the behaviour of the child’s mind towards dramatic spectacle and story. The awful ecstatic delight with which a child is apt to greet any moving semblance carrying with it the look of life and action is something which some of us, like Goethe, can recall among our oldest memories. The old-fashioned moving ‘Schatten-bilder,’ for which the gaudy but rigid pictures of the magic lantern are but a poor substitute, the puppet-show, with what a delicious wonder have these filled the childish heart. And as to the entrancing, enthralling delight of the story—well Thackeray and others have tried to describe this for us.

Of very special interest in these early manifestations of a feeling for art is the appearance of a crude form of the two emotions to which all representations of life and character make appeal—the feeling for the comic, and for the tragic side of things. What we may call the adults fallacy, the tendency to judge children by grown-up standards, frequently shows itself in an expectation that their laughter will follow the directions of our own. I remember having made the mistake of putting those delightful books, _Tom Sawyer_ and _Huckleberry Finn_, into the hands of a small boy with a considerable sense of fun, and having been humiliated at discovering that there was no response. Children’s fun is of a very elemental character. They are mostly tickled, I suspect, by the spectacle of some upsetting of the proprieties, some confusion of the established distinctions of rank. Dress, as we have seen, has an enormous symbolic value for the child’s mind, and any confusion here is apt to be specially laughter-provoking. One child between three and four was convulsed at the sight of his baby bib fastened round the neck of his bearded sire. There is, too, a considerable element of rowdiness in children’s sense of the comical, as may be seen by the enduring popularity of the spectacle of Punch’s successful misdemeanours and bravings of the legal authority.

Since children are apt to take spectacles with an exacting seriousness, it becomes interesting to note how the two moods, realistic stickling for correctness, and rollicking hilarity at the sight of the disorderly, behave in relation one to another. More facts are needed on this point. It is probable that we have here to do in part with a permanent difference of temperament. There are serious matter-of-fact little minds which are shocked by a kind of spectacle or narrative that would give boundless delight to a more elastic fun-loving spirit. But discarding these permanent differences of disposition, I think that in general the sense of fun, the delight in the topsy-turviness of things, is apt to develop later than the serious realistic attitude already referred to. Here, too, it is probable that the evolution of the individual follows that of the race: the solemnities of custom and ritual weigh so heavily at first on the savage-mind that there is no chance for sprightly laughter to show himself. However this be, most young children appear to be unable to appreciate true comedy where the incongruous co-exists with and takes on one half of its charm from serious surroundings. Their laughter is best called forth by a broadly farcical show in which all serious rules are set at nought.

Of no less interest in this attitude of the child-mind towards the representations by art of human character and action are the first rude manifestations of the feeling for the tragic side of life. A child of four or six is far from realising the divine necessity which controls our mortal lives. Yet he will display a certain crude feeling for thrilling situation, exciting adventure, and something, too, of a sympathetic interest in the woes of mortals, quadrupeds as well as bipeds. The action, the situation, may easily grow too painful for an imaginative child disposed to take all representative spectacle as reality: yet the absorbing interest of the action where the sadness is bearable attests the early development of that universal feeling for the sorrowful fatefulness of things which runs through all imaginative writings from the ‘penny dreadful’ upwards.

_Beginnings of Art-production._

We have been trying to catch the first faint manifestations of æsthetic feeling in children’s contemplative attitude towards natural objects and the presentations of art. We may now pass to what is a still more interesting department of childish æsthetics, their first rude attempts at art-production. We are wont to say that children are artists in embryo, that in their play and their whole activity they manifest the germs of the art-impulse. In order to see whether this idea is correct we must start with a clear idea of what we mean by art-activity.