If the teacher is sufficiently cautious, she can discover without disturbing the children the moment when they have caught a new tune; and even if only a few succeed in following both of the first two melodies, the teacher can satisfy these few by alternating the tunes. This does not disturb the others who come, little by little, to notice the change in the music and to fall in with the new movement. In a public kindergarten at Perugia an attempt of this nature was made without warning by a lady, who, being a visitor, felt free to take this liberty. The children were invited into the large hall and left to themselves while the lady was playing on the piano our third melody, a march. The older children caught the movement at once. After they had been marching for some time a galop was played. Some hesitation appeared in a few pupils while others apparently were not aware of the change in the music. Suddenly two or three began to run, as though swept away by the rhythmic wave, as though borne along by the music. They hardly seemed to touch that floor to which, but a few moments previously, the march seemed to have glued them at every step! A portion of the children in this class had taken seats in the sloping auditorium around the room. They were the youngest children; and when the victorious charge broke out to the tune of the galop, they began to clap their hands enthusiastically. Some of the teachers felt alarmed, but certainly the spectacle was an inspiring one.
It follows that if we are to tell the children to "hop," "run," or "march," there is no use in our giving them music. We must take our choice: either music or commands. Even in our reading lessons with the slips, we do not tell the child the word that he must read. We must do without commands, without false accentuation of notes, without enforced positions. Music, if it be in reality an expressive language, suggests everything to children if they are left to themselves. Rhythmic interpretation of the musical thought is expressed by the attitude and movement of body and spirit.
Nannina, a girl four years old, would gracefully spread her skirt, and relax her arms along her body. She would bend her knees slightly, throw her head back and turning her pretty little face to one side, smile at those behind her as though extending her amiability in all directions.
Beppino, four and a half years old, stood with his feet together motionless at the center of the ellipse drawn on the floor, on which the children were walking. He beat the time of the first tune with an outstretched arm, bowing from the waist in perfectly correct form at every measure. The time consumed in this bow of Beppino exactly filled the interval between one thesis and the next and was in perfect accord with the movement of the tune.
Nannina, the same pretty girl we mentioned above, always grew stiff when a military march was played; she would frown and walk heavily.
On the other hand, the intervention of the teacher to give some apposite lesson, tending to perfect certain movements, is something which gives the children extraordinary delight. Five of our little girls embraced each other rapturously and smothered the teacher with kisses when they had learned a few new movements of a rhythmic dance.
Otello, Vincenzino and Teresa had been taught to get a better effect from their tambourines, their steps and gestures. Each of them thanked the teacher for the profitable lesson in a special way. Vincenzino gave her a beaming smile whenever he marched past her; Teresa would furtively touch her with her hand; Otello was even more demonstrative—as he went by her he would leave the line, run to her and embrace her for a second or two.
If the spontaneity of every child has been respected; if, in other words, every child has been able to grow in his or her own way, listening to the tunes, following them with the footsteps and with free movements—interpreting them; if each child has been able to penetrate, without being disturbed by any one, into the heart of the beautiful fact which the understanding of music constitutes; then it is easy for the teacher who has forty children (between three and five and a half years of age) only one assistant, and preferably perhaps a whole apartment instead of a closed room, to sit down at the piano and teach eight children a long and intricate dance,—the lanciers in five parts. And then just like the orchestra leader who has prepared his pupils, the teacher with a minimum of effort gets the very effect in dancing, etc., which teachers generally are so anxious to obtain. Then we can get marches, counter marches, simultaneous movements, alternate movements, interweaving lines,—anything in fact, that we wish, and with perfect accuracy besides; since every movement in the children corresponds exactly with the development of the tune.
For instance, the children are marching two by two, holding each other's hand, during the playing of a short tune. At the end of this melody they slowly kneel, but in such a way that on the sound of the last note they are touching the floor very gently with their knees. There is something sweet about the accuracy and the perfect simultaneousness attained by the children, under the guidance of the tune. The effect of these exercises on them is to bring repose to their whole body and a sense of peace to their little souls.
On one occasion in a school just opened in Milan, 1908, the children re-acted to the piano by jumping about in confusion, waving their arms, moving their shoulders and legs. This was really an attempt to represent by a sort of chaos the complexity of the rhythmic movements they were hearing. They were actually making, without any assistance from others, a spontaneous attempt at musical interpretation. They soon grew tired of this, saying that "the thing was ugly." They had, however, divined the possibilities of an orderly motory action; and when they had become quiet again, they began to listen to the music with great interest waiting for the revelation of its deep secret. Then suddenly they began to walk again, this time regularly and according to the real measure.