Many modern writers have tried to recapture some of the power of the folk tale by imitating its method. In many cases they have had a fair degree of success; in one case, that of Hans Christian Andersen, the success is admittedly very complete. As a rule, however, the sharpness of the sense of wonder has been blunted, and many imitators of the old fairy tale succeed in keeping only the shell. Another class of modern fantastic tale is that of the pourquoi story, which has the explanation of something as its object. Such tales grow out of the attempt to use the charm of old stories as a means of conveying instruction, somewhat after the method of those parents who covered up our bitter medicine with some of our favorite jam. Even "Little Red Riding Hood," as we saw, has been turned into a flower myth. So compelling is this pedagogical motive that so-called nature myths have been invented or made from existing stories in great numbers. The practical results please many teachers, but it may be questioned whether the gain is sufficient to compensate children for the distorting results upon masterpieces. Wide range of the modern fairy tale. The bibliography will suggest something of the treasures in the field of the modern fanciful story. From the delightful nonsense of Alice in Wonderland and the "travelers' tales" of Baron Munchausen to the profound seriousness of The King of the Golden River and Why the Chimes Rang is a far cry. There are the rich fancies of Barrie and Maeterlinck, at the same time delicate as the promises of spring and brilliant as the fruitions of summer. One may be blown away to the land of Oz, he may lose his shadow with Peter Schlemihl, he may outdo the magic carpet with his Traveling-Cloak, he may visit the courts of kings with his Wonderful Chair; Miss Muffet will invite us to her Christmas party, Lemuel Gulliver will lead us to lands not marked in the school atlas; on every side is a world of wonder. Some qualities of these modern tales. Every age produces after its own fashion, and we must expect to find the modern user of the fairy-story method expressing through it the qualities of his own outlook upon the world. Interest in the picturesque aspects of landscape will be emphasized, as in the early portions of "The Story of Fairyfoot" and, with especial magnificence of style, throughout The King of the Golden River. There will appear the saddened mood of the modern in the face of the human miseries that make happiness a mockery, as in "The Happy Prince." The destructive effects of the possessive instinct upon all that is finest in human nature is reflected in "The Prince's Dream." That the most valuable efforts are often those performed with least spectacular settings may be discerned in "The Knights of the Silver Shield," while the lesson of kindly helpfulness is the burden of "Old Pipes and the Dryad." In many modern stories the reader is too much aware of the conscious efforts of style and structure. The thoughtful child will sometimes be too much distressed by the more somber modern story, and should not hear too many of the gloomy type. Andersen the consummate master. Hans Christian Andersen is the acknowledged master of the modern story for children. What are the sources of his success? Genius is always unexplainable except in terms of itself, but some things are clear. To begin, he makes a mark-drives down a peg: "There came a soldier marching along. the high road-one, two! one, two!" and you are off. No backing and filling, no jockeying for position, no elaborate setting of the stage. The story's the thing! Next, the language is the language of common oral speech, free and unrestrained. The rigid forms of the grammar are eschewed. There is no beating around the bush. Seeing through the eyes of the child, he uses the language that is natural to such sight: "Aha! there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels." In quick dramatic fashion the story unrolls before your vision: "So the soldier cut the witch's head off. There she lay!" No agonizing over the cruelty of it, the lack of sympathy. It is a joke after the child's own heart, and with a hearty laugh at this end to an impostor, the listener is on with the story. The logic is the logic of childhood: "And everyone could see she was a real princess, for she was so lovely." When Andersen deals with some of the deeper truths of existence, as in "The Nightingale" or "The Ugly Duckling," he still manages to throw it all into the form that is natural and convincing and simple to the child. He never mounts a pedestal and becomes a grown-up philosopher. Perhaps Andersen's secret lay in the fact that some fairy godmother invested him at birth with a power to see things so completely as a child sees them that he never questioned the dignity of the method. In few of his stories is there any evidence of a constraint due to a conscious attempt to write down to the understandings of children. SUGGESTIONS FOR READING The most valuable discussion of the difficulties to be mastered in writing the literary fairy tale, and the story of the only very complete mastery yet made, will be found in the account of Hans Christian Andersen in Eminent Authors of the Nineteenth Century, by Georg Brandes. Now and then hints of importance on such stories and their value for children may be found in biographies of the more prominent writers represented in the section and mentioned in the bibliography, and in magazine articles and reviews. These latter may be located by use of the periodical indexes found in most libraries. For the proper attitude which the schools should have toward fiction and fanciful writing in general, nothing could be better than two lectures on "Children's Reading," in On the Art of Reading, by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. 190 The rabbis of old were good story-tellers. They were essentially teachers and they understood that the best sermon is a story. "They were fond of the parable, the anecdote, the apt illustration, and their legends that have been transmitted to us, all aglow with the light and life of the Orient, possess perennial charm." It is possible to find in rabbinical sources a large number of brief stories that have the power of entertaining as well as of emphasizing some qualities of character that are important in all ages. The plan of this book does not include the wonderful stories of the Old Testament, which are easy of access to any teacher and may be used as experience directs. The Hebrew stories following correspond very nearly to the folk anecdote and are placed in this section because of their literary form. Dr. Abram S. Isaacs (1851-) is a professor in New York University and is also a rabbi. The selection that follows is from his Stories from the Rabbis. (Copyrighted. Used by special permission of The Bloch Publishing Company, New York.) Taking advantage of the popular superstition that a four-leaved clover is a sign of good luck, Dr. Isaacs has grouped together four parable-like stories, each of which deals with wealth as a subject. The editors are responsible for the special titles given. The messages of these stories might be summarized as follows: If you would be lucky, (1) be honest because it is right to be honest, (2) value good friends more highly than gold, (3) let love accompany each gift of charity, and (4) use common sense in your business ventures. A FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER ABRAM S. ISAACS 1. THE RABBI AND THE DIADEM Great was the alarm in the palace of Rome, which soon spread throughout the entire city. The Empress had lost her costly diadem, and it could not be found. They searched in every direction, but it was all in vain. Half distracted, for the mishap boded no good to her or her house, the Empress redoubled her exertions to regain her precious possession, but without result. As a last resource it was proclaimed in the public streets: "The Empress has lost a priceless diadem. Whoever restores it within thirty days shall receive a princely reward. But he who delays, and brings it after thirty days, shall lose his head." In those times all nationalities flocked toward Rome; all classes and creeds could be met in its stately halls and crowded thoroughfares. Among the rest was a rabbi, a learned sage from the East, who loved goodness and lived a righteous life, in the stir and turmoil of the Western world. It chanced one night as he was strolling up and down, in busy meditation, beneath the clear, moonlit sky, he saw the diadem sparkling at his feet. He seized it quickly, brought it to his dwelling, where he guarded it carefully until the thirty days had expired, when he resolved to return it to the owner. He proceeded to the palace, and, undismayed at sight of long lines of soldiery and officials, asked for an audience with the Empress. "What dost thou mean by this?" she inquired, when he told her his story and gave her the diadem. "Why didst thou delay until this hour? Dost thou know the penalty? Thy head must be forfeited." "I delayed until now," the rabbi answered calmly, "so that thou mightst know that I return thy diadem, not for the sake of the reward, still less out of fear of punishment; but solely to comply with the Divine command not to withhold from another the property which belongs to him.” "Blessed be thy God!" the Empress answered, and dismissed the rabbi without further reproof; for had he not done right for right's sake? 2. FRIENDSHIP A certain father was doubly blessedhe had reached a good old age, and had ten sons. One day he called them to his side, and after repeated expressions of affection, told them that he had acquired a fortune by industry and economy, and would give them one hundred gold pieces each before his death, so that they might begin business for themselves, and not be obliged to wait until he had passed away. It happened, however, that, soon after, he lost a portion of his property, much to his regret, and had only nine hundred and fifty gold pieces left. So he gave one hundred to each of his nine sons. When his youngest son, whom he loved most of all, asked naturally what was to be his share, the father replied: "My son, I promised to give each of thy brothers one hundred gold pieces. I shall keep my word to them. I have fifty left. Thirty I shall reserve for my funeral expenses, and twenty will be thy portion. But understand this-I possess, in addition, ten friends, whom I give over to thee as compensation for the loss of the eighty gold pieces. Believe me, they are worth more than all the gold and silver." The youth tenderly embraced his parent, and assured him that he was. content, such was his confidence and affection. In a few days the father died, and the nine sons took their money, and without a thought of their youngest brother and the small amount he had received, followed each his own fancy. But the youngest son, although his portion was the least, resolved to heed his father's words, and hold fast to the ten friends. When a short time had elapsed he prepared a simple feast, went to the ten friends of his father, and said to them: "My father, almost in his last words, asked me to keep you, his friends, in honor. Before I leave this place to seek my fortune elsewhere, will you not share with me a farewell meal, and aid me thus to comply with his dying request?" The ten friends, stirred by his earnestness and cordiality, accepted his invitation with pleasure, and enjoyed the repast, although they were used to richer fare. When the moment for parting arrived, however, one of them rose and spoke: "My friends, it seems to me that of all the sons of our dear friend that has gone, the youngest alone is mindful of his father's friendship for us, and reverences his memory. Let us, then, be true friends to him, for his own sake as well, and provide for him a generous sum, that he may begin business here, and not be forced to live among strangers." The proposal, so unexpected and yet so merited, was received with applause. The youth, proud of their friendship, soon became a prosperous merchant, who never forgot that faithful friends were more valuable than gold or silver, and left an honored name to his descendants. 3. TRUE CHARITY There lived once a very wealthy man, who cared little for money, except as a means for helping others. He used to adopt a peculiar plan in his method of charitable relief. He had three boxes made for the three different classes of people whom he desired to assist. In one box he put gold pieces, which he distributed among artists and scholars, for he honored knowledge and learning as the highest possession. In the second box he placed silver pieces for widows and orphans, for whom his sympathies were readily awakened. In the third were copper coins for the general poor and beggars-no one was turned away from his dwelling without some gift, however small. That the man was beloved by all, need hardly be said. He rejoiced that he was enabled to do so much good, retained his modest bearing, and continued to regard his wealth as only an incentive to promote the happiness of mankind, without distinction of creed or nationality. Unhappily, his wife was just the opposite. She rarely gave food or raiment to the poor, and felt angry at her husband's liberality, which she considered shameless extravagance. The day came when in the pressure of various duties he had to leave his house, and could not return until the morrow. Unaware of his sudden departure, the poor knocked at the door as usual for his kind gifts; but when they found him absent, they were about to go away or remain in the street, being terrified at the thought of asking his wife for alms. Vexed at their conduct, she exclaimed impetuously: "I will give to the poor according to my husband's method." She seized the keys of the boxes, and first opened the box of gold. But how great was her terror when she gazed at its contents-frogs jumping here and there. Then she went to the silver box, and it was full of ants. With troubled heart, she opened the copper box, and it was crowded with creeping bugs. Loud then were her complaints, and bitter her tears, at the deception, and she kept her room until her husband returned. No sooner did the man enter the room, annoyed that so many poor people were kept waiting outside, than she asked him: "Why did you give me keys to boxes of frogs, ants, and bugs, instead of gold, silver, and copper? Was it right thus to deceive your wife, and disappoint the poor?" "Not so," rejoined her husband. "The mistake must be yours, not mine. I have given you the right keys. I do not know what you have done with them. Come, let me have them. I am guiltless of any deception." He took the keys, quickly opened the boxes, and found the coins as he had left them. "Ah, dear wife," said he, when she had regained her composure, "your heart, I fear, was not in the gift, when you wished to give to the poor. It is the feeling that prompts us to aid, not the mere money, which is the chief thing after all." And ever after, her heart was changed. Her gifts blessed the poor of the land, and aroused their love and reverence. 4. AN EASTERN GARDEN In an Eastern city a lovely garden flourished, whose beauty and luxuriance awakened much admiration. It was the owner's greatest pleasure to watch its growth, as leaf, flower, and tree seemed daily to unfold to brighter bloom. One morning, while taking his usual stroll through the well-kept paths, |