London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady!
What did the robber do to you?
My fair lady!
He broke my watch and stole my keys,
My fair lady!
Then off to prison he must go,
My fair lady!
--_Savannah, Ga._
E.--Our last version is from the convent-school of Savannah, and,
although recited by a girl of American birth, is of Irish origin:
London Bridge is falling down, etc.
_My fair lady!_
How shall we build it up again?--
Build it up with lime and stone.--
Stone and lime would wash away.--
Build it up with iron bars.--
Iron bars would bend and break.--
Build it up with gold and silver.--
Gold and silver would be stole away.--
Get a watch to watch all night.--
Suppose the watch should fall asleep?--
Get him a pipe to smoke all night.--
Suppose the pipe should fall and break?--
Get a dog to bark all night.--
Suppose the dog should get a bone?--
Get a cock to crow all night.--
Suppose the cock should fly away?--
What has this poor prisoner done?--
He's broke my box and stole my keys.--
A hundred pounds will set him free.--
A hundred pounds he has not got.--
Off to prison he must go,
_My fair lady!_[131]
As to the origin of this remarkable game, our citations have already
made clear that one of its features consists in a representation of the
antagonism of celestial and infernal powers, and the final decision by
which each soul is assigned a place on the one side or the other. It
was universally believed in the Middle Ages, that the soul, separated
from the body, had to cross a dangerous bridge, and subsequently
undergo a literal weighing in the balance, according to the result
of which its destiny was decided. It is in the nature of things that
children, conversant with these ideas, should have dramatized them in
their sports. We see no reason, with the German writers, to go back
to ancient Northern mythology; nor do we find any ground for believing
that our game is more likely to be of Teutonic than Romance descent.
We suspect, however, that that part of the sport which relates to
the warfare of good and evil powers does not belong to the original
idea, but that a still more primitive game has taken on an ending
which was common to many amusements in the Middle Ages. The central
point of the whole is the repeated downfall of the structure. Now
there is a distinct mythologic reason for such a representation. In
early times no edifice was so important as a bridge, which renders
intercourse possible between districts heretofore separated. Hence the
sanctity attributed in mediæval times to the architects of bridges.
The Devil, or (in more ancient guise) the elemental spirit of the
land, who detests any interference with the solitude he loves, has an
especial antipathy to bridges. His repeated and successful attempts
to interfere with such a structure, until he is bought off with an
offering like that of Iphigenia, are recorded in legends which attach
to numerous bridges in Europe. It is on such supernatural opposition
that the English form of the game appears to turn. The structure,
which is erected in the daytime, is ruined at night; every form of
material--wood, stone, and gold--is tried in vain; the vigilance of
the watchman, or of the cock and the dog--guardian animals of the
darkness--is insufficient to protect the edifice from the attack of the
offended spirits.
The child arrested seems to be originally regarded as the price paid
for allowing the structure to stand. In times when all men's thoughts
were concerned about the final judgment, a different turn was given to
the sport--namely, whether the prisoner should belong to the devils
or to the angels, who wage perpetual warfare, and dispute with each
other the possession of departed souls. Finally, in quite recent days,
religious allusions were excluded, and the captive, now accused of mere
theft, was sentenced to be locked up, not in the Inferno, but in a
commonplace jail.
No. 151.
_Open the Gates._
This game is a variation of the last, and is played similarly, ending
with a "tug of war," as described on page 204.
Open the gates as high as the sky,
And let the King of Spain pass by;
Choose one,
Choose two,
Choose a pretty little girl like you.
More usual is a shorter rhyme, thus:
Open the gates as high as the sky,
And let King George and his troops[132] pass by.
No. 152.
_Weighing._
Two children, linking hands, form a "basket" (each grasping with the
left hand the right wrist of the other, and with the right hand his
left wrist), in which another child is lifted, who embraces with his
arms the necks of his bearers. He is then swung to and fro, and finally
made to strike the wall. If he lets go his hold, he is called "Rotten
egg," which is regarded as a highly ignominious name.
This title is also applied to the child who lets go in the "tug of war"
in "London Bridge." A similar lifting in a basket (as we have been told
by one who remembered so playing in youth) formed, in Philadelphia,
part of the same game.
The original meaning of this exercise is made clear by an Italian
counterpart, in which it is called "Weighing." The child after being
lifted is made to jump over one of the lowered arms of his bearers, and
if he escapes from their grasp is destined for _Paradise_, otherwise
for the _Inferno_. The French usage is the same.[133] Weighing, to
decide whether the child should be angel or devil, sometimes forms
part, also, of the German game corresponding to "London Bridge."
Another English game shows us a relic of this practice--namely, that
called "Honey-pots," from which, as usual in children's sports, the
original religious idea has disappeared. A child is lifted and swung
until the hold is relaxed, when the _pot_ is said to weigh so many
pounds.[134]
Other tests used in German games to decide whether a child shall be
an angel or not, are--tickling, in which a sober face must be kept;
jumping over a cord, or measuring the height. These customs of play are
surviving forms of usages once equally common in English sports.
No. 153.
_Colors._
A.--A row of children, on the doorsteps of a house, or against a
chamber wall. Opposite each other stand two girls, representing, one
the good, the other the bad, angel. Every child selects a color. The
mother stands at the foot of the steps. The "Good Angel" knocks at the
door (_i.e._, the side of the flight of house-steps), and is answered
by the mother:
"Who's knocking at the door?"
"The Angel with the Golden Star."
"What do you want?"
"Blue" (or any color).
The "Good Angel" names a color. If this color is represented among
the children, the angel takes the child, but if the application is
unsuccessful, must retire, whereon the "Bad Angel," or the "Angel with
the Pitchfork," comes forward in like manner. When all the children are
divided, a "tug of war" ensues, as in "London Bridge."
This form of the game is probably a recent translation from the German,
by New York children.[135]
B.--In the convent-school of Savannah, Ga., as we learn from a former
pupil, birds instead of colors represented the children, and the
formula was, "Barn, barn,[136] who comes here?" It was replied, "Good
angel," or "Bad angel." The angels then "fought and tried to get the
child."
C.--In Philadelphia there is a game in which the children, having
received birds' names, are pursued by the mother, and, if captured, are
put into the slop-bowl; otherwise, into the sugar-bowl.
Similarly, in a Swiss game, we have the mother and a bird-catcher. The
latter endeavors to guess the titles of the children, who are called
after birds or colors. When the name of a child is guessed, she takes
flight, and if she can escape, returns to the mother; if caught, she
belongs to the pursuer, and the game ends with a "tug of war."
Corresponding is the French game of "Animals." The devil and a
purchaser are first chosen. The seller names the animals, and shuts
them up in an enclosure. The devil, who has not heard the naming, comes
up[137] and guesses the title of the beast. If he guesses right, the
seller says "Go!" while the animal makes a circuit to return to his
den. The devil must first buy (with so many taps on the palm of the
hand of the dealer) the beast, before he can pursue. If he catches the
latter, he marks him with three blows on the head and tail, and the
animal becomes the devil's dog. The game finishes when all the animals
have been so captured.
The conflict which ends this game is curious. In Switzerland, the angel
who obtains a child carries it in his arms within his limit, and the
devil similarly. After all the children are divided, a struggle begins,
the devils defending themselves with claws, the angels with wings. In
Austria the boundary between Heaven and Hell is marked out by a piece
of wood, called "Fire." Each child grasps the waist of his predecessor
with both arms, the leaders join hands over the "Fire," and the contest
lasts until all are pulled to one side or the other.
These battles between opposing supernatural forces rest on a basis
older than Christianity. The "Game of the Shell" is thus described by
Pollux: "The shell-game; where the boys draw a line on the ground and
choose sides, one side selecting the outside of a shell, the other
the inside. One who stands on the line having thrown up the shell,
whichever face comes uppermost, those who belong to that give chase,
and the other party turn and fly. Any fugitive who gets caught is
called the _ass_. He who pitches the shell says, 'Night, day;' for the
outside is smeared with pitch, and signifies night; whence this boys'
game is also called the 'turning of the shell.'"
The word _ass_ here means that the boy caught had to carry home his
pursuer on his back.
Plato alludes to this game in the "Republic," saying of the efforts of
the soul to pass from the realm of darkness to that of light, "it does
not depend on the turn of a shell."
We thus see the successive mental conceptions of antiquity, the Middle
Ages, and modern time reflected in the changes of children's sports.
No. 154.
_Old Witch._
A.--Ten girls, a mother, a witch, and eight children--namely, Sunday,
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and the eldest
daughter Sue. The mother, preparing to go out, addresses her children:
Now all you children stay at home,
And be good girls while I am gone;
Let no one in[138]
* * * * *
Especially you, my daughter Sue,
Or else I'll beat you black and blue.[139]
The witch knocks at the door, and is refused entrance by the children.
She beguiles them by promises to admit her, which they finally do. She
then holds out her pipe (a bit of stick), which she carries between
her teeth, saying to Sue, "Light my pipe!" Sue refusing, she makes
the same demand to each child, in the order of the days of the week,
in which they are ranged. All refuse till she reaches the last, who
consents and touches her pipe, whereupon the witch seizes her hand, and
drags her out of the house to her "den."
The mother then returns, counts the children, and Sue is questioned and
punished. This is played over until each child is taken, Sue last.
When the mother has lost all her children, the witch calls, and invites
her to dinner. Upon going to the witch's door, she finds a table set
for the meal, and the witch asks her to order a dish to suit her taste.
She does so, whereupon the witch produces Sunday, and lays her upon the
table, with considerable assistance from Sunday.
A very amusing dialogue now ensues between the witch and the mother.
The former urges the mother to eat, with many blandishments, and the
mother (recognizing her child) declines, with such excuses as any
ingenious child can devise.
The mother, upon pretence of inability to eat the food, calls for
another dish, and, when the witch leaves the room, hurries the child
from the table and places her behind the chair. When the witch returns,
she says that she found the dish so good that she ate it all, and calls
for another.
Each child is produced in turn, with the same result. When all are
arranged behind their mother, she calls for another dish, and when the
witch leaves the room to get it, runs home with all her children.
_Hartford, Conn._
* * * * *
Our second version (B) is from the lips of a little girl in New York
city. The persons represented are the same, except that a servant
instead of one of the daughters is left to take care of the children.
Scene, the doorsteps, or "stoop," of a New York dwelling-house.
_Mother_ [_sings_]. Chickany, chickany, crany, crow.
Went to the well to wash her great toe,
And when she came back her chicken was dead.[140]
[_To Servant_]. I am going out, and let nobody come in.
[_Exit. Enter presently, Witch._
_Witch_ [_to Servant_]. Give me a match to light my pipe.
_Servant._ I haven't any.
_Witch._ Your kettle's boiling over.
_Servant._ No.
_Witch._ Your kettle is boiling over.
_Servant_ [_goes to look_]. _Witch seizes a child and carries her
off._ [_Re-enter Mother._
_Mother_ [_to servant_]. Where's my Monday?
_Servant._ Under the table.
_Mother_ [_calls_]. Monday!
_Servant._ Up in the band-box![141]
_Mother._ How to get up?
_Servant._ Put two broken chairs on a broken table.
_Mother._ Suppose I should fall and break my neck?
_Servant._ Good enough for you.
Mother beats servant, but recovering from her loss, goes out again.
Witch enters as before, and carries off successively all the children,
and at last the servant. Witch then puts the children in a row, cooks
them, and makes them into pies, naming them apple-pie, peach-pie, etc.
Mother goes out to buy pies.
_Mother_ [_to Witch_]. Have you any pies?
_Witch_. Yes, some very nice apple-pies, which you will like.
_Mother_ [_tastes_]. This tastes like my Monday. [_Re-animates
Monday_.] Monday, who brought you here? [_Beats her, and sends
her home._]
The mother proceeds in the same manner, and brings to life the other
children.
C.--The name of the witch in this variation is "Old Mother
Cripsy-crops," and the game begins by playing No. 89. When the mother
goes out, the children call after her, "Old mother, the kettle boils."
She answers, "Take a spoon and stir it." "We haven't got any." "Buy
one." "We have no money." "Borrow," says the mother. "People won't
lend," reply the children.
The witch comes in, and entices Sunday away by fine promises. When the
mother comes back, she inquires, "Where's my Sunday?" The children make
some excuse, as, "Perhaps he has gone down cellar," etc. She tells
Tuesday to take care of Monday, as she had previously placed Monday in
charge of Sunday, and goes out again, when the same scene is repeated,
until all the children have been carried off.
The mother now calls at the witch's house, and asks to be let in. The
witch refuses, saying, "No, your shoes are too dirty." "But I will take
off my shoes." "Your stockings are too dirty." "Then I will take off my
stockings." "Your feet are too dirty." "I will cut off my feet." "That
would make the carpet all bloody." "But I must see my children, and you
have got them." "What should I know about your children? But if you
like you may call to-morrow at twelve."
The mother departs, and as soon as she is gone the witch goes to the
children and renames them all. One she calls Mustard, another Pepper,
another Salt, another Vinegar, etc. Then she turns their faces to the
wall, and tells them to give these names if they are asked who they
are. The mother calls again at the house of the witch, and this time
is admitted. She asks the children what their names are, and they all
answer as they were instructed by the witch. She then asks the first
child to let her feel his toe. He puts up his foot, and when the mother
feels it she says, "This is my Sunday! let your big toe carry you
home;" whereupon he runs off. The same process is gone through with all
the other children.
D.--To the mother (this time present), in the midst of her children,
approaches the witch, who comes limping, leaning on a cane. The
dialogue is between mother and witch.
"There's old mother Hippletyhop; I wonder what she wants to-day?"
"I want one of your children."
"Which one do you want?"
The witch names any child of the row.
"What will you give her to eat?"
"Plum-cake" (a different delicacy for each child).
The witch carries off the child, and observes: "Walk as I do, or else
I'll kill you." She takes the child home and kills her, then returns
for another. When all are gone the mother goes out to look for her
children. She goes to the witch's house, and finds all the children
(presumed to be dead) against the wall, making the most horrible faces.
She points to a child, and asks, "What did [Mary] die of?" "She died
of sucking her thumbs" (naming the child's gesture). Suddenly all the
children come to themselves, and cry out, "Oh, mother, we are not dead!"
_Portsmouth, N. H._
E.--In a fifth version, which we have failed to obtain in full, the
witch changed the children into birds; and the mother, in order to
recover them, must guess the name of the bird. Colors, instead of
birds, were also used to represent the children.
F.--We have already spoken of the old English game of "Honey-pots" as
an imitation of "Weighing." This trait, however, as might be supposed
from its insignificant character, is a mere fragment of the original.
In London (as we learn from an informant of the laboring class, who
remembers taking part in the amusement), a child as market-woman
arranges the rest in a row to indicate honey-pots, each with its
specific flavor. While she is busy at one end of the row, a thief comes
in and steals a pot from the other end. This process is repeated, until
all the pots are taken. The dealer then goes out to buy honey-pots, and
recognizes her own by the flavor, so recovering the stolen goods.
* * * * *
This game without doubt is the most curious of our collection, both
on account of its own quaintness, and because of the extraordinary
relation in which it stands to the child's lore of Europe. We have, in
a note, endeavored to show that our American versions give the most
ancient and adequate representation now existing of a childish drama
which has diverged into numerous branches, and of which almost every
trait has set up for itself as an independent game. Several of these
offshoots are centuries old, and exist in many European tongues; while,
so far as appears, their original has best maintained itself in the
childish tradition of the New World.
Among a great number of German forms, only one (from Suabia) nearly
corresponds to ours, with the exception of a corrupted ending.
In this childish drama a mother has many children, who sleep. In her
absence comes "Old Urschel" with her two daughters, the "Night-maidens"
(a sort of fairies), who steal three children, and carry them off
to their cave (hiding them behind their extended dresses). The
mother visits Urschel's abode to complain of the theft, but the
"Night-maidens," with deprecating gestures, deny any knowledge of the
lost. The action is then repeated, the eldest daughter (who plays the
same part as in our first version) being taken last.
When the mother's complaints are useless, she becomes a witch. The
next day Urschel takes her stolen family for a walk. The mother comes
up and pulls the dress of a child; by her magic art all feel it at the
same time, and cry to Urschel, "Oh, mother, somebody is pulling my
gown!" The latter replies, "It must be a dog." The mother then asks
and obtains leave to join the party, but endeavors to bewitch (or
disenchant) her children, who cry, "The Witch of London!" and scatter,
but are captured by the latter and turned into witches.[142]
In Sweden the mother is called "Lady Sun." An old woman enters, propped
on a cane, goes to Lady Sun's house and knocks. "Who is that knocking
at my door?" "An old woman, halt and blind, asks the way to Lady Sun;
is she at home?" "Yes." The old woman points out a child, and asks,
"Dear Lady Sun, may I have a chicken?" She is refused at first, but
by piteous entreaties obtains her wish, and returns, until all the
"chickens" are carried off. "She was not so lame as she made believe,"
says Lady Sun, looking after her.
The antiquity of our game is sufficiently attested by the wide
diffusion of many of its comparatively recent variations. We remark,
further, that the idea of the child-eating demon, so prominently
brought forward in our American versions, is a world-old nursery
conception. The ancients were well acquainted with such feminine
supernatural beings. "More fond of children than Gello," says Sappho,
referring to an imaginary creature of the sort. The most ancient view
of this passion for stealing children was, that it was prompted by the
appetite. Tales of ogres and ogresses, who carried off and devoured
young children, must have been as familiar in the Roman nursery as in
our own.
The trait of _limping_, characteristic of "witches" in games, is
equally ancient. That such demons are defective in one foot is
expressed by the ancient Greek name "Empusa" (literally One-foot), to
whom was attributed an ass's hoof, a representation which contributed
to the mediæval idea of the devil. A child's game, in which a boy,
armed with a knotted handkerchief, pursues his comrades, hopping on
one foot, is known in France as "The Limping Devil."[143] This game
existed also in ancient Greece.
The reanimation and recovery of the children, with which the American
performance closes, is a familiar trait of ancient nursery tales.
No. 155.
_The Ogree's Coop._
Half a century since, in eastern Massachusetts, it was a pastime of
boys and girls for one of the number to impersonate an _Ogree_[144]
(as the word was pronounced), who caught his playmates, put them in a
coop, and fattened them for domestic consumption. From time to time
the Ogree felt his captives to ascertain if they were fat enough to be
cooked. Now and then a little boy would thrust from between the bars
of his cage a stick instead of a finger, whereupon the ogree would be
satisfied of his leanness.
No. 156.
_Tom Tidler's Ground._
A boundary line marks out "Tom Tidler's Ground," on which stands a
player. The rest intrude on the forbidden precinct, but if touched must
take his place. The words of the challenge are--
I'm on Tommy Tidler's ground,
Picking up gold and silver.