A little maid of three had been having her first birthday party. Light and music and romping games and many gifts had filled the afternoon with unexperienced delights for the child. She was trembling with delight, on tiptoe with excitement when the children marched out to the dining-room and were seated about the beautifully laid, rose-strewn table. At a signal the curtains were drawn and the children were told to be silent and close their eyes for a space. There was a vibrant hush, a space of time passed, then one child after another raised her head and opened her eyes. The room was still darkened, but in the center of the table had been placed the huge, white birthday cake surrounded by a wreath of flowers; the only light was the starry shining of three white candles on the top. The little birthday child looked in wonder. Then she drew a long breath and said in a whisper, “Nearer, my God, to Thee.”
No one quite understood the little one. It seemed to have been a vagary, a precocity on her part. It was an unusual manifestation, but quite explainable as we grew to realize the inspirational possibilities of the Montessori silence.
When it is not possible, because we are dealing with an isolated child, to put into practice the game of silence as it is used in the Children’s Houses, we can still lead the child to know and feel silence. A quiet hour in the twilight after the work and play of the daytime are over, a trip to some still, lovely spot in the woods, a few moments spent in the hushed interior of a church, will remain as reposeful memories in the life of the child. More than repose, even, they may be inspirational, as, shut away from the noise and activity of the world, the child is able to hear the call of his own spirit.
We all know and love Bastien-Lepage’s painting of the maid, Jeanne d’Arc, listening to the voices in her garden. The grass dotted with flowers, the bending apple tree, the other homely surroundings of the humble home that were all Jeanne had known, fade away as the voice of the prophetic soul speaks to her; as she sees the vision of herself, the saviour of France.
Jeanne d’Arc was only thirteen when she began to hear the voice of her spirit.
Millet, as a boy, saw nature with his spirit eyes. He showed his father colors playing over the rough sod of his home fields which no one else could see. Rousseau, in boyhood, declared that he was able to converse with his beloved trees and they told him the secrets of their beauty. Samuel was only a very little boy when he heard and interpreted his Master’s voice. The boy Christ heard a message that he was able to carry to the doctors.
May we not give our little ones an opportunity to step across the threshold of the present into that great silence which begins life and also ends it, and which is melodious for those who are trained to listen?
THE END