This was certainly a beautiful triumph for our method!
This experience shows that it is possible to educate the child's _muscular sense_, and it shows how exquisite the refinement of this sense may be as it develops in relation to the _muscular memory_, and side by side with the other forms of sensory memory.
The only entirely successful experiments which we have made so far in the "Children's Houses" are those of the _clock_, and of the _lowered_ or whispered _voice_. The trial is purely empirical, and does not lend itself to the measuring of the sensation, but it is, however, most useful in that it helps us to an approximate knowledge of the child's auditory acuteness.
The exercise consists in calling attention, when perfect silence has been established, to the ticking of the clock, and to all the little noises not commonly audible to the ear. Finally we call the little ones, one by one from an adjoining room, pronouncing each name in a low voice. In preparing for such an exercise it is necessary to _teach_ the children the real meaning of _silence_.
Toward this end I have several _games_ of _silence_, which help in a surprising way to strengthen the remarkable discipline of our children.
I call the children's attention to myself, telling them to see how silent I can be. I assume different positions; standing, sitting, and maintain each pose _silently, without movement_. A finger moving can produce a noise, even though it be imperceptible. We may breathe so that we may be heard. But I maintain _absolute_ silence, which is not an easy thing to do. I call a child, and ask him to do as I am doing. He adjusts his feet to a better position, and this makes a noise! He moves an arm, stretching it out upon the arm of his chair; it is a noise. His breathing is not altogether silent, it is not tranquil, absolutely unheard as mine is.
During these manoeuvres on the part of the child, and while my brief comments are followed by intervals of immobility and silence, the other children are watching and listening. Many of them are interested in the fact, which they have never noticed before; namely, that we make so many noises of which we are not conscious, and that there are _degrees of silence_. There is an absolute silence where nothing, _absolutely nothing_ moves. They watch me in amazement when I stand in the middle of the room, so quietly that it is really as if "I were not." Then they strive to imitate me, and to do even better. I call attention here and there to a foot that moves, almost inadvertently. The attention of the child is called to every part of his body in an anxious eagerness to attain to immobility.