Mechanical Processes

Reading begins in the "Children's House" as soon as the children reread the word they have already composed with the movable alphabet. This early effort is not indeed the true reading of the word, since interpretation is lacking. The children, it has been seen, know the word because they have actually put it together. They have not gained an understanding of it from the simple recognition of the graphic symbols. What they have done is, nevertheless, an important contribution to real reading. As one considers all of the details of this period of development, it is apparent that its mechanism is closely allied with that of the spoken language.

When the child's attention has been intensively applied to the recognition of the written word, it can easily be fixed on the analysis of the sounds which make up the word. At a certain age the child's interest was aroused by "touching" the letter. He can now be interested in hearing the sounds of the word when pronounced by others and in pronouncing it himself. We have shown that the work on the written language in the exercises with the alphabet was necessary for developing and perfecting the spoken language. It is by so doing that we make it possible to correct defects in speech and to pass naturally over the period when such defects are formed.

We now aim at finding an exercise in the actual mechanism of pronunciation which can be started at the moment of its natural development in such a way that its growth to perfection will follow as a matter of course. It is a question of bringing the children rapidly to pronounce without hesitation. In so pronouncing well, in performing extensive exercises in hearing words and in the interpretation of them from graphic signs, the child brings together in a unit of effect the basic processes of reading and writing.

A good pronunciation of the word read is of great importance. We may say that in the elementary schools of our day this is the principal purpose of reading. Nevertheless, it is very difficult to obtain a good pronunciation when defects have been allowed to develop and become habitual in the child's previous work. In fact, the elimination of these defects, which have been the result of a fundamental error in education, comes to absorb all of the energies of the reading class in ordinary primary schools. So far along as the fifth grade we see teachers struggling to make the children read, that they may acquire a good "pronunciation," and in our reading books there are graduated exercises constructed on the basis of "Difficulties in Pronunciation." It is apparent that all of this stress on the physiological mechanics of pronunciation is foreign to true reading. It is, rather, an impediment to the development of true reading. Such reading exercises constitute, as it were, a foreign body, which operates like a disease to prevent the development of the high intellectual activity which interprets the mysterious language of written symbols and arouses the child's enthusiasm with the fascinating revelations they can give. The eagerness of the child to learn is curbed and cheated when he is compelled to stop his mind from working because his tongue refuses to act properly and must be laboriously trained to work right. This training, if begun at the proper time, when the child's whole psychic and nervous organism yearns for the perfection of the mechanism of speech, would have been a fascinating task; and once started along the right path, the pupil would have continued to follow it with alacrity and confidence. When the time comes for the intelligence to try its wings, its wings should be ready. What would happen to a painter, if at the moment of inspiration, he had to sit down and manufacture his brushes!

Analysis

Our first publication on the methods used in the "Children's House" made clear two distinct operations involved in reading: the interpretation of the meaning and the pronunciation aloud of the "word." The stress we laid on that analysis as a guide to the development of reading was the result of actual experience. Those who followed this work during its initial stages saw how the children, when they read for the first time, interpreting the meaning of the words before them, did so without speaking,—reading, that is, mentally. Interpretation, in fact, is a question of mental concentration. Reading is an affair of the intelligence. The pronunciation aloud is quite a different thing, not only distinguished from the first process, but secondary to it. Talking aloud is a question of speech, involving first hearing and then the mechanical reproduction of sounds in articulate language. Its function is to bring into immediate communication two or more people, who thus exchange the thoughts which they have already perfected in the secret places of their minds.

But reading stands in a direct relation with writing. Here there are no sounds to be heard or pronounced. The individual, all by himself, can put himself into communication not only with human beings actually alive on the earth, but also with those who lived centuries and centuries ago down to the dawn of history. Such communication is made possible not by sound but by the written symbol. The mind takes in these symbols in silence. Books are mute, as far as sound is concerned.

It follows that reading aloud is a combination of two distinct operations, of two "languages." It is something far more complex than speaking and reading taken separately by themselves. In reading aloud the child speaks not to express his own thoughts, but thoughts revealed by the written symbol. The "word" in this case no longer has that natural stimulus from within which creation gives it. In fact, it is something forced and monotonous, something like the language of the deaf-mute. Words which are the product of the interpretation of individual alphabetical symbols come with effort, and the meaning which comes from the interpretation of the entire sentence, as the eye reads word by word, and translates into sound, is apprehended and reduced to expression with great difficulty. To give a fairly intelligible expression to the meaning, the eyes have been obliged rapidly to traverse the sentence as a whole, while the tongue has been laboriously and monotonously pronouncing one word after another. Just imagine adding to such a complex problem for the child of the primary schools the additional task of correcting his pronunciation! It is no wonder that reading is one of the rocks on which the rudderless ship of elementary education inevitably runs aground.

The experiments we have succeeded in conducting on the subject of reading are perhaps among the most complete we have made. We found the key to the problem when we discovered that the child passed from the mental reading of the words written on the cards directly to interpretation in action. This interpretation, ready and facile, as all the acts of children are, reveals to us what the child has understood and accordingly what he is capable of understanding. We have thus been able to obtain an experimental graduation of passages for reading, which on being gathered together, show the nature of the difficulties which successively present themselves to the child. The children have made for themselves specimen clauses and sentences which an expert grammarian could not have devised better for facilitating the study of language. As we went on with this work, we became more and more convinced that the study of grammar may be made a help in[175]
[176] the up-building of the child's language and that it makes its influence felt in reading and in the written composition. The table (p. 175) may be useful in showing the successive steps actually traversed by the child in the phenomena of reading.

The fundamental point to realize is that interpretation alone constitutes true reading. Reading aloud, on the other hand, is a combination of reading and articulate expression, in other words, a combination involving the two great mechanisms of the spoken language and the written language. Reading aloud permits an audience to take part in the reading communicated to it by means of articulate speech. Even here, the mental effort required to listen to the voice of a man passionately interested in the narration of things which he himself has experienced is not the same as that demanded in listening to a reading of the same things by a person who has not experienced them, and who, to narrate them, must perform the rapid and intense effort of interpretation. In this reading, so to speak, by "transmission," the most serious difficulties are encountered. We all know by experience how difficult it is to endure a reading, and how rare an endowment the "gift of reading" is. However, the person who is thus gifted can get a hearing almost as well as the person who speaks. The teaching of reading, then, in this sense, is not merely the teaching of the interpretation of the meaning,—all that would be necessary, if the sole function of reading were to gain new ideas for the reader. Reading, thus conceived, represents really the addition of an art of expression to simple reading, and since this expressive art is purely dramatic, the teaching of reading involves the development of dramatic art. Only through dramatic art can the transmission of reading to a group of people be made possible.

It is clear that the oftener the exercise of identifying oneself with what is read is repeated and perfected, the greater the possibility of expression becomes. It follows that in the perfection of this art we should be less concerned with timbre, with tone of voice and gestures, all extrinsic aspects of this art, than with intense vivid interpretation which brings the child to an identification of himself with what he reads. And this interpretation will realize its objects if it is practised as a habit and as a form of reading.

The proof of correct interpretation was the child's ability to reproduce in action what was described in the words he read. Similarly, the proof of the interpretation in reading aloud is the repetition of the things heard by means of the spoken language. That is, the children, in order to prove to us that they have understood something read aloud, should be able to repeat in narrative form what they have heard.

The practical results of our efforts in this direction were very interesting to watch. Some children can say nothing. Others offer to tell the whole story. Their story is not clear or perhaps it is defective in some respect. Immediately other children are ready to correct the ones telling the story: "No, no, that's not what happened, that's not what happened," or, "Wait, you have forgotten something," and so on. In fact, to understand and to be able to narrate what has been understood is not the same thing. In telling a story there is a successive unfolding of very complex mental activities which are based on and added to the primal activity of "having understood." It is a question again of the three different stages noted by us in the first lessons given to children:

First stage, the causing of the perception: (That is red, that is blue);

Second stage, the perfection of recognition: (What is red or blue?);

Third stage, the provocation of expression: (What about this or that?).

Thus, the child who succeeds in expressing, even in an imperfect way, what he has understood of the passage he has read, is in a more advanced state of development than other children who are unable to tell the story. However, these children who are not able to relate what they have heard said may very well be in the preceding stage in which they are capable of "recognition." These latter are the relentless critics, the constant "hecklers" of those who are trying to relate—"No, no,—that's not so," "You have forgotten this, or that." Let one of us teachers try to tell the story in the most perfect and complete manner, and these tiny impetuous hecklers listen to us in ecstasy, showing their approval in every form of approbation of which they are capable. By studying such manifestations in the children, we can get sufficient psychological data for determining what reading is adapted to children of different ages, the best ways of reading aloud, and the line of development followed by each child in that hidden mental world of his which is cut off from our gaze. But to derive these benefits from reading, it is perfectly clear that the children must be left absolutely free in the expression of what goes on in their minds.

According to the method used in ordinary schools a child is called upon to read aloud, and the teacher herself continually interrupts, either to correct the pronunciation, or to assist by explanations and suggestions in the interpretation of the meaning. This is all useless for experimental purposes. We have no certain means of determining whether the pupil has understood either what he has read or the explanations of the teacher. Furthermore the corrections of pronunciation have centered the child's attention on this detail which is entirely without relation to the meaning of the text he is interpreting. Another situation not infrequently arises. A child is selected at random to tell in his own words what he has been read. Often the selection is not made at random, but some pupil is called on because he has shown himself the most inattentive, the least interested in what is being done—the recitation thus becoming correctional in character! While the child is telling his story, there is a constant suppression of interruptions: "Hush, I did not call on you," "Wait till you are called on," "It is not polite to interrupt some one who is talking," etc. It is clear that the teacher will never learn anything about her pupils in this way.

This explains why, from the psychological point of view, our present-day schools have not been able to contribute anything new to a reformed scientific pedagogy of reading.

Experimental Section: Reading Aloud

Although we lay all possible stress on interpretative reading, we nevertheless put into the hands of the child a little reading book which he can go over by himself first in a low voice, and then, when he has grasped the meaning, aloud, provided he can express himself clearly and easily.

The simplicity of these texts occasions surprise when one observes how completely and enthusiastically absorbed in them the children become. They find them so delightful that the books get literally worn out with the reading and rereading to which they are subjected. Sometimes a book is read from beginning to end. Again the child opens it by chance and reads the page he happens on. Some children like to read the whole book over and over. Others prefer to read some particular page a great many times. One frequently sees these tiny things suddenly rise with great decision and read aloud one of the pages which has been so seriously examined.

The little book was composed very carefully on the basis of rigid experimentation. As the book is opened only one page of print appears, the tergo of the right hand page being always blank. Nor does the text always cover the entire page. The spaces above and below the print are decorated with designs.

The twenty pages of this beginners book are as follows:

Reading with the object of interpretation is conducted as in the first experiments of the "Children's House," with cards. From the graduated series we have prepared the child selects a card. He reads it mentally and then executes the action indicated on the card. Our later experiments became very interesting when they were based upon a more rigorous method. When we gave a card describing two actions to a child of five years, he would execute only one of the actions. Take the following for example:

Our first series of readings accordingly is entirely "tested" or experimental. It is made up of simple sentences something like those analyzed in the lessons on grammar (Verb to Pronoun).

The children carry out the indicated action after they have read mentally, but they put what amounts to artistic expression into their interpretations, which are never executed listlessly. For them it becomes a real "interpretation." They often "study" the action, trying it over and over again, as though rehearsing for a play. Their aptitude for this is something remarkable. Furthermore the words have, for the most part, already been studied in the grammatical exercises, so that the meaning of each word is becoming more and more clear. This helps in the interpretation. For example, the sentence The little girl stood with lowered head does not mean simply "she lowered her head." If the child has understood he will stand for some time with lowered head in an attitude more or less expressive according to the vividness of his feeling of the situation. In the sentence She threw herself on her knees before him there will not be a simple act of kneeling, but something more dramatic. The child will assume the kneeling posture with some indication of emotion. The children take no end of interest in each other's interpretations.

In a second series of readings we have two coordinated clauses, the children executing two consecutive actions instead of one.

In the third series, there are sentences with one or more coordinate clauses.

The children by no means restrict themselves to acting out these little scenes and poses. In a second stage they read aloud all these slips which they have interpreted, and in view of the preparation they have had, their reading shows considerable power of expression. They tend to read the slips over and over again, many times, and not infrequently commit them to memory. To take advantage of this new activity we got together a number of poems, making up a little book of children's verse. The pupils read them both mentally and aloud, ultimately committing them to memory and reciting them. Here are some specimens of our Italian collection:

A corresponding book of English verse might include something like the following:

After this preparation the children are able to "understand" what they read. All their difficulties in grasping the sentences and their most complicated constructions have been overcome. They have an insight into the grammatical form of language; and the construction of a sentence, as well as the meaning of the words in it, interests them. There has been created within them a fund of suppressed energy which will very soon break forth into intense activity. In fact, in our school, after these exercises the passion for reading began to show itself. The children wanted "reading, reading, more reading." We got together hastily a few books but never enough to satisfy the eagerness of the children. We found a surprising lack of reading for little children in Italian. The American system of opening special rooms in public libraries for the use of little readers seems to me an excellent thing.

But to take full advantage of this awakened enthusiasm for reading and to cultivate at the same time the art of reading aloud we must not neglect another element in reading: audition.

Audition

When the child has advanced to some extent in the exercises of interpretation, the teacher may begin reading aloud. This should be done as artistically as possible. We recommend for the training of teachers not only a considerable artistic education in general but special attention to the art of reading. One of the differences between the traditional teacher of the past and the teachers we should like to create is that the former used to speak of an "art of teaching," which consisted of various devices to make the child learn, in spite of itself, what the teacher wanted to teach. Our teachers, rather, should be cultivators of the fine arts. For in our method art is considered a means to life. It is beauty in all its forms which helps the inner man to grow. We have repeatedly emphasized that both in the environment at school and in the materials used, everything should be carefully considered in its artistic bearings, to provide ample room for development for all the phenomena of attention and persistence in work which are the secret keys of self-education. The Montessori teacher should be a cultivator of music, drawing and elocution, responsive to the harmony of things; she must, that is, have sufficient "good taste" to be able to lay out the school plant and keep it in condition; and sufficient delicacy of manner—the product of a sensitive nature—to be alive to all the manifestations of the child spirit.

In the matter of reading aloud the teacher has an important task to accomplish. We found the drawing hour best adapted for this work. It was our experience that it is easier to gain a hearing when the children are busy with something which does not require great concentration and which is not sustained by any particular inspiration. During the drawing lesson, in the placid silence which comes from work, and while the children are intent on their designs, the teacher may begin her reading aloud. It sometimes happens that the substance of what she reads will be sufficient to engage the interest of the whole school. But this is not always an easy task. It is more often the musical quality of the teacher's execution which will attract the little ones with a sense for art and bring them to that motionless attention which is the evidence of eager enjoyment. Possibly a really perfect reader might be able so to hold the whole group of children with some absorbing selection.

The readings we used were numerous and of great variety: fairy tales, short stories, anecdotes, novels, historical episodes. Specifically there were the tales of Andersen, some of the short stories of Capuana, the Cuore of De Amicis, episodes of the life of Jesus, Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Betrothed (I promessi sposi of Manzoni), Fabiola, stories from the Italian wars for independence (Nineteenth Century), Itard's Education of the Young Savage of Aveyron.

The Most Popular Books

In general the child will listen to anything that is really interesting. But certainly some surprises will be occasioned by our discovery that the children liked above everything else the readings on Italian history and the Education of the Savage of Aveyron. The phenomenon is sufficiently curious to merit further consideration. The history we used was not one commonly thought adapted to young readers. Quite the contrary: it was Pasquale de Luca's I Liberatori (Makers of Freedom, Bergamo, 1909), written to arouse a feeling of patriotism among the Italian emigrants of Argentina. The special feature of this publication is its contemporary documents reprinted in fac-simile. There are, for instance, telegrams, notices in cipher published on the walls of the towns on the eve of uprisings, commemorative medals, a receipt given by an executioner for whipping publicly an Italian patriot, etc. Patriotic songs are given with the music (these the children learned by heart, following the piano); there are also copious illustrations.

This documented history was so absorbing that the children became entirely possessed by the situations. They started animated discussions on various subjects, arguing and deciding. They were particularly outraged at an edict of the king of Naples which was intended to mislead the public. They raged at unjust persecutions, applauded heroic deeds, and ended by insisting on acting out some of the scenes. They formed little companies of three or four and "acted" the episodes with a most impressive dramatic sense. One little girl was moved to bring to school a collection of all the Italian patriotic songs. It fascinated many of the children, who learned several by heart and sang them in chorus. In a word, the Italian Risorgimento came to live in those little hearts with a freshness it has long since lost in the souls of their elders. Many of the children wrote down their impressions of their own accord, often giving surprisingly original judgments. Finally they began to "take notes." They asked the teacher to give an outline of the principal events, which they took down in their copy-books. This whole experience corrected many of my own ideas on the teaching of history. I had thought of preparing moving-picture films and giving historical representations. But that, naturally, being beyond my resources, I had been compelled to give up the plan. The reading of De Luca's book was a revelation. To teach history to children it is sufficient to give a living documented truth. We need, not more cinematographs, but different school books. Children are much more sensible to the true and beautiful than we. They suggest fact and situation. De Luca, moved by affection for his distant brothers, tried to write a book flaming both with truth and with love, which would awaken them and bring them back to live among us as Italians. Our task is the same. We must be filled with a similarly intense human zeal: we must call back to us the distant souls of the children. They too are brothers living far away in a distant country. We must arouse them, bring them back to us as partners in our own life.

After our readings from Itard's Savage, the parents of the children kept coming to us with inquiries: "What have you been reading to our children? We should like to hear it ourselves." The little ones had told of hearing an extraordinary story about a child who had lived with the animals, beginning little by little to understand, to feel, to live like us. All the psychological details of his study, his attempts at education, seemed to have touched the children deeply. It occurred to us to take the older of such children to a "Children's House" and show them our educational method. They took the greatest interest in it, and some of them are now collaborators in the foundation of other "Children's Houses." Such children are able to follow the development of the child mind with extraordinary sympathy. However, if we reflect that the best teachers for children are children themselves, and that little tots like the company of another child much better than that of an adult, we need not be surprised at the downfall of another prejudice.

We have conceived of children according to a fantastic idea of our own, making of them a sort of human species distinct from that to which adults belong. As a matter of fact, they are our children, more purely human than we ourselves. The beautiful and the true have for them an intense fascination, into which they plunge as into something actually necessary for their existence.

The results here witnessed led us to many a reflection. We succeeded in teaching history and even pedagogy by means of "reading." And, in truth, does not reading embrace everything? Travel stories teach geography; insect stories lead the child into natural science; and so on. The teacher, in short, can use reading to introduce her pupils to the most varied subjects; and the moment they have been thus started, they can go on to any limit guided by the single passion for reading. Our task is to offer the child the instruments of education, to keep pure within him the springs of his intellectual growth, of his life of feeling. The rest follows as a matter of course. As the ancients said: "Necessary education is the three 'r's': reading, writing and arithmetic," for these are things which the child cannot discover by himself. We can only add that "method" must be scientifically determined only at the points where it becomes necessary to assist the "formation of man," that he may develop his activities by strengthening them and not by repressing them, that he may receive essential help without losing any pure freshness of his interior activities. But this does not mean that "a rigorous method must guide the child at all times and in every step that he takes." When he has become strong and is in possession of his tools for discovery, he will be able to uncover many of life's secrets by himself. We tied the child to the materials in his sensory exercises, but we left him free to explore his environment. This must be the method for all his later steps in advance: he must be given the instrument and the strength to use it, and then left free to find things out for himself.

The fondness of children for reading and their preference for the "true" is something already demonstrated by experiments conducted elsewhere. I may refer here to the investigations on readings for children conducted by the "Education" section of the Federation for School Libraries of the province of Emilia (Italy). The questionnaire was as follows:

Do you remember what books you have read and which you liked best?

How did you get them?

Do you know the title of some book you would like to read?

Do you prefer fairy-tales, or rather stories of true or probable facts? Why?

Do you prefer sad or humorous stories?

Do you like poetry?

Do you like stories of travel and adventure?

Do you subscribe to any weekly or monthly newspaper? If so, to which?

If your mother were to offer you a choice between a subscription to a weekly or monthly and an illustrated book, which would you take? And why?

The answers, very carefully sifted, showed that the vast majority of children preferred readings which dealt with fact. Here are some of the reasons alleged by the children in support for their preference for "truth": "Facts teach me something; fairy-tales are too improbable; true stories don't upset my thinking; true stories teach me history; true stories always convey some good idea; fairy-stories give me desires impossible to satisfy; many good ideas come from actual experiences; fantastic tales make me think too much about supernatural things"; etc., etc. In favor of the fairy-tales we find: "They amuse me in hours free from work; I like to be in the midst of fairies and enchantments"; etc. Those who preferred sad or serious stories justified themselves as follows: "I feel that I am a better person, and realize better the wrong I do; I feel that my disposition becomes more kindly; they arouse in me feelings of kindness and pity." Many supported their preference for humorous tales on the ground that "when I read them, I am able to forget my own little troubles." In general, a great majority denied any educational value to joy and humor. In this conviction—or rather this feeling—so widely diffused among children, have we not evidence that something must be wrong in the kind of education we have been giving them?

[5] The first readings consist of a special grammar and a dictionary.