Besides the strong thread of truth and the work of the swift-glancing shuttle of imagination, the woven fabric of the literary master must show a beauteous pattern or form. The melody and music of poetry spring from a rhythmic form. Apparently stiff and formal, it is yet the consensus of critics that only through this channel can the soul of truth and beauty escape from the poet, and manifest itself to others. Says George Willis Cooke, "The poet worships at the triple shrine of beauty, love, and truth; and his mission is to teach men that all other objects and places of veneration are but faint imitations of this one form of faith." But the spirit of this worship can best embody itself in the poetic form.
Schlegel, in his "Dramatic Art and Literature" (p. 340), says:—
"The works of genius cannot therefore be permitted to be without form; but of this there is no danger.... [Some] critics ... interpret it [form] merely in a mechanical, and not in an organical sense.... Organical form, again, is innate; it unfolds itself from within, and acquires its determination contemporaneously with the perfect development of the germ. We everywhere discover such forms in nature throughout the whole range of living powers, from the crystallization of salts and minerals to plants and flowers, and from these again to the human body. In the fine arts, as well as in the domain of nature,—the supreme artist,—all genuine forms are organical, that is, determined by the quality of the work. In a word, the form is nothing but a significant exterior, the speaking physiognomy of each thing, which, as long as it is not disfigured by any destructive accident, gives a true evidence of its hidden essence."
Some products, like the "Paradise Lost," "Thanatopsis," and "Hamlet," show such a perfect fitness of form to thought that every effort to change or modify is profanation. The classic form and thought go together. As far as possible, therefore, it is desirable to leave these creations in their native strength, and not to mar the work of masters. The poet has moulded his thought and feeling into these forms and transfused them with his own imagery and individuality. The power of the writer is in his peculiar mingling of the poetic elements. Our English and American classics, therefore, should be read in their original form as far as possible.
A fixed form is not always necessary. We need many of the stories and epics that were written in other languages. Fortunately some of the works of the old poets are capable of taking on a new dress. The story of Ulysses has been told in verse and prose, in translation, paraphrase, and simple narrative for children. Much, indeed of the old beauty and original strength of the poem is lost in all these renderings; but the central truths which give the poetic work its persistent value are still retained. Such a poem is like a person; the underlying thought, though dressed up by different persons with varying taste and skill, is yet the same; the same heart beats beneath the kingly robes and the peasant's frock. Robinson Crusoe has had many renderings, but remains the same old story in spite of variations. The Bible has been translated into all modern tongues, but it is a classic in each. The Germans claim they have as good a Shakespeare as we.
But many of the best masterpieces were originally written in other languages, and to be of use to us the ancient form of thought must be broken. The spirit of the old masters must be poured into new moulds. In educating our children we need the stories of Bellerophon, Perseus, Hercules, Rustum, Tell, Siegfried, Virginius, Roland, Wallace, King Arthur. Happily some of the best modern writers have come to our help. Walter Scott, Macaulay, Dickens, Kingsley, Hawthorne, Irving, and Arnold have gathered up the old wine and poured it into new bottles. They have told the old stories in simple Anglo-Saxon for the boys and girls of our homes and schools. Nor are these renderings of the old masters lacking in that element of fancy and vigor of expression which distinguishes fertile writers. They have entered freely and fondly into the old spirit, and have allowed it to pour itself copiously through these modern channels. It takes a poet, in fact, to modernize an ancient story. There are, indeed, many renderings of the old stories which are not ideal, which, however, we sometimes use for lack of anything better.
From the preceding discussion we may conclude that a choice piece of literature must embody a lasting truth, reveal the permeating glow of an artist's imagination, and find expression in some form of beauty. But these elements are so mingled and interlaced, so organically grown into one living plant, that even the critics have given up the effort to dissect and isolate them.
There are other strength-conferring qualities in good literature which will be discussed more fully in those chapters which deal with the particular literary materials selected for use in the schools.
Among the topics to be treated in connection with materials which illustrate them, are the following: the strong handling of essential historical ideas in literature; the best novel and drama, as sources and means of culture; religious ideals as embodied in the choicest forms of literature; the powerful patriotic and social influence of the best writers; the educative quality of the humorous phases of literature; the great writers as models of skill and enthusiasm in teaching.
In the foregoing pages the significance of literature among great studies has been but briefly and inadequately suggested by these few quotations and comments. It would be easy to multiply similar testimony from the most competent judges. But enough has been said to remind teachers of this rich treasure house of educative materials. Those teachers who wish to probe deeper into this subject will find that it has been handled in a masterly way by some of the great essayists and critics. We will suggest the following for more elaborate study:—