_HISTORIES._
A fresh wreath of crimson roses
Round my forehead twine will I;
I will wear them for a garland,
Wear them till the day I die.
I desire that in my coffin
May be room enough for three;
For my father, for my mother,
And my love to lie with me.
Afterwards above the coffin
We will let a flower grow;
In the morning we will plant it,
In the evening it will blow.
Wayfarers will pause demanding,
"Whose may be the flower there?"
"'Tis the flower of Rosetina,
She who died of love's despair."
_Round of Girls in Venice._
No. 11.
_Miss Jennia Jones._
This childish drama has been familiar in the Middle States since the
memory of the oldest inhabitant. The Scotch equivalent shows that the
heroine's name was originally _Jenny jo_. "Jo" is an old English word
for sweetheart, probably a corruption of _joy_, French _joie_, used as
a term of endearment. _Jenny my joy_ has thus been modernized into Miss
Jennia (commonly understood to be a contraction for Virginia) Jones!
The story is originally a love-tale. The young lady, like Rosetina in
the Venetian song (a part of which we have translated above) dies of
blighted affection and the prohibition of cruel parents. The suitor, in
America, is represented by feminine friends. Yet the drama has lived;
a proof that in singing and playing love-tales the children rather
imitated their elders than followed a necessity of their own nature.
From various versions we select the following:
A mother, seated. Miss Jennia Jones stands behind her chair, or
reclines on her lap as if lying sick. A dancer advances from the ring.
"I've come to see Miss Jennia Jones,
Miss Jennia Jones, Miss Jennia Jones--
I've come to see Miss Jennia Jones,
And how is she to-day?"
"She's up-stairs washing,
Washing, washing--
She's up-stairs washing,
You cannot see her to-day."
The questions are repeated to the same air for every day of the
week, and the reply is that Miss Jennia Jones is ironing, baking, or
scrubbing. She is then represented as sick, as worse, and finally as
dead, which announcement is received with signs of deep grief. The
dancers of the ring then discuss the costume in which she shall be
buried:
"What shall we dress her in,
Dress her in, dress her in;
What shall we dress her in--
Shall it be blue?"
"Blue is for sailors,
So that will never do."
"What shall we dress her in,
Shall it be red?"
"Red is for firemen,
So that will never do."
"Pink is for babies,
So that will never do."
"Green is forsaken,
So that will never do."
"Black is for mourners,
So that will never do."
"White is for dead people,
So that will just do."
"Where shall we bury her?
Under the apple-tree."
After the ceremonies of burial have been completed, the ghost of Miss
Jennia Jones suddenly arises--
"I dreamt I saw a ghost last night,
Ghost last night, ghost last night--
I dreamt I saw a ghost last night,
Under the apple-tree!"
The ring breaks up, and flies with shrieks, and the one caught is to
represent Miss Jennia Jones.
An interesting feature of our game is the symbolism of color. "Each of
these colors," says an informant, "which denoted a profession, also
typified a feeling. Thus, blue, which is said to be for _sailors_,
suggested _constancy_."
In one version of the game, which comes to us from an Irish source,
_green_ is for _grief, red_ for _joy, black_ for _mourning_, and
_white_ for _death_. In another such version, _white_ is for _angels_,
and is the chosen color; a reading we would willingly adopt, as
probably more ancient, and as expressing the original seriousness of
the whole, and the feeling which the color of white symbolized. In more
common Irish phrase, _green_ is for _Irish_, _yellow_ for _Orangemen_.
In Cincinnati, _purple_ is for _kings_ and _queens_, _gray_ for
_Quakers_. In a Connecticut variation, _yellow_ is for _glad folks_.
An English saying corresponds closely to the significance of colors in
our game:
Blue is true, yellow is jealous,
Green is forsaken, red is brazen,
White is love, and black is death.
A variation from West Virginia makes the question apply to the dress of
the mourners, not of the deceased: "What shall we dress in?" "In our
red, in our blue," etc., are rejected, and the decision is, "In our
white."
Such imitations of burial ceremonies are not merely imaginative. It
was once the custom for the girls of a village to take an active
part in the interment of one of their number. In a Flemish town, a
generation since, when a young girl died, her body was carried to
the church, thence to the cemetery, by her former companions. "The
religious ceremony over, and the coffin deposited in the earth, all the
young girls, holding in one hand the mortuary cloth, returned to the
church, chanting the _maiden's dance_ with a spirit and rhythm scarcely
conceivable by one who has not heard it. The pall which they carried to
the church was of sky-blue silk, having in the middle a great cross of
white silk, on which were set three crowns of silver."