Essays in the Study of Folk-Songs (1886) Part 19

"To whom leavest thou thy cross and the stones of thy necklace?" "The cross I leave to my mother; surely she will pray for me; she will not care to have the stones, thou canst keep them--if to another thou givest them, better than I, let her adorn herself with them." "Thy substance, to whom leavest thou?" "To thee, my husband; G.o.d grant it may profit thee." "To whom leavest thou thy son, that he may be well brought up?" "To thy mother, and may it please G.o.d that he should make himself loved of her." "Not to that dog," cries the husband, his eyes at last opened, "she might well kill him. Leave him rather to thy mother, who will bring him up well; she will know how to wash him with her tears, and she will take the coif from her head to swaddle him."

A strange, wild Roumanian song, translated by Mr C. F. Keary (_Nineteenth Century_, No. lxviii.), closes with a list of "gifts" of the same character:

"But mother, oh mother, say how Shall I speak, and what name call him now?"

"My beloved, my step-son, My heart's love, my cherished one."

"And her, O my mother, what word Shall I give her, what name?"

"My step-daughter, abhorred, The whole world's shame."

"Then, my mother, what shall I take him?

What gift shall I make him?"

"A handkerchief fine, little daughter, Bread of white wheat for thy loved one to eat, And a gla.s.s of wine, my daughter."

"And what shall I take _her_, little mother,

What gift shall I make _her_?"

"A kerchief of thorns, little daughter; A loaf of black bread for her whom he wed, And a cup of poison, my daughter."

Before parting with "Lord Ronald" it should be noticed that the song clearly travelled in song-shape, not simply as a popular tradition; and that its different adaptators have been still more faithful to the shape than to the substance. It is not so easy to decide whether the victim was originally a child or a lover, whether the north or the south has preserved the more correct version. Some crime of the middle ages may have been the foundation of the ballad; on the other hand it is conceivable that it formed part of the enormous acc.u.mulation of literary odds and ends brought to Europe from the east, by pilgrims and crusaders. Stories that, as we know them, seem distinctly mediaeval, such as Boccaccio's "Falcon," have been traced to India.

If a collection were made of the ballads now sung by no more widely extended cla.s.s than the three thousand ballad singers inscribed in the last census of the North-Western Provinces and Oude, what a priceless boon would not be conferred upon the student of comparative folk-lore!

We cannot arrive at a certainty even in regard to the minor question of whether Lord Ronald made his appearance first in England or in Italy. The English and Italian songs bear a closer affinity to each other than is possessed by either towards the Swedish variant.

Supposing the one to be directly derived from the other--a supposition which in this case does not seem improbable--the Italian was most likely the original. There was a steady migration into England of Italian literature, literate and probably also illiterate, from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. The English ballad-singers may have been as much on the look-out for a new, orally communicated song from foreign parts, as Chaucer was for a poem of Petrarch's or a tale of Boccaccio's.

II.--THE THEFT OF A SHROUD.

The ballad with which we have now to deal has had probably as wide a currency as that of "Lord Ronald." The student of folk-lore recognises at once, in its evident fitness for local adaptation, its simple yet terrifying motive, and the logical march of its events, the elements that give a popular song a free pa.s.s among the peoples.

M. Allegre took down from word of mouth and communicated to the late Damase Arbaud a Provencal version, which runs as follows:

His scarlet cape the Prior donned, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

His scarlet cape the Prior donned, And all the souls in Paradise With joy and triumph fill the skies.

His sable cape the Prior donned, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

His sable cape the Prior donned, And all the spirits of the dead Fast tears within the graveyard shed.

Now, Ringer, to the belfry speed, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Now, Ringer, to the belfry speed, Ring loud, to-night thy ringing tolls An office for the dead men's souls.

Ring loud the bell of good St John: Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Ring loud the bell of good St John: Pray all, for the poor dead; aye pray, Kind folks, for spirits pa.s.sed away.

Soon as the midnight hour strikes, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Soon as the midnight hour strikes, The pale moon sheds around her light, And all the graveyard waxeth white.

What seest thou, Ringer, in the close?

Ding dong, dong ding dong!

What seest thou, Ringer, in the close?

"I see the dead men wake and sit Each one by his deserted pit."

Full thousands seven and hundreds five, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Full thousands seven and hundreds five, Each on his grave's edge, yawning wide, His dead man's wrappings lays aside.

Then leave they their white winding-sheets, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Then leave they their white winding-sheets, And walk, accomplishing their doom, In sad procession from the tomb.

Full one thousand and hundreds five, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Full one thousand and hundreds five, And each one falls upon his knees Soon as the holy cross he sees.

Full one thousand and hundreds five, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Full one thousand and hundreds five Arrest their footsteps, weeping sore When they have reached their children's door.

Full one thousand and hundreds five, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Full one thousand and hundreds five Turn them aside and, listening, stay Whene'er they hear some kind soul pray.

Full one thousand and hundreds five, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Full one thousand and hundreds five, Who stand apart and groan bereft, Seeing for them no friends are left.

But soon as ever the white c.o.c.k stirs, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

But soon as ever the white c.o.c.k stirs, They take again their cerements white, And in their hands a torch alight.

But soon as ever the red c.o.c.k crows, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

But soon as ever the red c.o.c.k crows, All sing the Holy Pa.s.sion song, And in procession march along.

But soon as the gilded c.o.c.k doth shine, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

But soon as the gilded c.o.c.k doth shine, Their hands and their two arms they cross, And each descends into his foss.

'Tis now the dead men's second night, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Tis now the dead men's second night: Peter, go up to ring; nor dread If thou shouldst chance to see the dead.

"The dead, the dead, they fright me not,"

Ding dong, dong ding dong!

"The dead, the dead, they fright me not, --Yet prayers are due for the dead, I ween, And due respect should they be seen."

When next the midnight hour strikes, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

When next the midnight hour strikes, The graves gape wide and ghastly show The dead who issue from below.

Three diverse ways they pa.s.s along, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Three diverse ways they pa.s.s along, Nought seen but wan white skeletons Weeping, nought heard but sighs and moans.

Down from the belfry Peter came, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Down from the belfry Peter came, While still the bell of good St John Gave forth its sound: barin, baron.

He carried off a dead man's shroud, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

He carried off a dead man's shroud; At once it seemed no longer night, The holy close was all alight.

The holy Cross that midmost stands, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

The holy Cross that midmost stands Grew red as though with blood 'twas dyed, And all the altars loudly sighed.

Now, when the dead regained the close, Ding dong, dong ding dong!

Now, when the dead regained the close --The Holy Pa.s.sion sung again-- They pa.s.sed along in solemn train.