Trilbyana Part 4

JAMES S. METCALFE,

Editor and Manager _Life's Monthly Calendar_."

The Songs in "Trilby"

Dr. Thomas Dunn English wrote the words of "Ben Bolt" in New York, in 1842, when he was a young man of three-and-twenty. Mr. N. P. Willis had asked him to write a sea-song for _The New Mirror_, and so he wound up the last stanza with an allusion to "the salt-sea gale!" As a sea-song, "Ben Bolt" is not a success; but it has been sung on every sea and in every land where the English tongue is spoken. At Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in 1848, an English journalist named Hunt quoted the words (from a defective memory) to Nelson Knea.s.s, who was attached to the local theatre; and, adapted by Knea.s.s to a German melody, the song, in a somewhat garbled version, was introduced in a play called "The Battle of Buena Vista." In Helen Kendrick Johnson's "Our Familiar Songs, and Those Who Made Them" (Henry Holt & Co., 1881), the story of its vogue in England as well as in America is told effectively. Not only were ships and steam-boats named in its honor, but a play was built upon its suggestions, and as recently as in 1877 an English novelist made the memories evoked by the singing of the song a factor in the development of his catastrophe. Its revival at the hand of Mr. du Maurier is the latest and perhaps the most striking tribute to its hold upon the popular heart. To the author himself--in his ripe old age a member of the LIIId Congress--its fame is seemingly a bore, for he is quoted as saying:--"I am feeling very well and enjoying life as well as an old man can, but this eternal 'Ben Bolt' business makes me so infernally weary at times that existence becomes a burden. The other night, at a meeting of a medical a.s.sociation at my home in Newark, some one proposed that all hands join in singing 'Ben Bolt,' whereupon I made a rush for the door, and came very near forgetting the proprieties by straightway leaving home. However, I recovered my equilibrium and rejoined my friends. I don't think that General Sherman ever grew half so tired of 'Marching Through Georgia' as I have of that creation of mine, and it will be a blessed relief to me when the public shall conclude to let it rest."

Apropos of the use made of the song in "Trilby," _Harper's Bazar_ published the words and music; whereupon the author sent this letter to the editor:--

"It is very pleasing to an old man like myself to have the literary work of a half-century since dragged to light and commended, as has been the case with 'Ben Bolt' of late. I was flattered by seeing my likeness--or, rather, the likeness of a younger man than myself--in your pages; but I must protest against some errors which, in spite of careful editing, enter into your transcription of the song. The words of the original were:--

'Don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook in the running brook, Where the children went to swim?'

"This has been changed in the song, as usually sung, to read:--

'With the master so kind and so true.

And the little nook by the clear-running brook, Where we gathered the flowers as they grew?'

"You have copied this, but in a better shape, with the exception of changing the rhythm. I must protest against this change, because the school-masters of between sixty and seventy years since were, to my memory, 'cruel and grim'; they were neither kind nor true. They seemed to think the only way to get learning into a boy's head was by the use of the rod. There may have been exceptions, but I never met them. At all events, 'what I have written I have written.'"

BEN BOLT

I

Oh, don't you remember, Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?

Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown, Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at your frown!

In the old churchyard, in the valley, Ben Bolt, In a corner obscure and alone, They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray.

And Alice lies under the stone!

II

Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt, Which stood at the foot of the hill, Together we've lain in the noon-day shade, And listened to Appleton's mill.

The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, The rafters have tumbled in, And a quiet that crawls round the walls as you gaze, Has followed the olden din.

III

Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, At the edge of the pathless wood, And the b.u.t.ton-ball tree with its motley limbs, Which nigh by the door-step stood?

The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, The tree you would seek in vain; And where once the lords of the forest waved, Grows gra.s.s and the golden grain.

IV

And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook in the running brook, Where the children went to swim?

Gra.s.s grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, The spring of the brook is dry, And of all the boys who were schoolmates then, There are only you and I.

V

There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, They have changed from the old to the new; But I feel in the depths of my spirit the truth, There never was change in you.

Twelve-months twenty have past, Ben Bolt, Since first we were friends--yet I hail Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth, Ben Bolt, of the salt-sea gale!

TO THE EDITORS OF THE CRITIC:--

In your columns of "Trilbyana" I have seen no mention of the fact that George W. Cable, in his "Dr. Sevier"--a thousand times better novel and better work, in every way, than "Trilby,"--has introduced the old song "Ben Bolt" with wonderful effect. It is strange that the old melody should have appealed to the two men, so widely apart, and it is but fair that the American's first, and most skilful, use of it should have due recognition.

PHILADELPHIA.

JOHN PATTERSON.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE CRITIC:--

Du Maurier says that there is but one verse of the little French song, which Trilby sings with so much effect--"Au clair de la lune." He mistakes; there is another, running thus:--

"Je n'ouvrirai pas la porte, J'ouvre bien la porte, a un vieux savetier, a un patissier, * * * * * Qui m'apporte des brioches * * * * Dans un tablier."

The two missing lines have escaped the memory of the writer.

AUBURN, N. Y.

S. M. c.o.x.

Your correspondent, S. M. c.o.x, offers some more verses of "Mon Ami Pierrot." They do not quite agree with those taught me, shortly after the Revolution of 1848, by an old French gentleman. You will notice that the French of the last verse is quite "eighteenth-century" in style and diction.

II III

Je n'ouvre pas ma porte Mais j'ouvre bien ma porte a des savetiers, a des officiers, Ils ont des alenes, Ils ont des pistoles, C'est pour me piquer. C'est pour me les bailler.

PARIS, 1 Jan., 1895. B. F.

Mr. du Maurier was correct in saying that there is only one verse of "Au Clair de la Lune"; yet there are possibly, and probably, a thousand made in imitation of it, which go to the same air. We quote from the San Francisco _Argonaut_:--

"It is to be observed that these _amateurs de Trilby_ do not go the length of singing 'Au Clair de la Lune,' even repeating the first stanza twice, as Trilby did. But perhaps they are as ignorant concerning the song as is Mr. du Maurier, who declares there is but one verse. There are four. The first is given in 'Trilby' thus:--

'Au clair de la lune, Ma chandelle est morte....

Mon ami Pierrot! Je n'ai plus de feu!

Prete-moi ta plume Ouvre-moi ta porte Pour ecrire un mot. Pour l'amour de Dieu!'

The second runs:--