  It was an amazing fact, but a significant one, that four-year-old Joanina had never been allowed to feel herself. As she lay in her carved-wood cradle, a bundle of cooing, pink delight, she felt for her toes, that she might assure herself of her own identity as represented in those wriggling lumps of flesh. But Joanina’s mother bound the little limbs in swaddling bands and the bambino lost her toes temporarily. When she was a bit older, and was allowed to bask, kitten-like, on a rug in the garden path, she was charmed to hold her flower-like baby hands up to the light, watching the Roman sunshine trickle through outstretched fingers as she tried to count them. But, always, her emotional, kindly intentioned madre would toss a bright-colored ball into the reaching hands or, bending over the baby, would play pat-a-cake with her, or she would suggest a romp up and down the As Joanina grew to a slim little girl of Italy, whose great, wistful brown eyes reflected a large curiosity and awe at the surprises of the world in which she found herself, she was daily surrounded by forces that drew her away from herself. Her home was full of glaring colored pictures hung on vividly dyed wall paper. Her mother and father talked together in high-pitched, shrill voices, and through the wide casement windows came the harsh sounds of traveling street musicians and brawling venders. Always, as a treat on Sunday or a festa, Joanina was taken to see a procession or to a band concert in one of the parks. The crowded, hot stone streets, the noisy cracking of the cab-drivers’ whips, the struggle to make her own short legs keep up with the longer steps of the madre, wearied and excited the little maid. But she grew accustomed to noise and boisterousness in her days; she grew to expect them as well. Then she came to depend upon outside forces for keeping the motor of her baby spirit going. She begged for new toys, exhausting When Joanina found herself one morning in the Trionfale Children’s House, she experienced an unconscious feeling of peace. The very wide spaces of the two rooms where the little ones busily and happily worked; the cool gray walls unbroken in their sweep save by a blue and white terra-cotta bas-relief here and there; the plain brown linen curtains that softened and toned the yellow sunlight and rippled with a flower-scented breeze—these helped to make Joanina’s peace. Dropping into one of the little white chairs, she looked about her with eyes that again melted into the calm wonder of her babyhood. She could not have explained it, but there was already at home in her life a new, quiet repose. Surrounding her was a child republic that Without warning, the directress turned from the child whom she had been giving a lesson in numbers with the counting case, moved to the front of the room, and wrote upon the blackboard one word, Silence. Then she waited, herself silent and facing the little ones. Joanina, too, waited. She did not understand; she was curious. The children, recognizing the written word, one by one laid down their work, dropped into positions of quiet repose, their eyes closed. Some laid their heads upon their folded arms. The room became so hushed that such faint sounds as the low ticking of the clock, the hum of a buzzing fly, the gentle rise and fall of breathing, became vibrant. The children’s faces were full of calm joy, their bodies were completely motionless. They Joanina, interested in the game of silence, closed her eyes. She folded her restless fingers. She waited, rapt, immobile as a little chiseled cherub. It was perhaps the first time in her four years’ apprenticeship to Life that she had been given an opportunity to listen to her own heart throbs, feel the grip of her own personality. The experience was satisfying to her. She heard and felt a great many inner voices and mental forces that she had never listened to or obeyed before. She heard the voices of happiness in her new, peaceful environment and love for the other children and joy at the complete freedom that surrounded her. She felt the impulse to do and learn as she had seen the other children doing and learning. For several minutes, the silence held the children in its spell. Then, out of the stillness the whispered voice of the directress floated. As a singing wind of a far-away forest, a mountain echo, or the low voice of a mother as it first makes itself audible The little girl opened her eyes, meeting the smiling ones of the directress, who made a gesture indicating that Joanina should go to her quietly. Poised on tiptoe, Joanina crossed the room noiselessly, threw herself into the outstretched arms of the directress. “Mario, Otello,” softly the other children were called until all had, as silently as Joanina, left their places and surrounded the directress. Their eyes shone, their faces glowed as if they had been refreshed by an elixir bath. Yet the Montessori silence game which had brought about this inspiration and refreshing in the life of soul-starved little Joanina might have been a part of her home life. Your child needs it; you need it. There is, perhaps, no more significant phase of the Montessori system of education than the calm, quiet habit of self-contemplation aroused by the game of silence. The self-control, the poise, the power of long concentration that one sees in the Montessori children at Rome amazes the world. They are completely lacking in self-consciousness; they ask for help in their work only when it is absolutely necessary; they are sure of themselves. In writing about the game of silence, it has been suggested that the game has an hypnotic quality; that the calm, beautifully poised directress imposes her own personality upon the children, controls them as the hypnotist controls his subject. This is not true. As the didactic materials furnish the right means for the child’s mental development, so the opportunity given by the game of silence makes possible the child’s moral and spiritual development. It gives him a chance to listen to the “still, small voice” that is a speaking voice in childhood but which is drowned by the babel of world tongues that we allow to make our song of life in adult years. The story of Joanina, the little Roman girl, is retold in almost every American home. As we, ourselves, depend upon public opinion, outside amusements, entertaining friends, the judgment of the press, the fashions of the day for filling our lives, so we make our children, also, dependent upon similar forces for forming their characters. We surround children with gossip, we teach them to depend upon excitement for their pleasure; we build their ideals of conduct upon what the world What is the application to the American home of the Montessori game of silence? It begins with the American mother who must cultivate a habit of quiet self-contemplation. She must be able to shut out the world as did the stoics, listening to the good voice of her own soul. It means, also, that she will be less dependent upon her environment for her daily thinking and happiness and more adept at creating her own joys. We are very restless, to-day, discontented unless we are surrounded by friends or obsessed by passion of some sort, or we must go somewhere. We will try to slip back into the simple living of our great-grandmothers, who had resources in themselves and could be radiantly happy, pottering over the lavender in their gardens or reading their Bibles in the candlelight of some long-ago evening—alone. The mother who cultivates in herself a habit of repose will have reposeful children. The game of silence, as it may be put into practice in the training of children, begins with ear-training. Shut out harsh sounds from the home where there are little children. To command a child in a loud voice often results in disobedience; it makes him mentally deaf for the time being. He does not hear what is said to him; it dulls his senses. We all know how the memory of some gentle voice that either sang or spoke to us in childhood comes back to us, now, as a forceful memory. It was the softness of that voice that made the lasting record in our minds. Often a mother may whisper a sentence to a child, or call softly from different parts of the house, asking the little one to locate her by the sense of hearing. This will quicken and cultivate the child’s power to listen and concentrate upon the use of one sense. And we should eliminate all unnecessary noises from our homes; the slamming of doors, the crashing of dishes, harsh popular music, and crude songs. As the children’s sense of hearing is refined, we will lead them to listen to the very small sounds in the world about them, the soft breathing of the sleeping baby, the far-away ticking of a clock, Then when this fine power of listening has been cultivated, we may introduce the game of silence itself. The mother may show the child that she is able to sit quietly, immobile, relaxed for a short period of time—only thinking. Then the little ones may be encouraged to attempt the game, waiting in perfect silence, with closed eyes, until mother calls them in a soft whisper to “come back” to the world again. To darken the room a little during the game adds to its power. Gradually the periods of the silence may be lengthened, and results will show in the child’s life in greater control, quiet, and life balance. In this repose and silence, Dr. Montessori tells us, both adults and children gather strength and newness of life. A little maid of three had been having her first birthday party. Light and music and romping games and many gifts had filled the afternoon with unexperienced delights for the child. She was trembling with delight, on tiptoe with excitement when the children marched out to the dining-room and were seated about the beautifully laid, rose-strewn No one quite understood the little one. It seemed to have been a vagary, a precocity on her part. It was an unusual manifestation, but quite explainable as we grew to realize the inspirational possibilities of the Montessori silence. When it is not possible, because we are dealing with an isolated child, to put into practice the game of silence as it is used in the Children’s Houses, we can still lead the child to know and feel silence. A quiet hour in the twilight after the work and play of the daytime are over, a trip to some still, lovely spot in the woods, a few moments spent in the hushed interior of a church, We all know and love Bastien-Lepage’s painting of the maid, Jeanne d’Arc, listening to the voices in her garden. The grass dotted with flowers, the bending apple tree, the other homely surroundings of the humble home that were all Jeanne had known, fade away as the voice of the prophetic soul speaks to her; as she sees the vision of herself, the saviour of France. Jeanne d’Arc was only thirteen when she began to hear the voice of her spirit. Millet, as a boy, saw nature with his spirit eyes. He showed his father colors playing over the rough sod of his home fields which no one else could see. Rousseau, in boyhood, declared that he was able to converse with his beloved trees and they told him the secrets of their beauty. Samuel was only a very little boy when he heard and interpreted his Master’s voice. The boy Christ heard a message that he was able to carry to the doctors. May we not give our little ones an opportunity to step across the threshold of the present into that great silence which begins life and also ends it, and which is melodious for those who are trained to listen? THE END By DOROTHY CANFIELD FISHER Author of The Squirrel-Cage, Hillsboro People, etc. A MONTESSORI MOTHER Illustrated, 8th printing, $1.25 net This authoritative book, by a trained writer who has been most intimately associated with Dr. Montessori, tells just what American mothers, and most teachers, want to know about this system. A simple, untechnical account of the apparatus, the method of its application, and a clear statement of the principles underlying its use. “Fascinating reading and likely to be the most interesting to the average mother of all the many books on the subject.”—Primary Plans. “What would I not give to have had at the beginning of my children’s upbringing such a guide to the fundamental principles underlying their best growth and development.”—Mrs. Robert M. La Follette in La Follette’s Magazine. MOTHERS AND CHILDREN Just ready, $1.25 net After the publication of A Montessori Mother two years ago, Mrs. Fisher was overwhelmed with personal letters from all over the country asking special advice. Mothers and Children, running along its easy, half-humorous way, answers all these questions and gives the clue to the answer of ten thousand more. “The Tarnishing Eye of Relations” is the title of one chapter. Some other chapters are “The Sliding Scale for Obedience”; “A New Profession for Women: Question Answerer”; “When I Am a Grandmother”; “Nurse or Mother”; “Mothers-by-Chance and Mothers-by-Choice.” “A book of help for the most complicated and important enterprise in the world—the rearing of children. It gives the wisdom of an expert in the language of a friend ‘just talking.’”—New York Evening Post. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY BOOKS ON AND OF SCHOOL PLAYS By Constance D’Arcy Mackay HOW TO PRODUCE CHILDREN’S PLAYS The author is a recognized authority on the production of plays and pageants in the public schools, and combines enthusiastic sympathy with sound, practical instructions. She tells both how to inspire and care for the young actor, how to make costumes, properties, scenery, where to find designs for them, what music to use, etc., etc. She prefaces it all with an interesting historical sketch of the plays-for-children movement, includes elaborate detailed analyses of performances of Browning’s Pied Piper and Rosetti’s Pageant of the Months, and concludes with numerous valuable analytical lists of plays for various grades and occasions. $1.20 net (Feb., 1914). PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS Pageant of Patriotism (Outdoor and Indoor Versions):—Princess Pocahontas, Pilgrim Interlude, Ferry Farm Episode, *George Washington’s Fortune, *Daniel Boone: Patriot, Benjamin Franklin Episode, Lincoln Episode, Final Tableau. 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THE SILVER THREAD And Other Folk Plays. “The Silver Thread” (Cornish); “The Forest Spring” (Italian); “The Foam Maiden” (Celtic); “Troll Magic” (Norwegian); “The Three Wishes” (French); “A Brewing of Brains” (English); “Siegfried” (German); “The Snow Witch” (Russian). $1.10 net. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY BOOKS TO MAKE ELDERS YOUNG AGAIN By Inez Haynes Gillmore PHOEBE AND ERNEST With 30 illustrations by R. F. Schabelitz. $1.35 net. Parents will recognize themselves in the story, and laugh understandingly with, and sometimes at, Mr. and Mrs. Martin and their children, Phoebe and Ernest. “Attracted delighted attention in the course of its serial publication. Sentiment and humor are deftly mingled in this clever book.”—New York Tribune. “We must go back to Louisa Alcott for their equals.”—Boston Advertiser. “For young and old alike we know of no more refreshing story.”—New York Evening Post. PHOEBE, ERNEST, AND CUPID Illustrated by R. F. Schabelitz. $1.35 net. In this sequel to the popular “Phoebe and Ernest,” each of these delightful young folk goes to the altar. “To all jaded readers of problem novels, to all weary wayfarers on the rocky literary road of social pessimism and domestic woe, we recommend ‘Phoebe, Ernest, and Cupid’ with all our hearts: it is not only cheerful, it’s true.”—N. Y. Times Review. “Wholesome, merry, absolutely true to life.”—The Outlook. “All delicious—humorous and true.”—The Continent. “Irresistibly fascinating. Mrs. Gillmore knows twice as much about college boys as ——, and five times as much about girls.”—Boston Globe. JANEY Illustrated by Ada C. Williamson. $1.25 net. “Being the record of a short interval in the journey thru life and the struggle with society of a little girl of nine.” “Our hearts were captive to ‘Phoebe and Ernest,’ and now accept ‘Janey.’ … She is so engaging. … Told so vivaciously and with such good-natured and pungent asides for grown people.”—Outlook. “Depicts youthful human nature as one who knows and loves it. Her ‘Phoebe and Ernest’ studies are deservedly popular, and now, in ‘Janey,’ this clever writer has accomplished an equally charming portrait.”—Chicago Record-Herald. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY |
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