"If any cadet
With thee would go,
Daughter, instantly
Answer no.
For how can cadet,
This side of Heaven,
Keep a wife
On his dollars seven?
"If any lieutenant
Asks a caress,
Daughter, instantly
Answer yes.
For the lieutenant
Who kisses thy hand
May come to be
A general grand."
And, again, these babies may be heard giving warning that men betray.
"The daughters of Ceferino
Went to walk--alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomas.
The least of all, they lost her.
Her father searched--alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomas.
And there he found her talking
With a cavalier, who said,
'Come home with me, my darling,
'Tis you that I would wed.'
"Oh, have you seen the pear tree
Upon my grandpa's lawn?
Its pears are sweet as honey,
But when the pears are gone,
A turtle-dove sits moaning,
With blood upon her wings,
Amid the highest branches,
And this is what she sings:
'Ill fares the foolish maiden
Who trusts a stranger's fibs.
She'd better take a cudgel
And break his ugly ribs.'"
The dance for "Elisa of Mambru" begins merrily, and soon saddens to a
funereal pace.
"In Madrid was born a maiden--carabi!
Daughter of a general--carabi, huri, hura!"
The song goes on to tell of Elisa's beautiful hair, which her aunt
dressed so gently for her with a golden comb and crystal curling-pins,
and how Elisa died and was carried to church in an elegant coffin, and
how a little bird used to perch upon her grave and chirp, _pio_,
_pio_.
Mambru himself is the pathetic hero of Spanish childhood. This Mambru
for whom the little ones from Aragon to Andalusia pipe so many simple
elegies, the Mambru sung by Trilby, is not the English Marlborough to
them, but, be he lord or peasant, one of their very own.
"Mambru is gone to serve the king,
And comes no more by fall or spring.
"We've looked until our eyes are dim.
Will no one give us word of him?
"You'd know him for his mother's son
By peasant dress of Aragon.
"You'd know him for my husband dear
By broidered kerchief on his spear.
"The one I broider now is wet.
Oh, may I see him wear it yet!"
At the end of this song, as of the following, the little dancers throw
themselves on the ground, as if in despair.
"Mambru went forth to battle.
Long live Love!
I listen still for his coming feet.
The rose on the rose bush blossoms sweet.
"He will come back by Easter.
Long live Love!
He will come back by Christmas-tide.
The rose on the bush has drooped and died.
"Down the road a page is riding.
Long live Love!
'Oh, what are the tidings that you bear?'
The rose on the bush is budding fair.
"'Woe is me for my tidings!'
Long live Love!
'Mambru lies cold this many a morn.'
Ay, for a rose bush sharp with thorn!
"A little bird is chirping.
Long live Love!
In the withered bush where no more buds blow,
The bird is chirping a note of woe."
A game that I often watched blithe young Granadines playing under the
gray shadow of Alhambra walls, seems to be a Spanish version of
"London Bridge is Falling Down." Two children are chosen to be Rose
and Pink. These form an arch with their uplifted arms, through which
run the other children in a line, headed by the Mother. A musical
dialogue is maintained throughout.
"_Rose and Pink._
To the viper of love, that hides in flowers,
The only way lies here.
_Mother._
Then here I pass and leave behind
One little daughter dear.
_Rose and Pink._
Shall the first one or the last
Be captive of our chain?
_Mother._
Oh, the first one runs too lightly.
'Tis the last that shall remain.
_Chorus._
Pass on, oho! Pass on, aha!
By the gate of Alcala!"
The last child is caught by the falling arms and is asked whether she
will go with Rose or Pink. She shyly whispers her choice, taking her
stand behind her elected leader, whom she clasps about the waist. When
all the children of the line have been successively caught in the
falling arch, and have taken their places behind either Rose or Pink,
the game ends in a grand tugging match. Rose and Pink hold hands as
long as they can, while the two lines try to drag them apart. All the
while, until the very last, the music ripples on:--
"_Rose and Pink._
Let the young mind make its choice,
As young minds chance to think.
Now is the Rose your leader,
Or go you with the Pink?
Let the young heart make its choice
By laws the young heart knows.
Now is the Pink your leader,
Or go you with the Rose?
_Chorus._
Pass on, oho! Pass on, aha!
By the gate of Alcala!"
Another favorite is "Golden Ear-rings." Here the Mother, this time a
Queen, sits in a chair, supposedly a throne, and close before her, on
the floor, sits the youngest daughter; before this one, the next
youngest, and so on, in order of age. Two other children, holding a
handkerchief by the corners, walk up and down the line, one on one
side and one on the other, so passing the handkerchief above the heads
of the seated princesses. Then ensues the musical dialogue between
these two suitors and the Queen.
"'We've come from France, my lady,
And Portugal afar.
We've heard of your fair daughters,
And very fair they are.'
'Be they fair or no, senores,
It's none of your concern,
For God has given me bread for all,
And given me hands to earn.'
'Then we depart, proud lady,
To find us brides elsewhere.
The daughters of the Moorish king
Our wedding rings shall wear.'
'Come back, my sweet senores!
Bear not so high a crest.
You may take my eldest daughter,
But leave me all the rest.'"
The dialogue is transferred to one of the suitors and to the princess
at the farther end of the line, on whose head the handkerchief now
rests.
"'Will you come with me, my Onion?'
'Fie! that's a kitchen smell.'
'Will you come with me, my Rosebud?'
'Ay, gardens please me well.'"
In similar fashion all the daughters are coaxed away until only the
youngest remains, but she proves obdurate. They may call her Parsley
or Pink; it makes no difference. So the suitors resort to bribes, the
last proving irresistible.
"'We'll buy you a French missal.'
'I have a book in Latin.'
'In taffeta we'll dress you.'
'My clothes are all of satin.'
'You shall ride upon a donkey.'
'I ride in coaches here.'
'We'll give you golden ear-rings.'
'Farewell, my mother dear.'"
In some of the many variants of this game, the Queen herself, adequate
as she may be to earning her own living, is wooed and won at last.
I have not met with fairy-lore among these children's carols. The only
fairy known to Spain appears to be a sort of spiritualistic brownie,
who tips over tables and rattles chairs in empty rooms by night. The
grown-up men who write of him say he frightens women and children. He
can haunt a house as effectually as an old-time ghost, and a _Casa del
Duende_ may go begging for other tenants. One poor lady, who went to
all the trouble of moving to escape from him, was leaning over the
balcony of her new home,--so the story goes,--to see the last cartful
of furniture drive up, when a tiny man in scarlet waved a feathered
cap to her from the very top of the load and called, "Yes, senora, we
are all here. We have moved."
So the childish imagination of Spain, shut out from fairyland, makes
friends with the saints in such innocent, familiar way as well might
please even Ribera's anchorites. The adventurous small boy about to
take a high jump pauses to pray:--
"Saint Magdalene,
Don't let me break my thigh!
Oh, Saint Thomas,
Help this birdie fly!"
The little girls express decided preferences for one saint over
another.
"Old San Anton,
What has he done?
Put us in the corner every one.
"San Sebastian
Is a nice young man.
He takes us to walk and gives us a fan."
Santa Rita is best at finding lost needles, and San Pantaleon is a
humorist.
"San Pantaleon,
Are twenty and one
Children enough for an hour of fun
Slippers of iron
Donkey must try on.
Moors with their pages
Ride in gold stages.
But if you want a
Girdle, Infanta,
Cucurucu,
'Bout-face with you!"
At this one of the children dancing in circle whirls around, remaining
in her place, but with back turned to the centre and arms crossed over
her breast, although her hands still hold those of her nearest
neighbors. The rhyme is sung over and over, until all the little
figures have thus turned about and the circle is dancing under
laughable difficulties.
But the dearest saint of all is San Sereni. Two of the best-known
games are under his peculiar blessing. One of these is of the genuine
Kindergarten type, the children dancing in a circle through the first
two lines of each stanza, but then loosing hands to imitate, in time
to the music, the suggested action.
"San Sereni,
The holy--holy-hearted!
Thus for thee
The shoemakers are cobbling.
Thus, thus, thus!
Thus it pleases us."
Even so it pleases seamstresses to stitch, laundresses to wash,
carpenters to saw, silversmiths to tap, ironsmiths to pound, and
little folks to dance, all for "San Sereni de la buena, buena vida."
In the second game, a gymnastic exercise, whose four movements are
indicated in the four stanzas, he is apostrophized as "San Sereni del
Monte, San Sereni cortes."
"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Our saint of courtesy,
I, as a good Christian,
Will fall upon my knee.
"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where the strong winds pass,
I, as a good Christian,
Will seat me on the grass.
"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where the white clouds fly,
I, as a good Christian,
Upon the ground will lie.
"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where earth and heaven meet,
I, as a good Christian,
Will spring upon my feet."
With the legend of St. Katharine and her martyrdom childish fancy has
played queer caprices.
"In Cadiz was a wean--ah!
The gentlest ever seen--ah!
Her name was Catalina.
Ay, so!
Her name was Catalina.
"Her father, Moslem cruel,
He made her bring in fuel.
Her mother fed her gruel.
Ay, so!
Her mother fed her gruel.
"They beat her Tuesday, Wednesday,
They beat her Thursday, Friday,
They beat her Saturday, Monday.
Ay, so!
They beat her hardest Sunday.
"Once bade her wicked sire
She make a wheel most dire,
Of scissors, knives, and fire.
Ay, so!
Of scissors, knives, and fire.
"The noble Christian neighbors,
In pity of her labors,
Brought silver swords and sabres.
Ay, so!
Brought silver swords and sabres.
"By noon her task was ended,
And on that wheel all splendid
Her little knee she bended.
Ay, so!
Her little knee she bended.
"Then down a stair of amber
She saw the cherubs clamber:
'Come rest in our blue chamber.'
Ay, so!
She rests in their blue chamber."
Little Spaniards are not too intolerant to make a play-fellow of the
Devil. In one of their pet games, the children form in line, with the
invaluable Mother in charge. To each child she secretly gives the name
of a color. Then an Angel comes in with a flying motion and calls, for
instance, "Purple!" But there is no Purple in the company. It is then
the Devil's turn, who rushes in, usually armed with a table-fork, and
roars for "Green." There is a Green in the line, and she has to follow
the Demon, while the Angel tries again. All right-minded spectators
hope that the Angel will have the longer array at the last.
The Virgin's well-beloved name comes often into the children's songs.
"For studying my lessons,
So as not to be a dunce,
Papa gave me eight dollars,
That I mean to spend at once.
Four for my dolly's necklace,
Two for a collar fine,
And one to buy a candle
For Our Lady's shrine."
Even the supreme solemnity of the Wafer borne through the kneeling
streets cannot abash the trustful gaze of childhood.
"'Where are you going, dear Jesus,
So gallant and so gay?'
'I am going to a dying man
To wash his sins away.
And if I find him sorry
For the evil he has done,
Though his sins are more than the sands of the sea,
I'll pardon every one.'
"'Where are you going, dear Jesus,
So gallant and so gay?'
'I'm coming back from a dying man
Whose sins are washed away.
Because I found him sorry
For the evil he had done,
Though his sins were more than the sands of the sea,
I've pardoned every one.'"
The affairs of State as well as of Church have left their traces on
the children's play. As the little ones dance in circle, their piping
music tells a confused tale of Spanish history within these latter
days.
"In Madrid there is a palace,
As bright as polished shell,
And in it lives a lady
They call Queen Isabel.
Not for count nor duke nor marquis
Her father would she sell,
For not all the gold in Spain could buy
The crown of Isabel.
"One day when she was feasting
Within this palace grand,
A lad of Aragon walked in
And seized her by the hand.
Through street and square he dragged her
To a dreary prison cell,
And all that weary way she wept,
The lady Isabel.
"'For whom art weeping, lady?
What gives thy spirit pain?
If thou weepest for thy brothers,
They will not come again.
If thou weepest for thy father,
He lies 'neath sheet of stone.'
'For these I am not weeping,
But for sorrows of mine own.
"'I want a golden dagger.'
'A golden dagger! Why?'
'To cut this juicy pear in two.
Of thirst I almost die.'
We gave the golden dagger.
She did not use it well.
Ah, no, it was not pears you cut,
My lady Isabel."
These dancing circles keep in memory the assassination of Marshal
Prim.
"As he came from the Cortes,
Men whispered to Prim,
'Be wary, be wary,
For life and for limb.'
Then answered the General,
'Come blessing, come bane,
I live or I die
In the service of Spain.'
"In the _Calle del Turco_,
Where the starlight was dim,
Nine cowardly bullets
Gave greeting to Prim.
The best of the Spaniards
Lay smitten and slain,
And the new King he died for
Came weeping to Spain."
This new king, Amadeo, is funnily commemorated in another dancing
ditty, "Four Sweethearts."
"Maiden, if they ask thee,
Maiden, if they ask thee,
If thou hast a sweetheart--_ha_, _ha_!
If thou hast a sweetheart,
Answer without blushing,
Answer without blushing,
'Four sweethearts are mine--_ha_, _ha_!
Four sweethearts are mine.
"'The first he is the son of--
The first he is the son of
A confectioner--_ha_, _ha_!
A confectioner.
Sugar-plums he gives me,
Sugar-plums he gives me,
Caramels and creams--_ha_, _ha_!
Caramels and creams.
"'The second is the son of--
The second is the son of
An apothecary--_ha_, _ha_!
An apothecary.
Syrups sweet he gives me,
Syrups sweet he gives me,
For my little cough--_hack_, _hack_!
For my little cough.
"'The third he is the son of--
The third he is the son of
The barber to the court--_ha_, _ha_!
The barber to the court.
Powders rare he gives me,
Powders rare he gives me,
And a yellow wig--_ha_, _ha_!
And a yellow wig.
"'The fourth? Oh, 'tis a secret,
The fourth? Oh, 'tis a secret.
Our new Italian king--_ha_, _ha_!
Our new Italian king.
He gives me silk and satin,
He gives me silk and satin,
Velvet, gold, and gems--_ha_, _ha_!
Velvet, gold, and gems.'"
Strangest of all is the dramatic little dialogue, which one with an
ear for children's voices may hear any day in Madrid, telling of the
death of Queen Mercedes.
"'Whither away, young King Alfonso?
(Oh, for pity!) Whither away?'
'I go seeking my queen Mercedes,
For I have not seen her since yesterday.'
"'But we have seen your queen Mercedes,
Seen the queen, though her eyes were hid,
While four dukes all gently bore her
Through the streets of sad Madrid.
"'Oh, how her face was calm as heaven!
Oh, how her hands were ivory white!
Oh, how she wore the satin slippers
That you kissed on the bridal night!
"'Dark are the lamps of the lonely palace.
Black are the suits the nobles don.
In letters of gold on the wall 'tis written:
_Her Majesty is dead and gone_.'
"He fainted to hear us, young Alfonso,
Drooped like an eagle with broken wing,
But the cannon thundered: 'Valor, valor!'
And the people shouted: 'Long live the king!'"
Spanish wiseheads say that the children's choral games are already
perishing, that the blight of schools and books is passing upon the
child-life of the Peninsula, and soon there will be no more time for
play. The complaint of the _ninas_ is much to the same effect, yet
they wear their rue with a difference:--
"Not even in the _Prado_
Can little maidens play,
Because those staring, teasing boys
Are always in the way.
"They might be romping with us,
For they're only children yet,
But they won't play at anything
Except a cigarette.
"Now let me tell you truly:
If things go on like this,
And midgets care for nothing
But to walk and talk and kiss,
"No plays will cheer the _Prado_
In future times, for then
The little boys of seven
Will all be married men."