Chapter 3 THE FAIRY TALE AS LITERATURE

From the point of view of the child, we have seen that in a subjective sense, fairy tales must contain the interests of children. In an objective sense, rather from the point of view of literature, let us now consider what fairy tales must contain, what are the main standards which determine the value of fairy tales as literature, and as such, subject-matter of real worth to the child.

The old tale will not always be perfect literature; often it will be imperfect, especially in form. Yet the tale should be selected with the standards of literature guiding in the estimate of its worth and in the emphasis to be placed upon its content. Such relating of the tale to literary standards would make it quite impossible later in the primary grades when teaching the reading of Three Pigs, to put the main stress on a mere external like the expression of the voice. A study of the story as literature would have centered the attention on the situation, the characters, and the plot. If the voice is receiving training in music and in the phonics of spelling, then when the reading of the tale is undertaken it will be a willing servant to the mind which is concentrating on the reality, and will express what the thought compels.

The fairy tale first must be a classic in reality even if it lacks the crowning touch of perfect form given through the re-treatment of a literary artist. In Reynard the Fox we have an exact example of the folk-tale that has been elevated into literature. But this was possible only because the tales originally possessed the qualities of a true classic. "A true classic," Sainte-Beuve has said, "is one which enriches the human mind, has increased its treasure and caused it to advance a step, which has discovered some moral and unequivocal truth or revealed some eternal passion in that heart where all seemed known and discovered; which is an expression of thought, observation, or invention, in no matter what form, only provided it be broad and great, refined and sensible, sane and beautiful in itself; which speaks in its own peculiar style which is found to be also that of the whole world, a style new and old, easily contemporary with all time." Immediately some of the great fairy tales stand out as answering to this test-Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, Jack and the Beanstalk, Cinderella, Jack the Giant-Killer,-which has been said to be the epitome of the whole life of man-Beauty and the Beast, and a crowd of others. Any fairy tale which answers to the test of a real classic must, like these, show itself to contain for the child a permanent enrichment of the mind.

Fairy tales must have certain qualities which belong to all literature as a fine art, whether it is the literature of knowledge or the literature of power. Literature is not the book nor is it life; but literature is the sense of life, whose artist is the author, and the medium he uses is words, language. It is good art when his sense of life is truth, and fine art when there is beauty in that truth. The one essential beauty of literature is in its essence and does not depend upon any decoration. As words are the medium, literature will distinguish carefully among them and use them as the painter, for particular lights and shades. According to Pater literature must have two qualities, mind and soul. Literature will have mind when it has that architectural sense of structure which foresees the end in the beginning and keeps all the parts related in a harmonious unity. It will have soul when it has that "vagrant sympathy" which makes it come home to us and which makes it suggest what it does not say. Test the Tale of Cinderella by this standard. As to mind, it makes one think of a bridge in which the very keystone of the structure is the condition that Cinderella return from the ball by the stroke of twelve. And its "vagrant sympathy" is quite definite enough to reach a maid of five, who remarked: "If I'd have been Cinderella, I wouldn't have helped those ugly sisters, would you?"

If the fairy tale stands the test of literature it must have proved itself, not only a genuine classic according to Sainte-Beuve's standard, and a tale possessing qualities of mind and soul according to Pater's Style, but it must have shown itself also a work owning certain features distinguishing it as literature. These particular literary marks which differentiate the literary tale from the ordinary prose tale have been pointed out by Professor Winchester in his Principles of Literary Criticism. They apply to the old tale of primitive peoples just as well as to the modern tale of to-day. As literature the tale must have:

(1) a power to appeal to the emotions;

(2) a power to appeal to the imagination;

(3) a basis of truth; and

(4) a form more or less perfect.

(1) A power to appeal to the emotions. This appeal to the emotions is its unique distinguishing literary trait. Literature appeals, not to the personal emotions but to the universal ones. For this reason, through literature the child may come in time to develop a power of universal sympathy, which is not the least value literature has to bestow upon him, for this sympathy will become a benediction to all those with whom he may have to deal. In order that emotion in the tales may be literary-make a permanent appeal-according to Professor Winchester's standards, it must have justness given by a deep and worthy cause; vividness so that it may enlarge and thrill; a certain steadiness produced by everything in the tale contributing to the main emotion; a variety resulting from contrasts of character; and a high quality obtained through its sympathy with life and its relation to the conduct of life, so that the feeling for the material beauty of mere sights and sounds is closely related to the deepest suggestions of moral beauty. The best literary tales will possess emotion having all five characteristics. Many tales will exhibit one or more of these traits conspicuously. No tale that is literature will be found which does not lay claim to some one of these qualities which appeal to the broadly human emotions.

Applying the test of emotion to fairy tales, Cinderella possesses a just emotion, Cinderella's cause is the cause of goodness and kindness and love, and deserves a just reward. The Town Musicians of Bremen exhibits vivid emotion, for all four characters are in the same desperate danger of losing life, all four unite to save it, and to find a home. Andersen's Steadfast Tin Soldier is a good example of steadiness of emotion, as it maintains throughout its message of courage. The Tin Soldier remained steadfast, whether on the table just escaped from the toy-box, or in the street after a frightful fall from the window, or spinning in a paper boat that bobbed, or sailing under the crossing, or lying at full length within the fish that swallowed him, or at last melting in the full glare of the hearth fire. It is a very good example, too, of vividness of emotion. The Little Elves illustrates steadiness of emotion, it is pervaded by the one feeling, that industry deserves reward. The French tale, Drakesbill, is especially delightful and humorous because "Bill Drake" perseveres in his happy, fresh vivacity, at the end of every rebuff of fortune, and triumphantly continues his one cry of, "Quack, quack, quack! When shall I get my money back?" Lambikin leaves the one distinct impression of light gaiety and happy-heartedness; and The Foolish, Timid Rabbit preserves steadily the one effect of the credulity of the animals, made all the more prominent by contrast to the wisdom of the Lion. Variety of emotion appears in tales such as Cinderella, Little Two-Eyes, Sleeping Beauty, and Three Pigs, where the various characters are drawn distinctly and their contrasting traits produce varied emotional effects. All the great fairy tales appeal to emotion of a high moral quality and it is this which is the source of their universal appeal. It is this high moral quality of the spiritual truth, which is the center of the tale's unity, holding together all the parts under one emotional theme. This is the source of the perennial freshness of the old tale; for while the immortal truth it presents is old, the personality of the child that meets it is new. For the child, the tale is new because he discovers in it a bit of himself he had not known before, and it retains for him a lasting charm so that he longs to hear it again and again. The beauty of truth, the reward of goodness, and the duty of fairness, give a high emotional quality to Little Two-Eyes; and Sleeping Beauty illustrates the blighting power of hatred to impose a curse and the saving power of love to overcome the works of hatred.

Considering folk-tales from the standpoint of emotion, if asked to suggest what author's work would rank in the same class, one is rather surprised to find, that for high moral quality, variety, and worthy cause, the author who comes to mind is none other than Shakespeare. Perhaps, with all due respect to literature's idol, one might even venture to question which receives honor by the comparison, Shakespeare or the folk-tales? It might be rather a pleasant task to discover who is the Cordelia, the Othello, the Rosalind, and the Portia of the folk-tales; or who the Beauty, the Bluebeard, the Cinderella, the Puss-in-Boots, and the Hop-o'-my-Thumb, of Shakespeare.

The little child is open to emotional appeal, his heart is tender and he is impressionable. If he feels with the characters in his tales he develops a power of emotion. In Andersen's Snow Man it is hard to say which seems more human to him or which makes more of an emotional appeal, the Snow Man or the Dog. He is sorry for the poor Shoemaker in The Little Elves, glad when he grows rich, delighted for the Elves when they receive their presents, and satisfied at the happy end. Since literature depicts life and character in order to awaken noble emotions, it follows that one must omit to present what awakens repulsive or degrading emotions. And it is for this reason, as has been mentioned under the heading "Elements to be avoided," that the tales of the witch and the dragon must be excluded, not for all time, but for the earliest years, when they awaken horror.

Through fairy tales we have seen that the emotional power of the child is strengthened. This has been effected because, in the tale just as truly as in life, action is presented in real situations; and back of every action is the motive force of emotion. This cumulative power of emotion, secured by the child through the handling of tales, will serve daily a present need. It will be the dynamic force which he will require for anything he wishes to accomplish in life. It will give the child the ability to use it in any situation similar to that in which it was acquired. It will make a difference in his speech; he will not have to say so much, for what he does say will produce results. This growing power of emotion will carry over into feelings of relation and thus lead to judgment of values. This evaluation is the basis of reasoning and answers to the child's daily call to think from causes to consequences. This increasing power of emotion develops into the ?sthetic sensibilities and so results in a cultivation of taste and an understanding of life. Emotion therefore leads to appreciation, which, when logically developed, becomes expression. Fairy tales, thus, in conducting emotional capacity through this varied growth and toward this high development, hold an educational value of no mean order.

(2) The power to appeal to the imagination. Emotion can be aroused by showing the objects which excite emotion. Imagination is this power to see and show things in the concrete. Curry says, "Whenever the soul comes vividly in contact with any fact, truth, etc., whenever it takes them home to itself with more than common intensity, out of that meeting of the soul and its object there arises a thrill of joy, a glow of feeling. It is the faculty that can create ideal presence." When through imagination we select spontaneously from the elements of experience and combine into new wholes, we call it creative imagination.-The creative imagination will be viewed here as it appears in action in the creative return given by the child to his fairy tales.-When we emphasize a similarity seen in mere external or accidental relations or follow suggestions not of an essential nature in the object, we call it fancy. Ruskin, in his Modern Painters, vol. I, part III, Of the Imaginative Faculty, would distinguish three classes of the imagination:-

(a) The associative imagination. This is the power of imagination by which we call into association other images that tend to produce the same or allied emotion. When this association has no common ground of emotion it is fancy. The test for the associative imagination, which has the power to combine ideas to form a conception, is that if one part is taken away the rest of the combination goes to pieces. It requires intense simplicity, harmony, and absolute truth. Andersen's Fairy Tales are a perfect drill for the associative imagination. Literature parallels life and what is presented calls up individual experience. Any child will feel a thrill of kinship with the experiences given in The Tin Soldier-a little boy's birthday, the opening of the box, the counting of the soldiers, and the setting of them upon the table. And because here Andersen has transformed this usual experience with a vivacity and charm, the tale ranks high as a tale of imagination. Little Ida's Flowers and Thumbelina are tales of pure fancy. Grimm's The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean and The Spindle, the Shuttle, and the Needle rank in the same class, as also do the Norse The Doll i' the Grass and the English Tom Thumb.

(b) The penetrative imagination. This power of imagination shows the real character of a thing and describes it by its spiritual effects. It sees the heart and inner nature of things. Through fancy the child cannot reach this central viewpoint since fancy deals only with externals. Through the exercise of this power the child develops insight, intuition, and a perception of spiritual values, and gains a love of the ideal truth and a perpetual thirst for it. He develops genuineness, one of the chief virtues of originality. He will tend not to have respect for sayings or opinions but will seek the truth, be governed by its laws, and hold a passion for perfection. This power of imagination makes of him a continual seeker, "a pilgrim upon earth." Through the penetrative imagination the child forgets himself and enters into the things about him, into the doings of Three Pigs or the adventures of Henny Penny.

(c) The contemplative imagination. This is that special phase of the imagination that gives to abstract being consistency and reality. Through the contemplative imagination the child gains the significance of meaning and discerns the true message of the tale. When merely external resemblance is caught, when the likeness is forced, and the image created believed in, we have fancy. The contemplative imagination interprets the past in the tale and relates it to the future. It shows what is felt by indicating some aspect of what is seen. Through the exercise of this power the child develops the capacity to see. This capacity has received a high estimate from Ruskin, who said, "Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, thousands can think for one who can see." For language-training the capacity to see gives that ability to image words which results in mental growth.

The labor of the spirit seeking the full message of the fairy tale, often is rewarded with bits of philosophy which are the essence of its personal wisdom. Even the Woman Suffragists of our day might be amused to find, in The Cat and Mouse in Partnership, this side-light on one of their claims. The Mouse said she did not know what to think of the curious names, Top-off, Half-Out, and All-Out, which the Cat had chosen. To which the Cat replied, "That is because you always stay at home. You sit here in your soft gray coat and long tail, and these foolish whims get into your head. It is always the way when one does not go out in the daytime." Sometimes the philosophy of the tale is expressed not at all directly. This is the case in Andersen's The Emperor's New Suit, a gem in story-telling art-more suited to the second grade-where the purpose of the story is veiled, and the satire or humor is conveyed through a very telling word or two.-"'I will send my old, honest minister to the weavers,' thought the Emperor. And the old, honest minister went to the room where the two swindlers sat working at empty looms. 'Heaven preserve me!' thought the old minister, opening his eyes wide. 'Why, I cannot see anything!'-But he did not say so." The entire tale is a concrete representation of one point; and the concreteness is so explicit that at the close of the story its philosophy easily forms itself into the implied message of worldly wisdom: People are afraid to speak truth concerning much through cowardice or through fear of acting otherwise than all the world. The philosophy underlying The Steadfast Tin Soldier is even finer as a bit of truth than the perfect art of the literary story: That what happens in life does not matter so much as the way you take it. The Tin Soldier always remained steadfast, no matter what happened. Kipling's Elephant's Child is more charming than ever when looked at from the standpoint of its philosophy. It might be interpreted as an allegory answering the question, "How should one get experience?" a theme which cannot be said to lack universal appeal. The Ugly Duckling is full of sayings of philosophy that contribute to its complete message. The Cat and the Hen to whom the duckling crept for refuge said, "We and the world," and could not bear a difference of opinion. "You may believe me," said the Hen, "because I tell you the truth. That is the way to tell your friends." Their treatment of the Duckling expressed the philosophy: "If you can't do what I can you're no good." The Hen said to him, "You have nothing to do, that's why you have such strange ideas." The Duckling expressed his philosophy by saying quietly, "You don't understand me."

These bits of philosophy often become compressed into expressions which to-day we recognize as proverbs. The words of the Mother Duck, "Into the water he goes if I have to kick him in," became a Scandinavian proverb. "A little bird told it," a common saying of to-day, appears in Andersen's Nightingale and in Thumbelina. But this saying is traceable at least to the third story of the fourth night in Straparola, translated by Keightley, The Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Beautiful Green Bird, in which the bird tells the King that his three guests are his own children. "Even a cat may look at a king," is probably traceable to some fairy tale if not to Puss-in-Boots. The philosophy in the fairy tales and the proverbs that have arisen in them, are subjects which offer to the adult much pleasure and fruitfulness.

But one must ask, "Does this philosophy appeal to the child? Is it not adult wisdom foreign to his immaturity?" The old folk-tales are the products of adult minds; but the adults were grown-ups that looked upon the world with the eyes of children, and their philosophy often was the philosophy of childhood. For childhood has its philosophy; but because it meets with repression on so many sides it usually keeps it to itself. When given freedom and self-activity and self-expression, the child's philosophy appears also. And it is the inner truth of the tale rather than the outer forms of sense and shapes of beauty which, when suited to the little child, appeals to this child-philosophy and makes the deepest impression upon him.

In the literary fairy tale there often appears a philosophy which is didactic and above and beyond the child's knowledge of the world. It remains a question how much this adult philosophy appeals to him. Although his tales were written for his grandchildren, so finished a telling of the tale as we find in Laboulaye, with its delightful hits of satire, appeals more to the grown-up versed in the ways of the world. But the sage remarks of worldly wisdom of Uncle Remus could not fail to impress a little boy: "Go where you will and when you may, and stay long ez you choosen ter stay, en right dar en den you'll sholy fin' dat folks what git full er consate en proudness is gwine ter git it tuck out 'm um."-Uncle Remus treated the little boy as if he was "pestered with sense, like grown-ups," and surely the little boy gained much amusement from sayings such as these: "If you know the man thab would refuse to take care of himself, I'd like mighty well if you'd point him out."-"Well, well," said Uncle Remus soothingly, "in deze low groun's er sorrer, you des got to lean back en make allowances fer all sorts er folks. You got ter low fer dem dat knows too much same ez dem what knows too little. A heap er sayin's en a heap er doin's in dis roun' worl' got ter be tuck on trus'."-The child does not get the full force of the philosophy but he gets what he can and that much sinks in.

It is through the contemplative imagination that the child realizes the meaning of particular tales. He learns: that Cinderella means that goodness brings its own reward; that Three Pigs means that the wise build with care and caution, with foresight; that Star Dollars means compassion for others and kindness to them; and that Red Riding Hood means obedience.

The power of the contemplative imagination is based on the indistinctness of the image. It suggests, too, the relation between cause and effect, which reason afterwards proves; and therefore it is a direct aid to science. In the tales there are expressed facts of truth symbolically clothed which science since then has discovered. And now that folk-lore is being studied seriously to unfold all it gives of an earlier life, perhaps this new study may reveal some new truths of science hidden in its depths. The marvels of modern shoe manufacture were prophesied in The Little Elves, and the power of electricity to hold fast was foretold in Dummling and his Golden Goose. The wonders of modern machinery appeared in the magic axe of Espen that hit at every stroke; and the miracle of modern canals sees a counterpart in the spring which Espen brought to the giant's boiling-pot in the wood. The magic sleep from which there was an awakening, even after a hundred years, may have typified hypnotism and its strange power upon man. These are realizations of some of the wonders of fairyland. But there may be found lurking in its depths many truths as yet undiscovered by science. Perhaps the dreams of primitive man may suggest to the present-day scientist new possibilities.-What primitive man has done in fancy present-day man can do in reality.

(3) A basis of truth. All fine emotional effects arise from truth. The tale must hold the mirror and show an image of life. It must select and combine facts which will suggest emotion but the facts must be a true expression of human nature. The tale, whether it is realistic in emphasizing the familiar, the commonplace, and the present, or romantic in emphasizing the strange, the heroic, and the remote, must be idealistic to interpret truly the facts of life by high ideals. If the tale has this basis of truth the child will gain, through his handling of it, a body of facts. This increases his knowledge and strengthens his intellect. And it is to be remembered that, for the child's all-round development, the appeal of literature to the intellect is a value to be emphasized equally with the appeal to the emotions and to the imagination. Speaking of the nature of the intellect in his essay on Intellect, Emerson has said: "We do not determine what we will think. We only open our senses, clear away as we can all obstruction from the fact, and suffer the intellect to see." Attention to the intellectual element in literature gives a power of thought. The consideration of the truth of the fairy tale aids the child to clear, definite thinking because the experience of the tale is ordered from a beginning, through a development, to a climax, and to a conclusion. It assists him to form conclusions because it presents results of circumstances and consequences of conduct. Continued attention to the facts, knowledge, and truth presented in the tales, helps the child to grow a sincerity of spirit. This leads to that love of actual truth, which is one of the armors of middle life, against which false opinion falls harmless.

(4) A form, more or less perfect. Form is the union of all the means which the writer employs to convey his thought and emotion to the reader. Flaubert has said, "Among all the expressions of the world there is but one, one form, one mode, to express what I want to say."-"Say what you have to say, what you have a will to say, in the simplest, the most direct and exact manner possible, with no surplusage," Walter Pater has spoken. Then the form and the matter will fit each other so perfectly there will be no unnecessary adornment.

In regard to form it is to be remembered that feeling is best awakened incidentally by suggestion. Words are the instruments, the medium of the writer. Words have two powers: the power to name what they mean, or denotation; and the power to suggest what they imply, or connotation. Words have the power of connotation in two ways: They may mean more than they say or they may produce emotional effect not only from meaning but also from sound. To make these two suggestive powers of words work together is the perfect art of Milton. Pope describes for us the relation of sound to sense in a few lines which themselves illustrate the point:-

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows.

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,

The hoarse, rough verse, should like the torrent roar.

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw.

The line too labors, and the words move slow:

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,

Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the main.

When a kindergarten child, the most timid one of a group, on listening to the telling of The Bremen Town Musicians, at the description of the Donkey and the Dog coming to the Cat, sitting in the road with a face "dismal as three rainy Sundays," chuckled with humor at the word "dismal," it was not because she knew the meaning of the word or the significance of "three rainy Sundays," but because the sounds of the words and the facial expression of the story-teller conveyed the emotional effect, which she sensed.

The connection between sound and action appears in Little Spider's First Web: The Fly said, "Then I will buzz"; the Bee said, "Then I will hum"; the Cricket said, "Then I will chirp"; the Ant said, "Then I will run to and fro"; the Butterfly said, "Then I will fly"; and the Bird said, "Then I will sing." The effect is produced here because the words selected are concrete ones which visualize. Repetitive passages in the tales often contribute this effect of sound upon meaning, as we find in The Three Billy-Goats Gruff: "Trip, trap; trip, trap! went the bridge as the youngest Billy-Goat Gruff came to cross the bridge." The sound of the words in this entire tale contributes largely to the meaning. The Troll roared and said, "Now I'm coming to gobble you up!" Usually the bits of rhyme interspersed throughout the tales, illustrate this contribution of sound to meaning; as in the Three Pigs:-

Then I'll huff,

And I'll puff,

And I'll blow your house in!

Especially is this the case in tales dignified by the cante-fable form; such as Grimm's Cinderella:-

Rustle and shake yourself, dear tree,

And silver and gold throw down to me!

Or in Little Two-Eyes:-

Little kid, bleat,

I wish to eat!

Or in The Little Lamb and the Little Fish:-

Ah, my brother, in the wood

A Iamb, now I must search for food!

The suggestive power of words to convey more than they mean, is produced, not only by the sounds contained in the words themselves, but also largely by the arrangement of the words and by the speech-tunes of the voice in speaking them. Kipling's Elephant's Child is a living example of the suggestive power of words. The "new, fine question" suggests that the Elephant's Child had a habit of asking questions which had not been received as if they were fine. "Wait-a-bit thorn-bush," suggests the Kolokolo Bird sitting alone on the bush in placid quiet. "And still I want to know what the crocodile has for dinner" implies that there had been enough spankings to have killed the curiosity, but contrary to what one would expect, it was living and active. When Kolokolo Bird said with a mournful cry, "Go to the banks of the great, grey-green, greasy Limpopo River," etc., the implication of mournful is, that there the Elephant's Child would have a sorry time of it. The expression, "dear families," which occurs so often, is full of delightful irony and suggests the vigorous treatment, anything but dear, which had come to the Elephant's Child from them.

Perfect form consists in the "ability to convey thought and emotion with perfect fidelity." The general qualities characteristic of perfect form, which have been outlined by Professor Winchester, in his Principles of Literary Criticism, are: (1) precision or clearness; (2) energy or force; (3) delicacy or emotional harmony; and (4) personality. Precision or clearness demands the precise value and meaning of words. It requires that words have the power of denotation. It appeals to the intellect of the reader or listener and demands that language be neither vague nor ambiguous nor obscure. Energy or force demands that perfect form have the quality of emotion. It requires that words have especially the power of connotation. It appeals to the emotions of the reader or listener and has the power to hold the attention. It demands of language that sympathy which will imply what it would suggest. Delicacy or emotional harmony demands that perfect form please the taste. It requires that an emotional harmony be secured by a selection and arrangement of the melody of words and of the emotional associations which, together with the meanings, are tied up in words. It demands that words have the power of perfect adaptation to the thought and feeling they express, that words have both the power of denotation and of connotation. It appeals to the ?sthetic sense of the reader or listener, it gives to form beauty and charm. Personality is the influence of the author, the charm of individuality, and suggests the character of the writer.

At the same time that perfect form is characterized by the general qualities of precision, energy, delicacy, and personality, as composition consisting of words, sentences, paragraphs, or large wholes, its elements must be controlled by certain main principles, which have been presented by Professor Barrett Wendell in English Composition. Perfect form cannot possess the four general qualities above mentioned unless its elements are controlled by these main principles. These are: (1) the principle of sincerity; (2) the principle of unity; (3) the principle of mass; and (4) the principle of coherence. Sincerity demands of perfect form that it be a just expression. Unity demands that every composition should group itself about a central idea. There must be one story, all incidents subordinated, one main course of action, one main group of characters, and one tone of feeling to produce an emotional effect. Variety of action must lead to one definite result and variety of feeling to one total impression. Unity demands that the tale must have a plan that is complete, with no irrelevant material, and that there must be a logical order and a climax. Mass demands that the chief parts of every composition should readily catch the eye. It maintains a harmonious proportion of all the parts. Coherence demands of any composition that the relation of each part to its neighbors should be unmistakable, and that the order, forms, and connections of the parts preserve this relation.

When form secures a perfect adaptation of the language to the thought and feeling expressed, it may be said to possess style, in a broad sense of the word. In a more detailed sense, when form is characterized by precision, energy, delicacy, and personality, and at the same time has the elements of its composition controlled by the principles of sincerity, unity, mass, and coherence, it is said to possess style. The fairy tale which is a classic characterized by that perfect form called style, will possess the general qualities of precision, energy, delicacy, and personality; and the elements of its structure, its words, its sentences, its paragraphs, will display a control of the principles of sincerity, unity, mass, and coherence.

A tale which well illustrates the literary form possible to the child's tale, which may be said to possess that perfection of form we call style, and which may be used with the distinct aim to improve the child's English and perfect his language expression, is the modern realistic fairy tale, Oeyvind and Marit.

Oeyvind and Marit is so entirely realistic as to be excluded here, but the talking rhymes which the Mother sings to Oeyvind bring in the fairy element of the talking animals. In the form of this tale, the perfect fidelity with which the words fit the meaning is apparent-nothing seems superfluous. When Oeyvind asked Marit who she was, she replied:-

"I am Marit, mother's little one, father's fiddle, the elf in the house, granddaughter of Ole Nordistuen of the Heidi farms, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights, I!"

And Oeyvind replied:-

"Are you really?"-and drew a long breath which he had not dared to do so long as she was speaking.

The story is full of instances illustrating precision, energy, and delicacy. In fact, almost any passage exemplifies the general qualities of form and the qualities of composition. The personality of the writer has given to the tale a poetic and dramatic charm of simplicity. Note the precision and delicacy displayed in the opening paragraph:-

Oeyvind was his name. A low barren cliff overhung the house in which he was born; fir and birch looked down on the roof, and wild cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon this roof there walked about a little goat, which belonged to Oeyvind. He was kept there that he might not go astray; and Oeyvind carried leaves and grass up to him. One fine day the goat leaped down, and away to the cliff; he went straight up and came where he never had been before.

Energy is apparent in the following passage:-

"Is it yours, this goat?" asked the girl again.

"Yes," he said, and looked up.

"I have taken such a fancy to the goat. You will not give it to me?"

"No, that I won't."

She lay kicking her legs and looking down at him, and then

she said, "But if I give you a butter-cake for the goat, can

I have him then?"

The justness of expression, the sincerity, is especially impressive when Oeyvind's Mother came out and sat down by his side when the goat no longer satisfied him and he wanted to hear stories of what was far away. There is emotional harmony too, because the words suggest the free freshness of the mountain air and the landscape which rose round about the Boy and his Mother.

So she told him how once everything could talk: "The mountain talked to the stream, and the stream to the river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky."-But then he asked if the sky did not talk to any one: "And the sky talked to the clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to the grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the animals, the animals to the children, the children to the grown-up people...." Oeyvind looked at the mountain, the trees, and the sky and had never seen them before.

There is delicacy or emotional harmony also in the Mother's song. When

Oeyvind asked, "What does the Cat say?" his Mother sang:-

At evening softly shines the sun.

The cat lies lazy on the stone.

Two small mice,

Cream, thick and nice,

Four bits of fish,

1 stole behind a dish,

And am so lazy and tired,

Because so well I have fared.

The unity is maintained through the central interest of the two

Children and the goat.

The tale is characterized by fairly good mass. As the story aims to portray a natural picture of child life, obviously it could not maintain a style of too great solidity and force, but rather would seek one of ease and naturalness. Mass, as shown in Oeyvind and Marit, appears in the following description of Oeyvind's play with the goat, after he first realized its return:-

He jumped up, took it by the two fore-legs, and danced with it as if it were a brother; he pulled its beard, and he was just going in to his mother with it, when he heard someone behind him; and looking, saw the girl sitting on the greensward by his side. Now he understood it all, and let go the goat.

The story of child-friendship is told in distinct little episodes which naturally connect. That unmistakable relation of the parts which is essential to coherence, appears in the following outline of the story:-

1. A new acquaintance; Oeyvind and Marit meet. The exchange of a goat for a cake. The departure of the goat. Marit sings to the goat. The return of the goat. Marit accompanies the goat.

2. New interests. The stories of what the animals say, told to

Oeyvind by his Mother. The first day of school.

3. An old acquaintance renewed: Oeyvind again meets Marit at

School.

The Children's love of the goat, the comradeship of Oeyvind and Marit, of Oeyvind and his Mother, and of Marit and her Grandfather, are elements which assist in producing coherence. The songs of Marit, and the songs and stories of Oeyvind's Mother, especially preserve the relation of parts. In the following paragraphs, which give distinct pictures, note the coherence secured internally largely by the succession of verbs denoting action and also by the denotation of the words.

When he came in, there sat as many children round a table as he had ever seen at church; others were sitting on their luncheon-boxes, which were ranged round the walls; some stood in small groups round a large printed card; the school-master, an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool by the chimney-corner, filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind and his mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had suddenly been turned off....

As he was going to find his seat, they all wanted to make room for him. He looked round a long time, while they whispered and pointed; he turned round on all sides, with his cap in his hand and his book under his arm....

Just as the boy is going to turn round to the school-master, he sees close beside him, sitting down by the hearthstone on a little red painted tub, Marit, of the many names; she had covered her face with both hands, and sat peeping at him through her fingers.

The imagination is appealed to continually through the simple concrete expressions which present an image; as, "He grew hot all over, looked around about, and called, 'Killy-killy-killy-goat!'"

The emotional element is distinct and pleasing and contributes to the total impression of admiration for the characters. We admire Oeyvind for his fondness for the goat and for his pain at losing it; for his dissatisfaction in keeping it after Marit returned it, though she wanted it; for his delight in his Mother's stories; and for his pleasure in Marit's friendship at school. We admire Marit for her appreciation of the beautiful goat; for her obedience to her Grandfather; for her sorrow at giving up the goat; for her generosity in giving the neck-chain with it; and for the childish comradeship she gave to Oeyvind. We admire the goat for his loyalty to his little master. We trust the Grandfather who trained Marit to be fair and courteous; who guarded her from the cliff; and who bought for her another goat. We have faith in the Mother who had feeling for the little goat her son bartered for a cake; and who had the wisdom to sing for her little boy and tell him stories when he was sorrowful and needed new interests.

Undoubtedly Oeyvind and Marit is a tale which conveys its thought clearly and makes you feel its feeling, and therefore may be said to possess style in a broad sense. In a particular sense, because its form is marked by the four general qualities: precision, energy, delicacy, and personality; and its elements are controlled by the principles of composition: sincerity, unity, mass, and coherence, it therefore may be said to possess style.

An old tale which has a literary form unusual in its approach to the perfect literary form, is the Norse, The Three Billy-Goats Gruff, told by Dasent in Tales from the Norse. Indeed after looking carefully at this tale one is tempted to say that, for perfection of style, some of the old folk-tales are not to be equaled. Note the simple precision shown in the very first paragraph:-

Once on a time there were three Billy-Goats, who were to go up to the hill-side to make themselves fat, and the name of all three was "Gruff."

Energy or force appeals to the emotions in the words of the tiny

Billy-Goat Gruff to the Troll:-

"Oh, no! pray don't take me. I'm too little, that I am,"

said the Billy-Goat; "wait a bit till the second Billy-Goat

Gruff comes, he's much bigger."

There is emotional harmony displayed in the second paragraph; the words used fit the ideas:-

On the way up was a bridge over a burn they had to cross; and under the bridge lived a great ugly Troll, with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker.

The quality of personality is best described, perhaps, by saying that the tale seems to have impersonality. Any charm of the story-tellers of the ages has entered into the body of the tale, which has become an objective presentment of a reality that concentrates on itself and keeps personality out of sight. The character of the tellers is shown however in the qualities of the tale. The charm of the primitive story-tellers has given the tale inimitable morning-dew freshness. This seems to result from a fine simplicity, a sprightly visualization, a quaint picturesqueness, a pleasing terseness, and an Anglo-Saxon vigor.

Sincerity is displayed in the words of the Troll and of the three

Billy-Goats. Note the sincerity of little Billy-Goat Gruff:-

"Oh! it is only I, the tiniest Billy-Goat Gruff; and I'm

going up to the hillside to make myself fat," said the

Billy-Goat, with such a small voice.

The unity in this tale is unusually good. The central idea which groups all the happenings in the tale is: Three Billy-Goats are crossing a bridge to go up to the hillside to make themselves fat. There are four characters, three Goats and the Troll. All that happens in the tale contributes to the one effect of a bridge going trip, trap! as a Goat crossed it on his way up the hillside; of a Troll roaring: "Who's that tripping over my bridge?" of the explanation of the Billy-Goat; of the answer of the Troll, "Now I'm coming to gobble you up"; and of the Billy-Goat's final petition. Unity is emphasized by the repetition in the tale, as the three Billy-Goats successively cross the bridge and reply to the Troll. The climax is the big Billy-Goat Gruff's tramp across the bridge.

This tale is characterized by perfect mass, the paragraphs always end with words that deserve distinction, and the sentences have their strongest words at the points where the eye would most readily see them; as, "But just then up came the big Billy-Goat Gruff." The coherence is fine, and is secured largely by the cumulative plan in a threefold sense. The relation of the parts is unmistakable. The similarity and contrast evident in the episodes of the three Billy-Goats makes this relation very clearly defined. To make doubly sure the end has been reached the tale concludes:-

Snip, snap, snout,

This tale's told out.

Let us examine the folk-tale generally as to its literary form. The folk-tale originally did not come from the people in literary form. The tale was first told by some nameless primitive man, who, returning from some adventure of everyday life, would narrate it to a group of his comrades. First told to astonish and interest, or to give a warning of the penalty of breaking Nature's laws, or to teach a moral lesson, or to raise a laugh, later it became worked up into the fabulous stories of gods and heroes. These fabulous stories developed into myth-systems, and these again into household tales. By constant repetition from one generation to another, incidents likely to happen in everyday life, which represented universal experiences and satisfied common needs of childhood, were selected and combined. These gradually assumed a form of simplicity and literary charm, partly because, just as a child insists on accuracy, savage people adhered strictly to form in repeating the tale, and because it is a law of permanence that what meets the universal need will survive. The great old folk-tales have acquired in their form a clearness and precision; for in the process of telling and re-telling through the ages all the episodes became clearly defined. And as irrelevant details dropped out, there developed that unity produced by one dominant theme and one dominant mood. The great old folk-tales, then, naturally acquired a good classic literary form through social selection and survival. But many of the tales as we know them have suffered either through translation or through careless modern retelling. Many of the folk-tales take on real literary form only through the re-treatment of a literary artist. Mrs. Steel, who has collected the Tales of the Punjab, tells how the little boys of India who seek to hold their listening groups will vary the incidents in a tale in different tellings, proving that the complete tale was not the original unit, but that single incidents are much more apt to retain their stock forms than plots. The combination we now have in a given tale was probably a good form once hit upon and thereafter transmitted.

Jacob (1785-1863) and William (1786-1859) Grimm, both fine scholars, incapable of any but good work, did not undertake to put the tale into literary form suited to children. They were interested in preserving folk-lore records for scientific purposes. And we must distinguish between the tale as a means of reflecting the ideals of social and religious life, of displaying all the genius of primitive man for science to interpret, and the tale as a means of pleasing and educating the child. The Grimms obtained most of their tales from the lips of people in Hesse and Hanau, Germany. They were very fortunate in securing many of the tales they were thirteen years in collecting, from an old nurse, Frau Vichmannin, the wife of a cowherd, who lived at Niederzwehrn, near Cassel, who told her story with exactness and never changed anything in repeating. Grimm himself said, "Our first care was faithfulness to the truth. We strove to penetrate into the wild forests of our ancestors, listening to their noble language, watching their pure customs, recognizing their ancient freedom and hearty faith." The Grimms sought the purity of a straightforward narration. They were against reconstruction to beautify and poetize the legends. They were not opposed to a free appropriation for modern and individual purposes. They kept close to the original, adding nothing of circumstance or trait, but rendering the stories in a style and language and development of detail which was their own literary German.

Perrault (1628-1703) had taken the old tales as his son, Charles, a lad of ten or twelve, told them. The father had told them to the son as he had gathered them up, intending to put them into verse after the manner of La Fontaine. The lad loved the stories and re-wrote them from memory for his father with such charming na?veté that the father chose the son's version in preference to his own, and published it. But the tales of Perrault, nevertheless, show the embellishment of the mature master-Academician's touch in subduing the too marvelous tone, or adding a bit of court manners, or a satirical hit at the vanity and failings of man.

Dasent (1820-96) has translated the Norse tales from the original collection of Asbj?rnsen and Moe. Comrades from boyhood to manhood, scholar and naturalist, these two together had taken long walks into the secluded peasant districts and had secured the tales from the people of the dales and fells, careful to retain the folk-expressions. Dasent, with the instinct, taste, and skill of a true scholar, has preserved these tales of an honest manly race, a race of simple men and women, free and unsubdued. He has preserved them in their folk-language and in their true Norse setting. Harris (1848-1908) has given his tales in the dialect of Uncle Remus. Jacobs (1854-) has aimed to give the folk-tales in the language of the folk, retaining nurses' expressions, giving a colloquial and romantic tone which often contains what is archaic and crude. He has displayed freedom with the text, invented whole incidents, or completed incidents, or changed them. His object has been to fill children's imaginations with bright images. Andrew Lang (1844-1912) has given the tale mainly to entertain children. He has accepted translations from many sources and has given a straightforward narration. He has collected fairy tales indefatigably in his rainbow Fairy Books, but they are not always to be recommended for children.

Andersen (1805-75), like Perrault, made his tale for the child as an audience, and he too has put the tale into literary form. Andersen's tale is not the old tale, but an original creation, a number of which are based on old folk-material. Preserving the child's point of view, Andersen has enriched his language with a mastery of perfection and literary style. And the "mantle of Andersen" has, so far, fallen on no one.

To-day it is to be questioned if the child should be given the tale in nurses' talk. To-day children are best cared for by mothers who feel ignorant if they cannot tell their children stories, and who, having an appreciation of their mother English, want their children to hear stories, not only told by themselves rather than by their servants, but also told in the best literary form possible. They recognize that these earliest years, when the child is first learning his language, are the years for a perfection of form to become indelibly impressed. The fairy tale, like every piece of literature, is an organism and "should be put before the youngest child with its head on, and standing on both feet." The wholesale re-telling of every tale is to be deplored. And stories which have proved themselves genuine classics, which have a right to live, which have been handed down by tradition, which have been preserved by folk-lore records, and which have been rescued from oblivion,-in this age of books should have a literary form, which is part of their message, settled upon them. The Grimm tales await their literary master.