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 pass 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 passed 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 cock stirs,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
But soon as ever the white cock stirs,
They take again their cerements white,
And in their hands a torch alight.
But soon as ever the red cock crows,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
But soon as ever the red cock crows,
All sing the Holy Passion song,
And in procession march along.
But soon as the gilded cock doth shine,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
But soon as the gilded cock 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 pass along,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
Three diverse ways they pass 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 Passion sung again--
They passed along in solemn train.
Then he who found his cerements gone,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
Then he who found his cerements gone,
From out the graveyard gazed and signed
His winding-sheet should be resigned.
But Peter every entrance closed,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
But Peter every entrance closed
With locks and bolts, approach defies,
Then looks at him--but keeps the prize!
He with his arm, and with his hand,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
He with his arm, and with his hand,
Made signs in vain, two times or three,
And then the belfry entered he.
A noise is mounting up the stair,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
A noise is mounting up the stair,
The bolts are shattered, and the door
Is burst and dashed upon the floor.
The Ringer trembled with dismay,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
The Ringer trembled with dismay,
And still the bell of good St John
For ever swung: barin, baron.
At the first stroke of Angelus,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
At the first stroke of Angelus
The skeleton broke all his bones,
Falling to earth upon the stones.
Peter upon his bed was laid,
Ding dong, dong ding dong!
Peter upon his bed was laid,
Confessed his sin, repenting sore,
Lingered three days, then lived no more.
It will be seen that, in this ballad, which is locally called "Lou
Jour des Mouerts," the officiating priest assumes red vestments in
the morning, and changes them in the course of the day for black.
The vestments appropriate to the evening of All Saints' Day are still
black (it being the Vigil of All Souls'), but in the morning the
colour worn is white or gold. An explanation, however, is at hand. The
feast of All Saints had its beginning in the dedication of the Roman
Pantheon by Boniface IV., in the year 607, to _S. Maria ad Martyres_,
and red ornaments were naturally chosen for a day set apart especially
to the commemoration of martyrdom. These were only discarded when the
feast came to have a more general character, and there is evidence
of their retention here and there in French churches till a date as
advanced as the fifteenth century. Thus, we gain incidentally some
notion of the age of the song.
Not long after giving a first reading to the Provencal ballad of the
Shroud-theft, I became convinced of its substantial identity with a
poem whose author holds quite another rank to that of the nameless
folk-poet. Goethe's "Todten Tanz" tends less to edification than "Lou
jour des Mouerts;" nor has it, I venture to think, an equal power.
We miss the pathetic picture of the companies of sad ghosts; these
kneeling before the wayside crosses; these lingering by their
children's thresholds; these listening to the prayers of the pious
on their behalf; these others weeping, _en vesent que n'ant plus
d'amics_. But the divergence of treatment cannot hide the fact that
the two ballads are made out of one tale.