vulgar tunes are routed before them, and they no longer relish anything else.

And if we buy them a Menuet of Chopin, we teach them how to keep the stamp of their own personality and not attempt to change colors — that is, if we explain to them that Chopin begins his music and ends it with one stamp and one color.

And if you wish, let there be, along with the Menuet, some of the easy "waltzes," so that we train them to follow the composer's idea through all its stages, especially with Chopin, where it has kept its true color. A child cares about what the great do, for there is in his soul an inborn love of imitating them. And in this field — the field of music — there is a double benefit for the little ones, for they come to understand music little by little. And if we join this explanation to a few remarks about the composers, we increase their eagerness, for words about the musician — a living being — strike differently from words about music. This is a novel way of endearing music to the little ones.

Tell them that Mozart played his famous "sonata" for the first time when he was six years old, and they will long to hear it, and it will fix itself quickly in their minds. Or tell them that Chopin showed his genius when he was ten years old, when he astonished his teacher: the teacher came one day into the music room and heard him playing something the teacher had never heard at all. He said to him: Whose piece is this, Frédéric?

He answered: Guess, master!

And he played it over again. The teacher tried once more.

Chopin answered: If you will

permit me, master — it is mine. This is an encouraging example for children, that they may stay humble however far their genius reaches — knowing that pride kills talents while they are still in the cradle.

And who can tell the effect of these pieces? Even if they did nothing in them but widen their horizons toward a new world of which they had known nothing! Our child is molded, from his earliest years, to flee from his reality, because his reality is painful and sad. If the advancement of countries were measured by the quantity of toys bought, we should carry off the palm of victory; but if we measure our country by the standard of the advanced nations, and pass, at feast time, by the bookshops or the music stores — then we are still at the rear of the caravan.

Let us teach them how to face life as Beethoven faced it; let us arm them with hardiness and strength while they are small, and so make them like the great.

It is all very fine to say to a child: your late grandfather was brave and daring, and your late grandmother was clever and energetic — but their grandfather and grandmother are something ordinary and near at hand to them. Whereas if you say to your child: be diligent and strive, as in the story of Mozart I told you yesterday — he knows that Mozart rose high, and therefore he too can strive to reach the like; and this striving breeds in him a desire to listen to his music. Thus we shall have hit two birds with one stone.

This is some of the feast's inspiration. May we all profit by it, and profit our children. And may its inspiration be a new opening for us and for our little ones.

Freedom
What ails him, glum and sorrowful, my gaily-painted goldfinch,
echoing his song like a wail?
Is he embittered, I wonder, by the anguish of deprivation:
the open wastes no stage for his fancies,
nor the green boughs a resting place for his feet,
nor the brims of the pools a pasture for his dreams!
At times he puts on a brave face...
and darts away... a flutter and a dance.
Then he shies back in wariness,
and coquets with a lesser wing — oh, the loveliness of that wing!
And he settles on the swing — a handful of cloud dyed in light —
and falls to singing and shrilling, till the whole quarter chants with him!
And he almost makes me believe he is happy and content,
... were it not for a flicker of sorrow on his eyelid!
Alas for you, my beguiled goldfinch!
How stupid I was, to take your burning for warbling!
I heaped about you the delights most craved,
out of excess of fondness,
and with gilding I striped your walls,
so that gaiety might spread through my air...
Oh, my selfishness! Oh, my impiety!
Tomorrow, my goldfinch, with the dawn,
I shall throw the door of your little cage wide open,
and grant you your freedom!
That I may be sure, as you spring forth in a rush,
that there is in your eyes something other than gloom,
and in your song something other than wailing.
And I shall miss you on the feast day...
But my happiness — if only you knew —
comes of your freedom!
Aphrodite
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