"To understand how it is, go and behold with your own eyes,"

replies the angel; to which the shepherd answers, "Good morrow, angel; pardon me if I have spoken lightly; I will go and see what is going on." Another, still not quite easy in his mind, observes that he cannot make out what the angel says, because he speaks in such a strange tongue. The angel immediately replies in excellent Gascon patois:

Come, shepherds, come From your mountain home, Come, see the Saviour in a stable born, This happy morn.

Come, shepherds, come, Let none remain behind, Come see the wretched sinners' friend, The Saviour of mankind.

When they hear the good news, sung to a quaint and inspiriting air in their own language, the shepherds hesitate no longer, but set off for Bethlehem in a body. One of them, it is true, expresses some doubts as to what will become of the flocks in their absence; but a veteran shepherd strikes his crook upon the ground and sternly reproves him for being anxious about the sheep when a heavenly messenger has declared that "G.o.d has made Himself the Shepherd of mankind." They leave the dais, and march out of the church, the whole of which is now considered as being the stable. After a while the shepherds knock for admittance, and their voices are heard in the calm crisp midnight air chaunting these words to sweet and solemn strains:

Master of this blest abode, O guardian of the Infant G.o.d, Open your honoured gate, that we May at His worship bend the knee.

Joseph fears that the strangers may perchance be enemies, but rea.s.sured by an angel, he opens the door, only navely regretting that the lowly chamber "should be so badly lighted." They prostrate themselves before the cradle, and the choir bursts forth with:

Gloria Deo in excelsis, O Domine te laudamus, O Deus Pater rex caelestis, In terra pax hominibus.

The shepherdesses then render their homage, and deposit on the altar steps a banner covered with flowers and greenery, from which hang strings of small birds, apples, nuts, chestnuts, and other fruits. It is their Christmas offering to the cure; the shepherds have already placed a whole sheep before the altar, in a like spirit.

The next scene takes us into Herod's palace, where the magi arrive, and are directed to proceed to Bethlehem. During their adoration of the Infant Saviour, Ma.s.s is finished, and the Sacrament is administered; after which the play is brought to a close with the flight into Egypt and the ma.s.sacre of the Innocents.

This primitive drama gives a better idea of the early mysteries than do the performances at Ober Ammergau, which have been gradually pruned and improved under the eye of a critical public. But it is unusually free from the absurdities and levities which abound in most miracle plays; such as the wrangle between Noah and his wife in the old Chester Mysteries, in which the latter declares "by St John" that the Flood is a false alarm, and that no power on earth shall make her go into the Ark. Noah ends with putting her on board by main force, and is rewarded by a box on the ear.

The best surviving sample of a non-scriptural rustic play is probably _Saint Guillaume of Poitou_, a Breton versified drama in seven acts.

The history of the Troubadour Count whose wicked manhood leads to a preternaturally pious old age, corresponds to every requirement of the peasant play-goer. Time and s.p.a.ce are set airily at defiance; saints and devils are not only called, but come at the shortest notice; the plot is exciting enough to satisfy the strongest craving for sensation, and the dialogue is vigorous, and, in parts, picturesque.

One can well believe that the fiery if narrow patriotism of a Breton audience would be stirred by the scene where the reformed Count William, who has withstood all other blandishments, is almost lured out of his holy seclusion by the Evil One coming to him in the shape of a fellow-townsman who represents his city as hard pressed by overwhelming foes, and in its extremest need, imploring his aid; that the religious fervour of Breton peasants would be moved by the recital of the vision in which a very wicked man appears at the bar of judgment: his sins out-number the hairs of his head, you would call him an irredeemable wretch; yet it does so happen that once upon a time he gave two pilgrims a bed of straw in a pig-stye, and now St Francis throws this straw into the balance, and it bends down the scale!

So in the Song of the Sun, in Saemund's _Edda_, a fierce freebooter, who has despoiled mankind, and who always ate alone, opens his door one evening to a tired wayfarer, and gives him meat and drink. The guest meditates evil; then in his sleep he murders his host, but he is doomed to take on him all the sins of the man he has slain, while the one-time evil-doer's soul is borne by angels into a life of purity, where it shall live for ever with G.o.d. This motive is repeatedly introduced into folk-lore, and was made effective use of by Victor Hugo in _Sultan Mourad_, the infamous tyrant who goes to Heaven on the strength of having felt momentary compa.s.sion for a pig.

In plays of the _Saint Guillaume_ cla.s.s, the plain language in which the vices and oppression of the n.o.bles is denounced shows signs of the slow surging up of the democratic spirit whose traces through the middle ages are nowhere to be more fruitfully sought than in popular literature--though they lie less in the rustic drama than in the great mediaeval satires, such as _Reynard the Fox_ and _Marcolfo_, the latter of which is still known to the Italian people under the form of _Bertoldo_, in which it was recast in the sixteenth century, by G. B.

Croce, the rhyming blacksmith of Bologna.

VII.

Epopees, _chansons de geste_, romantic ballads, occasional or ceremonial songs, nursery rhymes, singing-games, rustic dramas; to these must be added the great order of purely personal and lyrical songs, of which the unique and exclusive subject is love. Popular love songs have one quality in common: a sincerity which is not perhaps reached in the entire range of lettered amorous poetry. Love is to these singers a thing so serious that however high they fly, they do not outsoar what is to them the atmosphere of truth. "La pa.s.sion parle la toute pure," as Moliere said of the old song:

Si le roi m'avoit donne Paris, sa grande ville, Et qu'il me fallut quitter L'amour de ma mie: Je dirois au roi Henri Reprenez votre Paris J'aime mieux ma mie, oh gay!

J'aime mieux ma mie.

An immense, almost incredible, number of popular songs have been set down during the last twenty years by collectors who, like Tigri in Tuscany, and Pitre in Sicily, have done honour to their birthlands, and an enduring service to literature. It has been seen that Italy, Portugal, and Spain have songs which, though differing in shape, are yet materially alike. Where was the original fount of this lyrical river? Some would look for it in Arabia, and cite the evident poetic fertility of those countries where Arab influence once prevailed.

Others regard the existing pa.s.sion-verse as a descendant of the mediaeval poetry a.s.sociated with Provence. Others, again, while admitting that there may have been modifications of form, find it hard to believe that there was ever a time, since the type was first established, when the southern peasant was dumb, or when he did not sing in substance very much as he does now.

Whatever theory be ultimately accepted, it is certain that the popular love-poetry of southern nations, such as it has been received direct from peasant lips, is not the least precious gift we owe to the untaught, uncultured poet, who after having been for long ages ignored or despised, is now raised to his rightful place near the throne of his ill.u.s.trious brother, the perfect lettered poet. Pan sits unrebuked by the side of Apollo.

These introductory remarks are meant to do no more than to show the princ.i.p.al landmarks of folk-poetry. The subject is a wide one, as they best know who have given it the most careful attention. In the following essays, I have dealt with a few of its less familiar aspects. I would, in conclusion, express my grat.i.tude to the indefatigable excavators of popular lore whose large labours have made my small work possible, and to all who have helped, whether by furnishing unedited specimens or by procuring copies of rare books.

My cordial thanks are also due to the editors and publishers of the _Cornhill Magazine_, _Fraser's Magazine_, the _National Review_, the _British Quarterly Review_, the _Revue Internationale_, the _Antiquary_, and the _Record_ and _Journal_ of the Folk-lore Society, for leave to reprint such part of this book as had appeared in those publications.

SAL, LAGO DI GARDA, _January 15 1886_.

[Footnote 1: Voltaire.]

[Footnote 2:

Sire cuens, j'ai viele Devant vous, en vostre oste; Si ne m'avez, riens done, Ne mes gages aquite C'est vilanie;

Foi que doi Sainte Marie!

Ainc ne vos sievrai je mie, M'aumosniere est mal garnie Et ma malle mal farsie.

Sire cuens, quar comandez De moi vostre volonte.

Sire, s'il vous vient a gre Un beau don car me donez Par cortoisie.

Talent ai, n'en dotez mie, De r'aler a ma mesnie.

Quant vois borse desgarnie, Ma feme ne me rit mie.

Ains me dit: Sire Engele En quel terre avez este, Qui n'avez rien conqueste Aval la ville?

Vez com vostre male plie, Ele est bien de vent farsie.

Honi soit qui a envie D'estre en vostre compaignie.

Quant je vieng a mon hoste Et ma feme a regarde Derier moi le sac enfle, Et ge qui sui bien pare De robe grise, Sachiez qu'ele a tot jus mise La quenoille, sans faintise.

Elle me rit par franchise, Les deux bras au col me lie.

Ma feme va destrousser Ma male, sanz demorer.

Mon garcon va abruver Mon cheval et conreer.

Ma pucele va tuer Deux chapons por deporter A la sause aillie;

Ma fille m'apporte un pigne.

En sa main par cortoisie Lors sui de mon ostel sire, A mult grant joie, sans ire, Plus que nus ne porroit dire.

[Footnote 3: Not to speak of Charlemagne, who ordered a collection to be made of German songs.]

[Footnote 4: A fuller description of German harvest customs, with remarks on their presumed meaning, will be found in the Rev. J. Van den Gheyn's "Essais de Mythologie et de Philologie comparee," 1885.]

[Footnote 5: Mr W. R. S. Ralston has kindly communicated to me this Russian version, which he translates: "Snail, snail, put forth thy horns, I will give to thee cakes."]

[Footnote 6: "Les deux Masques," tome i. p. 1.]

[Footnote 7: "Confessions," book iii. chap. 11.]

[Footnote 8: "Shakespeare's Dramatic Art," 1876.]

THE INSPIRATION OF DEATH IN FOLK-POETRY.