How to Show Pictures to Children/Chapter 4
IV
HOW TO MAKE PICTURES TELL STORIES
A child’s insatiable thirst for stories is one of the demands which every mother has to meet as best she may. The story-teller’s gift is a special endowment not vouchsafed to many. The most of us have to cultivate it assiduously for the benefit of the little ones. We rack our brains for new ideas, or look through many books in search of interesting subjects. Even when we have a good story to tell, we begin haltingly, failing in the power to express ourselves fluently, and unable to produce a vivid impression. Now here is where a certain class of pictures can help us out amazingly. The picture which illustrates a dramatic situation, in other words, the anecdotic or story picture, has undreamed-of possibilities in the way of story entertainment. It furnishes us a subject and puts the story into our very mouths, so to speak. All children take naturally to pictures, and we secure their attention at once when we produce a print or open an illustrated book. Usually, however, their interest quickly flags, unless guided by an older companion. The young mind, untrained to concentration, flits from subject to subject, as a butterfly from one blossom to another. But let the mother begin to talk about the picture, and the child fixes eager eyes upon it, and follows every word with breathless attention. And “talking about” a picture is simply letting the picture talk, provided, of course, that it is the right sort of picture. The artist does all the work: one has only to follow his thought. No descriptive phrases are needed: the objects describe themselves. The process of unfolding the story becomes more and more fascinating as we go on, and the teacher usually learns more than the pupil.
Suppose the child comes with the familiar request at a moment when the mother is too weary for any new invention. Her eyes fall upon Guido Reni’s Aurora hanging over the mantelpiece. It is one of the colored reproductions so many people bring home from abroad and which our large art stores now sell. Here is a story ready to hand. She begins in this wise: Every morning the sun god Apollo starts forth on a journey across the sky. Aurora gives him the signal and leads the way, floating in the air and scattering roses on the sleeping world which lies far below. Apollo sits in his chariot and guides his horses four abreast, as they dash along so swiftly that the wind fills out his fluttering garments and blows back his golden curls. The little winged love god Cupid flies through the air just over the team carrying his flaming torch, for wherever the sun shines, love and joy are sure to follow. Apollo is accompanied by all the hours which fill the day, each one beautiful, no two alike, and every one bringing the right time for some special duty or pleasure. First come the maidens of the morning in the delicate colors of early daylight, their faces full of anticipation. Then follow the glowing noontide hours in warm colors, when life and strength are in their fullness, and then the waning hours of afternoon in pale tints and with pensive faces. All are linked hand in hand, keeping perfect step, none missing and none delaying. So the procession moves along, and presently the world awakens to welcome the Dawn, and to follow the course of the chariot across the sky. If you look out of the window and gaze up towards the sun, you may see how far Apollo has gone on his way, and you know that the horses are still speeding onward that every hour may have its turn in blessing the world.
A very simple world-old tale is this, which you might never have thought of putting in this way if the Italian painter had not composed it for you.
In homes which are decorated with good works of art the natural beginning is with the subjects on the walls. When the children come to love the pictures with which they are surrounded, they will hold fast to these ideals all their lives. The “silent influence” of good art is all very well in its way, but it will be greatly strengthened by a little judicious storytelling. I was rather shocked one day when a charming young girl, halfway through college, professed that she knew nothing at all about any of the beautiful pictures with which her home was filled. I have a small boy friend, only five years old, who could quite put her to shame with all he knows about the pictures in his home. He is on familiar terms with Titian’s Lavinia and Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Miss Bowles, and likes to tell of the little English maid’s frolics with her spaniel in the great park where we see them. He loves the Sistine Madonna and explains how the beautiful mother, with her baby boy upon her arm, hearing from afar the call of the suffering and sorrowful, came out of the dim angel hosts of heaven and hastened forth with shining eyes to bring her child to help people in their trouble. I shall be much disappointed if this promising child does not grow up to discriminate between Raphael and Bouguereau, between Reynolds and Greuze, between the strong and sincere in art, and the weak and sentimental.
If we have good success with our picture storytelling, it will gradually take a place of its own in the home life. The “Children’s Picture Hour” should be a regular institution corresponding to the “Story Hour,” and perhaps alternating with it at certain intervals. The mother should keep a good supply of pictures on hand, with some always in reserve for a surprise. They are easier to get than books, and cheaper, too. The art dealers have excellent lists of penny, nickel, and dime prints, and if we wish something more expensive, we may get fine photographs from original paintings both at home and abroad. Files of old magazines are a rich storehouse of treasures. From their pages we may cull pictures by famous illustrators, like Howard Pyle, E. A. Abbey, Maxfield Parrish, Boutet de Monvel, Jessie Wilcox Smith, and many others.
The typical child’s collection contains plenty of animal pictures, and these are a prolific source of story material. Landseer’s Shoeing is just what we want to explain the blacksmith’s occupation and tell a story about the bay mare standing at the forge. Her name is Betty, a fine, high-bred creature with straight legs, arching neck, and a pure white star on her forehead. Her master, Mr. Bell, takes pride in having her rubbed down till her glossy sides fairly shine. She is so intelligent that when the time comes for her regular visit to the blacksmith she walks off of her own accord to the familiar spot. The bloodhound Laura, her boon companion, has followed her here. No halter is necessary to keep her standing, but she takes her place quietly as if perfectly at home. A shaggy little donkey is also there waiting his turn very meekly. When Betty appeared at the shop, the blacksmith first removed her old shoes and pared and filed her feet. Then he chose new shoes as near the right size as possible and shaped them one by one. Holding the shoe in his long tongs, he thrusts it into the fire while he fans the flame with the bellows. Thence it is transferred, a glowing red crescent, to the pointed anvil near the window. Now the workman swings his hammer upon it with ringing strokes and the sparks fly up in a shower. The soft metal is shaped at will, the ends are bent to form the heels, the holes pierced for the nails, and the shoe is ready to try on. If it is a satisfactory fit, it is thrust hissing into a barrel of cold water, and when it is hardened, it is nailed to the hoof. Betty is now having the left hind shoe fastened in place. The blacksmith holds her foot between his legs against his leather apron. Laura thrusts her nose out inquisitively as if super_-_Shoeing_-_N00606_-_National_Gallery.jpg)
Fr. Hanfstaengl. photo. John Andrew & Son co.
SHOEING
National Gallery, London
The picture of Prince Baltasar Carlos on his pony (by Velasquez) carries a story which any one may read on the surface, but which may be greatly enriched by some historical information about the original of the young cavalier. The whole story runs something like this: In the country of Spain, nearly three hundred years ago, lived a prince name Baltasar Carlos. He was the first child of King Philip IV and Queen Isabella, and was therefore the heir-apparent to the throne of a great and powerful kingdom. The king was a sober, long-faced man, but the prince was a chubby boy, of sunny nature and winning ways. Great hopes were centered in his future, and he was his father’s idol as well as the darling of the court. Whatever toys were to be had were of course supplied to him, but in those far-away times there were none of the wonderful mechanical inventions which are made nowadays for children’s amusement. To entertain the little prince, a dwarf was employed as a playmate.[1] But Prince Baltasar liked animals better than toys, and playing with his pets was more fun than playing with a dwarf. This pleased the king very much, for he was himself a true sportsman, and the best horseman in Spain. He was determined to give his son every advantage of fine physical training. The prince was sent to a riding-school when still a tiny child, and showed great skill and daring. His Uncle Fernando, with whom he was a favorite, was almost as proud as was the king, of the boy's sportsmanship. He made the prince fine presents of armor and dogs, and once sent him a spirited pony. By the time Prince Baltasar was six years old, he could ride his mount like a little man, sitting erect in the saddle with perfect ease. He had, of course, many fine clothes, as became a prince, and he liked to wear a certain green velvet embroidered jacket, with a bright-colored sash tied diagonally across his breast with the fringed ends fluttering behind. With this costume he had a high-crowned, broad-brimmed hat which was very jaunty. As a crowning touch, his gauntlets and riding-boots gave him a look of real manliness. Dressed in this way he had many a fine gallop along the country roads, exercising the plump little pony, which was so well fed in the royal stables that it needed a brisk gallop now and then. The pony was as playful as his rider, and knew how to please his master.
Of course a prince could not ride unattended. His riding-master or some courtier followed at a suitable distance to see that no harm befell the boy. Sometimes this attendant would go on ahead, wheel around, and watch the little cavalier approach. Then how proudly the six-year-old boy would square his shoulders and sit at attention. To teach him how to bear himself as a king, he was given a baton, the symbol of authority, and told how to carry it, and .jpg)
PRINCE BALTASAR CARLOS ON HIS PONY
The Prado Gallery, Madrid
The king had a court painter named Velasquez, of whom he was very fond. Velasquez had become much attached to the royal household, and hiked nothing so much as to paint the portrait of the young prince to please the king. He had visited the riding-school to watch the boy's progress in horsemanship, and often saw him on his country rides. The inspiration came to him that he could make a splendid picture of the scene, and he threw himself into this task with unusual enthusiasm. He used a large canvas, which made the subject seem very real and lifelike. The king was so proud of it that he kept it in his favorite palace, and it has been handed down to our own day in all its original beauty.
The highest aim of every faithful parent is to impress upon the children the necessity of fighting against temptation. So great is the power of evil in the world that we have come to speak of it in personified form as a terrible beast going about seeking whom he may devour, or in Biblical phrase as the fallen angel Satan, the arch-deceiver, who makes wrongdoing attractive and lures the weak to destruction. The old legend of St. George and the Dragon is really an allegory in which the soul's victory over sin is expressed. An attractive picture of this subject, like Raphael's or Carpaccio's, will be a great help in the home in teaching the desired moral. The subject of St. Michael slaying the dragon is even better, and Raphael's spirited composition is an admirable illustration from which to tell the story. St. Michael is described in the book of Revelation as one of the archangels, the warrior who leads the angelic hosts to victory in the great conflict between the powers of light and the powers of darkness (Rev. IX, 7). Swift as a flash of lightning is his motion through space, his aim is unfailing, his arm powerful. At his coming the Evil One falls prostrate and writhing, his courage vanishes—for he is really a coward; he knows there is no hope for him, the end has come. With one strong, sure stroke the avenging spear does its work, and the enemy is put down forever. No anger mars the victor's serene countenance, for his is a holy cause. His face shines with heavenly glory. He is eager to be on his way as a messenger of peace rather than an avenger. The world beyond is waiting for him, and he scarcely pauses for his work; his wings are spread, and his body poised for immediate flight. And so we, having put down once and for all the tempting thought, go on our way rejoicing to the good deeds of the day.
In making a picture tell its story, our aim is to lead the child to look as well as to listen. If we do all the talking ourselves, his attention will wander from the object before him. A few questions will help him to draw out some of the story for himself. If he points out the salient features as we mention them, his interest is quickened and his powers of observation stimulated. By and by he will know the picture by heart, and is proud and pleased to retell the story. He will then clamor for another, but he is always. faithful to his first favorites.
The joyous pastime of making pictures tell stories is quite as feasible in the school as in the house, except that here with a larger audience the picture must be large enough for all to see. Almost every modern schoolroom, especially in the primary grades, boasts at least one such treasure.
Millet is a prime favorite, and one of the most familiar schoolroom subjects is the so-called Feeding her Birds. This is the kind of picture which tells its own story so readily that the children know it by heart and never lire of it. The baby brother is the pet of the two sisters. They have been playing together in the yard, and it was for him that the rude. cart was made which now lies discarded during the lunch-time. They have played so hard that they are glad to sit down in the doorway to rest. Their funny wooden shoes make a noisy clatter when they are moving about, but now all is still save for the clucking of the hens which run up in the hope of getting some crumbs. Father is still hard at work in the garden and mother never rests but in this feeding-time. How hungry they all three are, yet the sisters generously let the little brother have the first taste. The younger of two girls can hardly wait, but watches the spoon with open mouth. Usually it is broth which French peasant families make the chief article of a meal, nourishing and appetizing. And the warmth is agreeable, too, we may be sure. For though the weather is mild enough for gardening, it is not so warm but that close caps and high-neck dresses are worn.
If the school supply of pictures is rather limited, the enthusiastic teacher may supplement it with borrowed prints of large size from outside sources,—library collections and private houses. Who would not be glad to lend a favorite picture to a schoolroom for a week, that the picture might tell its own beautiful story to the children? So much has been said and written of late about the value of storytelling in the schools, as a means of recreation and education, that it is superfluous in this place to present any arguments in its favor. Our teachers all believe in it heartily, but many are timid in their experiments, and lack confidence in their ability. Good pictures will fortify them wonderfully for the task and furnish the necessary material.
It will be seen that making pictures tell stories is somewhat different from the so-called “picture reading” used in some schools as a part of the language work. The latter is apt to be fabrication rather than interpretation, and leads the child far afield. Is it not taking a great liberty with a fine work of art to tack an entirely extraneous story upon it? One could so easily spoil a good thing in this way. The child grown to years of discretion may wish with all his heart he could forget some of the foolish tales of his own invention about some masterpiece.
Picture story subjects may be of various kinds, dealing with child life or ranging over all the world interests, dealing with the life of the home or with outdoor pursuits, illustrating history, legend, or mythology. In another chapter I have classified some of the material most available and desirable for the purpose. Many of us believe that the most important story subject we can possibly present to the children in our homes is the life of Christ. This is the story, too, which many mothers find the hardest to tell at their own initiative. The New Testament narrative is little beyond the child’s early understanding, and is somewhat lacking in the explicitness which the child loves. The artist’s imagination here comes to our aid with his wonderful magic. With a wealth of illustrations to draw from, we have only to set the pictures before our children and the story unfolds itself with very simple interpretation on our part. We need not be troubled about theological explanations, or stumble over difficult Biblical phrases. The picture does all the story-telling. It shows how the angel Gabriel came to tell Mary of the high calling of her coming babe; how the young mother bent rapturously over her child as he lay on a bed of straw; how the shepherds came from the fields, and the wise men from the East, with their gifts; how the mother carried her babe in her arms as she rode on a donkey into Egypt, with Joseph leading the way; how the twelve-year-old boy astonished the learned doctors in the Temple by his wise questions; how Jesus, come to manhood, was tempted in the wilderness and baptized in the river Jordan; how he went about doing good, gracing the wedding feast, blessing the children, encouraging the fishermen, healing the sick, and raising the dead; how he was transfigured before three of his disciples; how he sat at supper with the twelve on the eve of his betrayal; how he was arrested, falsely accused, brought before Pontius Pilate, and crucified; how he rose again from the dead, appeared to Mary in the garden, ate supper with two of his friends at Emmaus, and finally ascended into heaven.
Some of the print manufacturers have complete sets illustrating the life of Christ from good works of art. These are desirable possessions alike for the home and Sunday School. I am inclined to think, however, that a child prizes most a collection which has been accumulated slowly rather than bought as a whole, especially if he adds to it by his own exertions. Illustrations may be cut out of magazines, religious weeklies, and advertising literature of various kinds and supplemented by bought prints and post-cards.
I must here tell of the little nine-year-old girl to whom I once gave a scrapbook of my own making containing good Christ pictures arranged in chronological order, which became her chief delight. We began by reading the story together as the pictures unfolded it. How eagerly we passed from page to page till we reached the glorious climax. It was not long before she preferred to tell the story all by herself, and I can still hear the little voice falter sorrowfully over the picture where his “cruel enemies crucified him,” lingering tenderly on the next page where the loving women prepared him for burial, then breaking out joyously, “But he rose again from the dead and finally ascended into heaven.” The child, now grown a woman, still keeps the tattered “Jesus book” among her cherished treasures. What the child’s mother thought of the book may also be of interest. It came at a moment when she most needed it longing as she was to have her little girl know and love the Christ story, but feeling shy and incompetent to tell it in her own words. The pictures gave her confidence, and literally furnished her vocabulary. The same sort of testimony came to me some years later when I published the Life of Our Lord in Art. A woman who was almost a stranger stopped me in the street one day to tell me how she used the book as a means of telling the Christ story to her children. “I didn’t know just how to begin,” she said, “and the pictures solved the problem for me.”
A picture story program for Christmas-time can be arranged as a very acceptable entertainment either in the home or school. In the larger gatherings a stereopticon or radiopticon is more effective, but the mother talking in her own home circle can use any sort of prints. The Nativity story can be made up in a series of pictures from the Old Masters, each one interpreted by verses or old carols. Good Christmas poetry is as abundant as good Christmas art, and it is pleasant to match the subjects, making the poet tell the story of the picture. From my own collection I have arranged a list something like this:—
“Tell me what is this innumerable throng
Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song?
These are they who come with swift and shining feet
From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet.”
“The night was darker than ever before
(So dark is sin)
When the Great Love came to the stable door
And entered in.
“And laid himself in the breath of kine
And the warmth of hay
And whispered to the stars to shine,
And to break, the day.”
“The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap.”
“Sleep, Holy Babe, upon thy mother’s breast;
Great Lord of earth and sea and sky,
How sweet it is to see thee lie
In such a place of rest.
“Sleep, Holy Gabe, thine angels watch around,
All bending low with folded wings
Before the incarnate king of kings,
In reverent awe profound.”
“How they opened all their treasures
Kneeling to that infant King;
Gave the gold and fragrant incense
Gave the myrrh in offering.”
“Upon her knees before the Holy Child
The mother falls adoring. This is He
Whom prophets have foretold, the Undefiled,
Whose coming all the world has longed to see.
A heavenly messenger proclaims his birth,
Angelic voices loud hosannas sing:
She humbly prays and bows herself to earth,
The first to worship him as Christ the king.
“When I see the mother holding
In her arms the heavenly boy,
Thousand blissful thoughts unfolding
Fill my heart with sweetest joy.
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“Each round other fondly twining
Pour the shafts of mutual love,
Thick as flowers in meadows shining
Countless as the stars above.”
Little Son, little Son, climb up to my breast,
And fie amid its warmth at rest.”
But shut those stranger eyes from me,
My Rose, my Sorrow, my Peace divine,
And call me ‘mother’ and not ‘Mary,’
Although thou art not mine.
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It is I would climb to thy little breast.
O, hold me there and let me rest!
It is I am weak and weary and small,
And thy soft arms can carry me.
So put them under me, God, my All,
And let me quiet be.”
Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice;
Now ye need not fear the grave:
Peace! Peace!
Jesus Christ. was born to save.
Calls you one and calls you all
To gain his everlasting hall:
Christ was born to save.”
Praise to Jesus, Holy Child,
Gentle infant meek and mild;
Who can fill all hearts with peace,
Who can make all sorrows cease.
Hail the messenger of love
Sent to man from God above.”