Part 22
Another, which came to me in fragments, is sung in playing soldier.
"The Catalans are coming, Marching two by two. All who hear the drumming Tiptoe for a view. Ay, ay! Tiptoe for a view. Red and yellow banners, Pennies very few. Ay, ay! Pennies very few.
"Red and yellow banners! The Moon comes out to see. If moons had better manners, She'd take me on her knee. Ay, ay! Take me on her knee. She peeps through purple shutters, Would I were tall as she! Ay, ay! Would I were tall as she!
"Soldiers need not learn letters, Nor any schooly thing, But unless they mind their betters, In golden chains they'll swing. Ay, ay! In golden chains they'll swing. Or sit in silver fetters, Presents from the King. Ay, ay! Presents from the King."
This ironic touch, so characteristically Spanish, reappears in many of the games, as in _A La Limón_, known throughout the Peninsula and the Antilles. I should expect to find it, too, in corners of Mexico, South America, the Philippines, wherever the Spanish oppressor has trod and the oppressor's children have sported in the sun. The little players, ranged in two rows, each row hand in hand, dance the one toward the other and retreat, singing responsively. With their last couplet, the children of the first line raise their arms, forming arches, and the children of the second line, letting go hands, dance under these arches as they respond.
1. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ All broken is our bright fountain.
2. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ Give orders to have it mended.
1. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ We haven't a bit of money.
2. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ But we have money in plenty.
1. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ What kind of money may yours be?
2. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ Oh, ours is money of eggshells.
1. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ An arch for the lords and ladies.
2. "_A la limón, á la limón!_ Right merrily we pass under."
Another lyric dialogue, whose fun is spent on the lean purses of students and the happy-go-lucky life of Andalusia, must have originated since the overthrow, in 1892, of the leaning tower of Saragossa. The stanzas are sung alternately by two rows of children, advancing toward each other and retreating with a dancing step.
1. "In Saragossa --Oh, what a pity!-- Has fallen the tower, Pride of the city.
2. "Fell it by tempest, Fairies or witches, The students will raise it, For students have riches.
1. "Call on the students, Call louder and louder! They've only two coppers To buy them a chowder.
2. "Chowder of students Is sweeter than honey, But the gay Andalusians Have plenty of money.
1. "The gay Andalusians Have fiddle and ballad, But only two coppers To buy them a salad.
2. "In Saragossa --Oh, what a pity!-- Has fallen the tower, Pride of the city."
Unchildlike innuendoes pervade that curious game of many variants in which the priest and abbess play a leading part. Two children are chosen for these dignitaries, while the others call out the names of such flowers, fruits, or vegetables as each may decide to personate. "I'm a cabbage." "I'm a jasmine." "I'm a cherry." Then the little sinners kneel in a circle, crying:--
"Through the door, up the stairs, On the floor, say your prayers!"
and chant some childish gibberish, during which no one must laugh on pain of a forfeit. After this, all sing:--
"The house of the priest it cracked like a cup. Half fell down and half stood up. Sir Priest, Sir Priest, now tell us aright, In whose house did you sleep last night?
_Priest._ With the rose slept I.
_Rose._ Fie, O fie! I never saw your tonsured head.
_Priest._ Then with whom did you make your bed?
_Rose._ With the Pink.
_Pink._ I should think! I never saw your petals red.
_Rose._ Then with whom did you make your bed?
_Pink._ With the lily.
_Lily._ Don't be silly! I never heard your fragrant tread.
_Pink._ Then with whom did you make your bed?
_Lily._ With the priest.
_Priest._ Little beast! If I went near you, may I fall dead!
_Lily._ Then with whom did you make your bed?
_Priest._ With the abbess, I.
_Abbess._ Oh, you lie!"
But this seems to be the conclusion of the game.
The most of these choral songs, however, are sweet and innocent, concerned with the natural interests of childhood, as this:--
"The shepherdess rose lightly Larán--larán--larito, The shepherdess rose lightly From off her heather seat--O.
"Her goats went leaping homeward, Larán--larán--larito, Her goats went leaping homeward On nimble little feet--O.
"With strong young hands she milked them, Larán--larán--larito, With strong young hands she milked them And made a cheese for treat--O.
"The kitty watched and wondered, Larán--larán--larito, The kitty crept and pondered If it were good to eat--O.
"The kitty sprang upon it, Larán--larán--larito, The kitty sprang upon it And made a wreck complete--O.
"Scat, scat, you naughty kitty! Larán--larán--larito, Scat, scat, you naughty kitty! Are stolen cheeses sweet--O?"
The baby girls have a song of their own, which, as a blending of doll-play, gymnastics, music, mathematics, and religion, leaves little to be desired.
"Oh, I have a dolly, and she is dressed in blue, With a fluff of satin on her white silk shoe, And a lace mantilla to make my dolly gay, When I take her dancing this way, this way, this way. [_Dances Dolly in time to the music._
"2 and 2 are 4, 4 and 2 are 6, 6 and 2 are 8, and 8 is 16, And 8 is 24, and 8 is 32! Thirty-two! Thirty-two! Blesséd souls, I kneel to you. [_Kneels._
"When she goes out walking in her Manila shawl, My Andalusian dolly is quite the queen of all. Gypsies, dukes, and candy-men bow down in a row, While my dolly fans herself so and so and so. [_Fans Dolly in time to the music._
"2 and 2 are 4, 4 and 2 are 6, 6 and 2 are 8, and 8 is 16, And 8 is 24, and 8 is 24! Twenty-four! Twenty-four! Blesséd souls, I rise once more."
They have a number of bird-games, through which they flit and flutter with an airy grace that wings could hardly better. In one, the children form a circle, with "the little bird Pinta" in the centre. The chorus, dancing lightly around her, sings the first stanza, and Pinta, while passing about the circle to make her choice, sings the rest, with the suggested action. The child chosen becomes Pinta in turn.
_Chorus._ "The little bird Pinta was poising On a scented green lemon-tree spray. She picked the leaf and the blossom, And chanted a roundelay.
_Pinta._ "Song in the land! While April is yet a newcomer, O mate of my summer, Give to me a hand now, Both hands I seek, O! Take a Spanish kiss, now, On the rosy cheek, O!"
Equally pretty and simple is the Andalusian play of "Little White Pigeons." The children form in two rows, which face each other some ten or twelve yards apart. One row sings the first stanza, dancing forward and slipping under the "golden arches" made by the lifted arms of the second row. The second row sings and dances in turn, passing under the "silver arches" to Granada.
1. "Little white pigeons Are dreaming of Seville, Sun in the palm tree, Roses and revel. Lift up the arches, Gold as the weather. Little white pigeons Come flying together.
2. "Little white pigeons Dream of Granada, Glistening snows on Sierra Nevada. Lift up the arches, Silver as fountains. Little white pigeons Fly to the mountains."
The Spanish form of "Blindman's Buff" begins with "giving the pebble" to determine who shall be the Blind Hen. A child shuts in one hand the pebble and then presents both little fists to the other children passing in file. Each, while all sing the first stanza given below, softly touches first one of the hands, then the other, and finally slaps the one chosen. If this is empty, she passes on. If it holds the pebble, she must take it and be the one to offer the hands. The child who finally remains with the pebble in her possession, after all have passed, is the Blind Hen. As the game goes on, the children tease the Blind Hen, who, of course, is trying to catch them, by singing the second stanza given below.
1
"Pebble, O pebble! Where may it be? Pebble, O pebble! Come not to me! Tell me, my mother, Which hand to choose. This or the other? That I refuse, This hand I choose."
2
"She's lost her thimble, Little Blind Hen. Better be nimble! Try it again! Who'll bring a taper For the Blind Hen? Scamper and caper! Try it again! Try it again!"
Other games as well known to American children as "Blindman's Buff" are played by little Spaniards. They understand how to make the "hand-chair" and "drop the button," only their button is usually a ring. "Hide the Handkerchief" carries with it the familiar cries of _hot_ and _cold_, but our "Puss in the Corner" becomes "A Cottage to Rent."
"'Cottage to rent?' 'Try the other side, You see that this Is occupied.'"
In religious Seville the dialogue runs:--
"'A candle here?' 'Over there.' 'A candle here?' 'Otherwhere.'
"'Candle, a candle!' 'Loss on loss.' 'Where is light?' 'In the Holy Cross.'"
For all these games, common to childhood the world over, have a rhyming element in the Peninsula, where, indeed, the ordinary intercourse of children often carries verses with it. For instance, our youngsters are content with cries of "Tell-tale!" and "Indian-giver!" but under similar provocation the fierce little nurslings of Catholic Spain will sing:--
"Tell-tale! Tell-tale! In hell you'll be served right, All day fed on mouldy bread, And pounded all the night!"
The other baby-curse is to the same effect:--
"He who gives and takes again, Long in hell may he remain! He who gives and takes once more, May we hear him beat on the Devil's door!"
The Spanish form of tag has a touch of mythological grace. One child, chosen by lot, is the Moon, and must keep within the shadow. The others, Morning-stars, are safe only in the lighted spaces. The game is for the Morning-stars to run into the shadow, daring the Moon, who, if successful in catching one, becomes a Morning-star in turn, and passes out into the light, leaving the one caught to act the part of Moon. As the Morning-stars run in and out of the Moon's domain, they sing over and over the following stanza:--
"O the Moon and the Morning-stars! O the Moon and the Morning-stars! Who dares to tread--O Within the shadow?"
Even in swinging, the little girls who push carry on a musical dialogue with the happy holder of the seat.
"'Say good-day, say good-day To Miss Fannie Fly-away! At the door the guests are met, But the table is not set. Put the stew upon the fire. Higher, higher, higher, higher! Now come down, down, down, down, Or the dinner will all burn brown. Soup and bread! soup and bread! I know a plot of roses red, Red as any hero's sword, Or the blood of our Holy Lord. Where art thou, on the wing?' 'No, I'm sitting in the swing.' 'Who're thy playmates way up there?' 'Swallows skimming through the air.' 'Down, come down! The stew will burn. Let the rest of us have a turn.'"
In playing "Hide and Seek," the seeker must first sit in a drooping attitude with covered eyes, while the others stand about and threaten to strike him if he peeps:--
"Oil-cruet! Don't do it! _Ras con ras!_ Pepper-pot? Peep not! _Ras con ras!_"
The menacing little fists are then suddenly withdrawn.
"No, no! Not a blow! But a pinch on the arm will do no harm. Now let the birdies take alarm!"
And off scamper the hiders to their chosen nooks. When they are safely tucked away, the indispensable Mother, standing by, sings to the seeker that stanza which is his signal for the start:--
"My little birds of the mountain Forth from the cage are flown. My little birds of the mountain Have left me all alone."
Spanish forfeit games are numerous and ingenious. In one of these, called "The Toilet," the players take the names of Mirror, Brush, Comb, Towel, Soap, and other essentials, including Jesus, Devil, and Man Alive, these last for exclamatory purposes. As each is mentioned by the leader of the game, he must rise instantly, on pain of forfeit, no matter how fast the speaker may be rattling on: "_Jesus!_ When will that _devil_ of a _maid_ bring me my _powder_ and _perfumes_?" Characteristic titles of other forfeit games are, "The Key of Rome," "The Fan," "The Fountain," "I Saw my Love Last Night." The sentences vary from such gentle penalties as "The Caress of Cadiz" to the predicament of putting three feet on the wall at once.
The choral verses are often mere nonsense.
"Pipe away! pipe away! Let us play a little play! What will we play? We'll cut our hands away. Who cut them, who? Rain from out the blue. Where is the rain? Hens drank it up again. Hens? And where are they? Gone their eggs to lay. Who will eat them up? Friars when they sup. What do friars do? Sing 'gori-gori-goo.'"
Watching Spanish children, one may see two little girls, say White Rose and Sweetness, fly out into an open space, where White Rose carefully places the tips of her small shoes in touch with those of Sweetness. Then they clasp hands, fling their little bodies as far back as these conditions permit, and whirl round and round, singing lustily--until they are overcome by giddiness--the following rigmarole, or one of its variants:--
"Titirinela, if you please! Titirinela, bread and cheese: 'What is your father's worshipful name?' 'Sir Red-pepper, who kisses your hands.' 'And how does he call his beautiful dame?' 'Lady Cinnamon, at your commands.' Titirinela, toe to toe! Titirinela, round we go!"
Even in some of their prettiest games the verses have a childish incoherence. Some dozen little girls form a circle, for instance, with the Butterfly in the centre. They lift her dress-skirt by the border, and hold it outspread about her. Another child, on the outside, runs around and around the ring, singing:--
"Who are these chatterers? Oh, such a number! Not by day nor by night Do they let me slumber. They're daughters of the Moorish king, Who search the garden-close For lovely Lady Ana, The sweetest thing that grows. She's opening the jasmine And shutting up the rose."
Then the children suddenly lift their hands, which are holding Butterfly's frock, so as to envelop her head in the folds. The little singer outside continues:--
"Butterfly, butterfly, Dressed in rose-petals! Is it on candle-flame Butterfly settles? How many shirts Have you woven of rain? Weave me another Ere I call you again."
These songs are repeated seven times. Then comes another stanza:--
"Now that Lady Ana Walks in garden sweet, Gathering the roses Whose dew is on her feet, Butterfly, butterfly, Can you catch us? Try it, try!"
With this the circle breaks and scatters, while Butterfly, blinded as she is by the folds of her own skirt wrapped about her head, does her best to overtake some one, who shall then become her successor.
Many of the games are simplicity itself. Often the play is merely a circle dance, sometimes ending in a sudden kneeling or sitting on the ground, One of the songs accompanying this dance runs:--
"Potatoes and salt must little folks eat, While the grown-up people dine Off lemons and chestnuts and oranges sweet, With cocoanut milk for wine. On the ground do we take our seat, We're at your feet, we're at your feet."
Sometimes a line of children will form across the street and run, hand in hand, down its length, singing:--
"We have closed the street And no one may pass, Only my grandpa Leading his ass Laden with oranges Fresh from the trees. Tilín! Tilín! Down on our knees! Tilín! Tilín! Tilín! Tilín! The holy bell of San Agustín!"
A play for four weans, training them early to the "eternal Spanish contradiction," consists in holding a handkerchief by its four corners, while one of them sings:--
"Pull and slacken! I've lost my treasure store. Pull and slacken! I'm going to earn some more. _Slacken!_"
And at this, the other three children must _pull_, on pain of forfeit, whereas if the word is _pull_, their business is to _slacken_.
They have a grasshopper game, where they jump about with their hands clasped under their knees, singing:--
"Grasshopper sent me an invitation To come and share his occupation. Grasshopper dear, how could I say no? Grasshopper, grasshopper, here I go!"
In much the same fashion they play "Turkey," gobbling as they hop.
I never found them "playing house" precisely after the manner of our own little girls, but there are many variants for the dialogue and songs in their game of "Washerwoman." The Mother says: "Mariquilla, I'm going out to the river to wash. While I am gone, you must sweep and tidy up the house."
"_Bueno, madre._"
But no sooner is the Mother out of sight than naughty Mariquilla begins to frisk for joy, singing:--
"Mother has gone to wash. Mother'll be gone all day. Now can Mariquilla Laugh and dance and play."
But the Mother returns so suddenly that Mariquilla sees her barely in time to begin a vigorous sweeping.
"'What hast been doing, Mary?' 'Sweeping with broom of brier.' 'A friar saw thee playing.' 'He was a lying friar.' 'A holy friar tell a lie!' 'He lied and so do you.' 'Come hither, Mary of my heart, 'And I'll beat thee black and blue.'"
After this lively exercise, the washerwoman goes away again, charging Mariquilla to churn the butter, then to knead the bread, then to set the table, but always with the same disastrous results. The Mother finally condemns her to a dinner of bread and bitters, but Mariquilla makes a point of understanding her to say bread and honey, and shares this sweetness with her sympathetic mates who form the circle. This time the beating is so severe that the children of the ring raise their arms and let Mariquilla dodge freely in and out, while they do all they can to trip and hinder the irate washerwoman in her pursuit.
There is another washing game of more romantic sort, the chorus being:--
"'Bright is the fountain, When skies are blue. Who washed my handkerchief? Tell me true!' 'Three mountain maidens Of laughing look. White went their feet In the running brook. One threw in roses, And jasmine one. One spread thy handkerchief In the sun.'"
Spanish children "play store," of course, but they are such dramatic little creatures that they need no broken ware for their merchandise. A row of them will squat down in the middle of the street, clasp their hands under the hollow of their knees, and crook out their arms for "handles." Then a customer wanders by, asking, "Who sells honey-jars?" The merchant disrespectfully replies, "That do I, Uncle of the Torn Trousers." The shabby customer answers with Castilian dignity, "If my trousers are torn, my wife will mend them." The merchant then opens negotiations. "Will you buy a little jar of honey?" "What's your price?" The merchant is not exorbitant. "A flea and a louse." The probabilities are, unhappily, that the customer has these commodities about him, and he inclines, though cautiously, toward the bargain.
"Your little honey-jars are good?"
"Very good."
"Do they weigh much?"
"Let's see."
So they pick up an hilarious little honey-jar by its handles and tug it away between them, not letting it touch the ground, to the sidewalk. Here the merchant and customer have designated four spaces as Heaven, Limbo, Purgatory, and Hell, but on a preliminary paving-stone--let truth need no apology!--they have done some artistic spitting, with the result that four different figures in saliva are presented to the little honey-jar. These four figures bear a secret relation to the four spaces on the sidewalk, and the prisoner must make his choice. "This!" he ventures. "Hell!" scream the merchant and customer, and drag him, shrieking and struggling, to his doom. The next, perhaps, will have the luck to hit on Heaven, for every little honey-jar must take his chance in this theological lottery.
Sometimes the market becomes a transformation scene. The children hold up their forefingers for candles, but embarrass the merchant by doubling these up whenever the customer is on the point of buying. Just as the bargain is about to be concluded, the little candles vanish and the children roll themselves into bunches of grapes, some proving sweet and others sour. Again, they make themselves over into pitchers, cushions, and all variety of domestic articles, becoming at last a pack of barking dogs which rush out on the customer, snap at his legs, and drive him off the premises.
Again, it is a chicken-market on which the Uncle of the Torn Trousers chances, where one by one he buys all the hens and chickens, but forgets to buy the rooster, and when, by and by, this lordly fowl, waxing lonely, cock-a-doodle-doos, the hens and chickens come scurrying back to him, more to the profit of the merchant than to the satisfaction of the customer.
In another of the chicken games, the Mother leaves Mariquilla in charge of the brood, with directions, if the wolf comes, to fling him the smallest. But he comes so often that, when the Mother returns, there are no chickens left. Then she and Little Mary go hunting them, hop-hop-hop through Flea Street, bow-wow-wow through Dog Street, and so on without success, until it occurs to them to scatter corn. Thereupon with peep-peep-peep and flip-flap-flutter all the chickens appear, but only to fly at the negligent Mother, who left them to the jaws of the wolf, and assail her with such furious pecks that she must run for her life, the indignant chicks racing in wild pursuit.