————
Music is so delightfully innocent and charming an art that we cannot wonder at finding it almost universally regarded as of divine origin. Pagan nations generally ascribe the invention of their musical instruments to their gods or to certain superhuman beings of a godlike nature. The Hebrews attributed it to man; but as Jubal is mentioned as "the father of all such as handle the harp and organ" only, and as instruments of percussion are almost invariably in use long before people are led to construct stringed and wind instruments, we may suppose that, in the biblical records, Jubal is not intended to be represented as the original inventor of all the Hebrew instruments, but rather as a great promoter of the art of music.
However this may be, thus much is certain: there are among Christians at the present day not a few sincere upholders of the literal meaning of those records who maintain that instrumental music was already practised in Heaven before the creation of the world. Elaborate treatises have been written on the nature and effect of that heavenly music, and passages from the Bible have been cited by the learned authors which are supposed by them to confirm indisputably the opinions advanced in their treatises.
It may, at a first glance, appear singular that nations have not generally such traditional records respecting the originators of their vocal music as they have respecting the invention of their musical instruments. The cause is however explicable; to sing is as natural to man as to speak, and uncivilised nations are not likely to speculate whether singing has ever been invented.
There is no need to recount here the well-known mythological traditions of the ancient Greeks and Romans referring to the origin of their favourite musical instruments. Suffice it to remind the reader that Mercury and Apollo were believed to be the inventors of the lyra and the kithara; that the invention of the flute was attributed to Minerva; and that Pan is said to have invented the syrinx. More worthy of our attention are some similar records of the Hindus, because they have hitherto scarcely been noticed in any work on music.
In the mythology of the Hindus the god Nareda is the inventor of thevina, the principal national musical instrument of Hindustan. Saraswati, the consort of Brahma, may be considered as the Minerva of the Hindus. She is the goddess of music as well as of speech. To her is attributed the invention of the systematic arrangement of the sounds into a musical scale. She is represented seated on a peacock and playing on a stringed instrument of the guitar kind. Brahma himself we find depicted as a vigorous man with four handsome heads, beating with his hands upon a small drum. And Vishnu, in his incarnation as Krishna, is represented as a beautiful youth playing upon a flute. The Hindus still possess a peculiar kind of flute which they consider as the favourite instrument of Krishna. Furthermore, they have the divinity of Genēsa, the god of wisdom, who is represented as a man with the head of an elephant holding in his hands a tamboura—a kind of lute with a long neck.
Among the Chinese we meet with a tradition according to which they obtained their musical scale from a miraculous bird called Foung-hoang, which appears to have been a sort of Phœnix. As regards the invention of musical instruments, the Chinese have various traditions. In one of these we are told that the origin of some of their most popular instruments dates from the period when China was under the dominion of heavenly spirits called Ki. Another assigns the invention of several of their stringed instruments to the great Fohi, called "the Son of Heaven," who was, it is said, the founder of the Chinese empire, and who is stated to have lived aboutb.c.3000, which was long after the dominion ofthe Ki, or spirits. Again, another tradition holds that the most important Chinese musical instruments, and the systematic arrangement of the tones, are an invention of Niuva, a supernatural female, who lived at the time of Fohi, and who was a virgin-mother. When Confucius, the great Chinese philosopher, happened to hear on a certain occasion some divine music, he became so greatly enraptured that he could not take any food for three months afterwards. The music which produced this miraculous effect was that of Kouei, the Orpheus of the Chinese, whose performance on theking, a kind of harmonicon constructed of slabs of sonorous stone, would draw wild animals around him and make them subservient to his will.
The Japanese have a beautiful tradition according to which the Sun-goddess, in resentment of the violence of an evil-disposed brother, retired into a cave, leaving the universe in darkness and in anarchy; when the beneficent gods, in their concern for the welfare of mankind, devised music to lure her forth from the retreat, and their efforts soon proved successful.[7]
The Kalmuks, in the vicinity of the Caspian Sea, adore a beneficent divinity, called Maidari, who is represented as a rather jovial-looking man, with a moustache and an imperial, playing upon an instrument with three strings, somewhat resembling the Russian balalaika.
Almost all these ancient conceptions we meet with also among European nations, though more or less modified.
Odin, the principal deity of the ancient Scandinavians, was the inventor of magic songs and Runic writings.
In the Finnish mythology the divine Vainamoinen is said to have constructed the five-stringed harp, called kantele, the old national instrument of the Finns. The frame he made out of the bones of the pike, and the teeth of the pike he used for the tuning-pegs. The strings he made of hair from the tail of a spirited horse. When the harp fell into the sea, and was lost, he made another, the frame of which was ofbirchwood, with pegs made out of the branch of an oak-tree. As strings for this harp he used the silky hair of a young girl. Vainamoinen took his harp, and sat down on a hill near a silvery brook. There he played with so irresistible an effect that he entranced whatever came within hearing of his music. Men and animals listened enraptured; the wildest beasts of the forest lost their ferocity; the birds of the air were drawn towards him; the fishes rose to the surface of the water, and remained immovable; the trees ceased to wave their branches; the brook retarded its course, and the wind its haste; even the mocking echo approached stealthily, and listened with the utmost attention to the heavenly sounds. Soon the women began to cry; then the old men and the children also began to cry; and the girls, and the young men—all cried for delight. At last Vainamoinen himself wept; and his big tears ran over his beard, and rolled into the water, and became beautiful pearls at the bottom of the sea.
Several other musical gods or godlike musicians could be cited, and, moreover, innumerable minor spirits, all bearing evidence that music is of divine origin.
True, people who think themselves more enlightened than their forefathers smile at these old traditions, and say that the original home of music is the human heart. Be it so. But do not the purest and most beautiful conceptions of man partake of a divine character? Is not the art of music generally acknowledged to be one of these? And is it not, therefore, even independently of myths and mysteries, entitled to be called the divine art?
It is a suggestive fact that several nations in different parts of the world possess an ancient tradition, according to which some harp-like instrument was originally derived from the water.
The Scandinavian god Odin, the originator of magic songs, is mentioned as the ruler of the sea; and as such he had the name of Nikarr. In the depth of the sea he playedthe harp with his subordinate spirits, who occasionally came up to the surface of the water to teach some favoured human being their wonderful instrument.
Vainamoinen, the divine player on the Finnish kantele, according to the Kalewala, the old national æpos of the Finns, constructed the first instrument of this kind of fish-bones.
Hermes, it will be remembered, made his lyre, the chelys, of a tortoise-shell.
In Hindu mythology the god Nareda invented the vina, a five-stringed instrument, considered as the principal national instrument of the Hindus, which has also the namekach'-hapi, signifying a tortoise. Moreovernaradenotes in Sanskrit "water," andNaradaorNareda"the Giver of Water."
Like Nareda, so Nereus and his fifty daughters, the Nereides, mentioned in Greek mythology, were renowned for their musical accomplishments.
Again, there is an old tradition, preserved in Swedish and Scottish national ballads, of a skilful harper who constructs his instrument out of the bones of a young girl drowned by a wicked woman. Her fingers he uses for the tuning screws, and her golden hair for the strings. The harper plays, and his music kills the murderess.[8]A similar story is told in the old Icelandic national songs, and the same tradition has been found still preserved in the Faroe Islands, as well as in Norway and Denmark.[9]
May not the agreeable impression produced by the rhythmical flow of the waves and the soothing murmur of running water have led various nations, independently of each other, to the widespread conception that they obtained their favourite instrument of music originally from the water? Or is this notion traceable to a common source, dating from a pre-historic age—perhaps from the early period when the Aryan race is surmised to have diffused itslore through various countries? Or did it originate in the old belief of the world with all its charms and delights having arisen from a chaos in which water constituted the predominant element?
Howbeit, Nareda, the Giver of Water, was evidently also the ruler of the clouds; and Odin had his throne in the skies. Indeed, many of the musical water-spirits appear to have been originally considered as rain-deities. Their music may, therefore, be regarded as derived from the clouds rather than from the sea. In short, the traditions respecting spirits and water are not in contradiction to, but rather confirmatory of the belief that music is of heavenly origin.
Mia Tonsine, a wonderful musician in the time of the Emperor Akber, sang one of thenight-ragsat mid-day. The power of the music was such that it instantly became night, and the darkness extended in a circle round the palace as far as the sound of the voice could be heard. Rags are characteristic songs composed in certain modes or scales; and each Rag is appropriated to a distinct season, in which alone it must be sung or played at prescribed hours of the day or night; for, over each of the six Rags, or kinds of compositions, presides a certain god, who presides likewise over the six seasons. The six seasons are:Seesar, the dewy season;Heemat, the cold season;Vasant, the mild season, or spring;Greesshma, the hot season;Varsa, the rainy season; andSarat, the breaking-up, or end of the rains.[10]
Whoever shall attempt to sing the RagDheepuck(or "Cupid the Inflamer") is to be destroyed by fire. The Emperor Akber ordered Naik Gopaul, a celebrated musician, to sing that Rag. Naik Gopaul endeavoured to excuse himself, but in vain; the Emperor insisted on obedience. The unhappy musician therefore requested permission to go home, and to bid farewell to his family andfriends. It was winter when he returned, after an absence of six months. Before he began to sing he placed himself in the waters of the Jumna till they reached his neck. As soon as he had performed a strain or two the river gradually became hot; at length it began to boil, and the agonies of the unhappy musician were nearly insupportable. Suspending for a moment the melody thus cruelly extorted, he sued for mercy from the monarch, but sued in vain. Akber wished to prove more strongly the powers of the RagDheepuck. Naik Gopaul renewed the fatal song: flames burst with violence from his body, which, though immersed in the waters of the Jumna, was consumed to ashes.
The effect produced by the Rag calledMaig Mullaaris immediate rain. It is told that a singing girl once, by exerting the powers of her voice in this Rag, drew from the clouds timely and refreshing showers on the parched rice-crops of Bengal, and thereby averted the horrors of famine from the "Paradise of Regions," as the province of Bengal is sometimes called.
Sir William Ouseley, who obtained these traditions, it would appear, from oral communication, states that they are related by many of the Hindus, and implicitly believed by some. However, on inquiring of the people whether there are still musical performers among them who can produce effects similar to those recorded, one is gravely told that the art is now almost lost, but that there are still musicians possessed of miraculous powers in the west of Hindustan; and if one inquires in the west, they say that should any such musicians remain, they must be found in Bengal.[11]
A reliable collection of Hindu traditions relating to music might, probably, be suggestive and valuable to the musical historian, especially if he examined them with reference to the myths of the ancient Egyptians and Greeks.
There appears to be a notion universally prevailing among uncivilised people that, during an eclipse of the sunor moon, the two luminaries are quarrelling with each other, or that their conjugal happiness is being disturbed by some intruding monster.
The natives of the Polynesian Islands have an old tradition, according to which the moon (calledmarama) is the wife of the sun (calledra), and, during an eclipse, the moon is supposed to be bitten or pinched by some angry spirit.[12]
The Javanese, and the natives of the Indian Archipelago in general, when an eclipse takes place, shout and beat gongs to prevent the sun or moon from being devoured by the great dragon (callednága), which they suppose to be attacking the luminary.[13]This notion appears to have been adopted by the Malays from the Hindus, in whose mythology a god called Rahu—who is recorded to have been originally a giant, and who is painted black—at the time of an eclipse swallows up the sun and moon, and vomits them up again.
Of the Chinese we are told: "As soon as they perceive that the sun or moon begins to be darkened, they throw themselves on their knees and knock their foreheads against the earth. A noise of drums and cymbals is immediately heard throughout the whole city. This is the remains of an ancient opinion entertained in China, that by such a horrid din they assist the suffering luminary, and prevent it from being devoured by the celestial dragon."[14]
The Greenlanders have, according to Crantz, a somewhat similar tradition; but, instead of musical instruments, the men carry kettles and boxes to the top of the house, and rattle and beat them, and the women pinch the dogs by the ears, to frighten away the moon, who, they suppose, is insulting his wife, the sun.[15]In Greenland, the moon is the man, and the sun is the wife, as in Germany.
Again, the Negroes in Western Africa appear to have much the same notion. The traveller Lander, during his stay at Boussa in Soudan, witnessed the wild behaviour of the Negroes at the occurrence of an eclipse of the moon. Their principal exertions to avert the supposed impending calamity consisted in blowing trumpets, beating drums, singing and shouting.[16]
The Japanese legend of the sun-goddess, who, after having hidden herself in a cavern, is enticed from her dark abode by the power of music, is apparently likewise a poetical conception of an eclipse. Titsingh, in reciting the same tradition, says that Fensio-Daysin, the sun-goddess, fled to the cavern in consequence of a dispute she had with her brother, Sasanno-Ono-Mikotto, the god of the moon.[17]
From these examples it seems that musical performances, or, at least, the sounds of loud instruments, are considered the most effective agent for appeasing the anger of the quarrelling celestial bodies. But there is no reason to assume that this peculiar notion originally emanated from one people. Like several other popular traditions, it most likely owes its origin to impressions produced on the mind by a certain natural phenomenon; and it may, therefore, have suggested itself to different nations quite independently, instead of having been transmitted from one nation to another.
Most of the popular legends and fairy tales which have been traditionally preserved are of high origin. Many of those which appear to have originated during the Christian era are only modifications of older ones dating from heathen times. Thus, we find the Virgin Mary in a legend substituted for a pagan goddess, and one or other Saint for a pagan god. Sometimes a remarkable incident, recorded in ancient history, is related as having occurred at a muchmore recent time. Perhaps it may have happened again, but in many cases the old tradition has, undoubtedly, been borrowed by one nation from another, and has been adapted to circumstances which favoured its adaptation.
In the musical records of the Arabs mention is made of the wonderful accomplishments of a celebrated musician, whose name was Al-Farabi, and who acquired his proficiency in Spain, in one of the schools at Cordova, which flourished as early as towards the end of the ninth century. The reputation of Al-Farabi became so great, that ultimately it extended to Asia. The mighty Caliph of Bagdad himself desired to hear the celebrated musician, and sent messengers to Spain with instructions to offer rich presents to Al-Farabi, and to convey him to the Caliph's court; but the musician feared that if he went he should be detained in Asia, and should never again see his home, to which he felt deeply attached. However, at last he resolved to disguise himself, and to undertake the journey, which promised him a rich harvest. Dressed in a mean costume he made, unrecognized, his appearance at the court just at the time when the mighty Caliph was being entertained with his daily concert. Al-Farabi, unknown to everyone present, was permitted to exhibit his skill. He sang, accompanying himself on the lute. Scarcely had he commenced his performance in a certain musical mode when he set all his audience laughing aloud, notwithstanding the efforts of the courtiers to suppress so unbecoming an exhibition of mirth in the presence of the mighty Caliph. In truth, even the mighty Caliph himself was compelled to burst out into a fit of laughter. Presently, Al-Farabi changed to another mode, and the effect was that immediately all his hearers began to sigh, and soon tears of sadness replaced the previous tears of mirth. Again he sang and played in another mode, which excited his audience to such a rage that they would have fought each other if he, seeing the danger, had not directly gone over to an appeasing mode. After this wonderful exhibition of his skill, he concluded in a mode which had the extraordinary effect of making his listeners fall into a profound sleep, during which Al-Farabi took his departure.
It will be seen that this incident is almost identical with one recorded as having happened about twelve hundred years earlier at the court of Alexander the Great, and which forms the subject of Dryden's fine poem, 'Alexander's Feast.' The distinguished flutist, Timotheus, playing before Alexander, successively aroused and subdued different passions by changing the musical modes during the performance, exactly in the same way as did Al-Farabi more than a thousand years later.
The Germans have a curious story in which an incident occurs calling to mind Arion's famous adventure. It will be remembered that Arion, after having gained by his musical talents great riches, was, during a voyage, in imminent danger of being murdered by the sailors, who coveted the treasures he was carrying with him. When he found that his death was decided upon, he asked permission to strike once more his beloved lyre. And so feelingly did he play, that the fishes surrounding the ship took compassion. He threw himself into the water, and was carried ashore by a dolphin.
As regards Trusty Ferdinand, the hero of the German story, we are told that he, seeing a fish struggling near the shore and gasping for water, takes it by the tail and restores it to its element. Whereupon the fish, in gratitude, puts its head out of the water, and presents Trusty Ferdinand with a flute. "Shouldst thou ever stand in need of my assistance," says the fish, "only play upon this flute, and I will come and help thee." Sometime afterwards Trusty Ferdinand embarks on a voyage to a distant country. While on board a ship he has the misfortune to let drop into the sea a precious ring, upon the possession of which depends the happiness of a beautiful princess as well as his own happiness. He takes up his flute; as soon as he begins to play, the fish appears and reaches back to him the precious ring.
The Wild Huntsman tears through the forest at night attended by a noisy host, pursuing his furious chase with unearthly singing, with sounding of horns, with the barking of dogs, the clattering of horses, and with fearful shouting and hallooing. This widespread conception has been ascertained to date from ancient pagan time, in which Wuotan, (or Woden), the principal deity of German mythology, exhibits the characteristics commonly attributed to the Wild Huntsman. But it is new as well as old; for it suggests itself not less naturally at the present day than it suggested itself in bygone times—as the reader will perhaps know from his own experience, if he has ever found himself alone on a stormy moonlight night in a forest of Bohemia or Germany. In any case, he may be sure that it is no joke to traverse in such a night a forest which still continues in almost its primeval state.
For awhile everything appears silent as the grave, and the lonely pedestrian, pursuing some old track which faintly indicates the way to a village, is only occasionally bewildered by the sudden darkness occurring when a cloud obscures the moon, or by the startling brightness, should he reach unexpectedly a clearing in the forest just at the moment when a cloud has passed across the moon, casting not far before him its shadow, which like a spectre rapidly flits over the brushwood, assuming various uncouth shapes. Soon his imagination is excited by distant sounds never heard in open day—yelping of foxes, howling of wolves, grunting of wild boars; and now by the piteous cry of agony emitted by a bird which has fallen a prey to some ravenous beast. Presently he is startled by an awful noise like the galloping of a cavalcade: a herd of stags is hastily fleeing through the wood. The cavalcade seems to come straight upon him; but soon the noise grows weaker, and quickly dies away. Now a whirlwind sweeping over the forest, and violently shaking the tops of the trees, gradually approaches the harassed pedestrian. At first only groaning and grumbling, itsoon bursts forth into a terrific howl; and as it furiously passes over the head of the involuntary witness, it scares from their hiding-places sundry owls, the hooting and screeching of which alone would suffice to make his hair stand on end. And when the whirlwind has swept over, and is only heard faintly murmuring in the distance, other sounds and apparitions not less terrifying are sure soon to arise. In short, the lonely wanderer, be he ever so intelligent an observer of nature, will most likely feel his heart eased of a heavy weight when he has left the forest behind him. Soon, having reached the end of his journey, he may put on his slippers with that comfortable sensation of relief which people are sure to experience when they have escaped an imminent danger. It is all very well for him now to persuade himself that, after all, he has only witnessed some interesting natural phenomena; he may perhaps even smile at the superstitious notions of simple-minded peasants. But of what avail is this to him? The night is not yet over, and he cannot escape a fearful dream of a personal encounter with the Wild Huntsman and his furious host.
From what has been said it will not surprise the reader that the reports of witnesses who profess to have met with the Wild Huntsman are at variance in many points. Much evidently depends upon the nature of the locality in which the mysterious apparition shows itself. In some parts of Germany particular stress is laid upon the softness and sweetness of his music. This conception may have originated in the pine-forests where the delicate needle-shaped leaves of the trees are vibrated by the wind like the strings of an Æolian harp. But, the blowing of the huntsman's horn seems to be an indispensable attribute to the furious chase. The country-folks in Mecklenburg, and in some other provinces in the North of Germany where Low German is spoken, on hearing the mysterious noise in the wood, say, "De Wode tüt!" ("Woden is tooting!") thereby implying a series of unrhythmical sounds rather than a melodious succession of tones on the horn—in fact, sounds very much like the hooting of the owl. It is moreover a common belief that a kind of owl, called by thepeasantsTutosel, always accompanies the Wild Huntsman with his furious host.
An account of an extraordinary occurrence given by an honest witness is, of course, generally preferable to a statement of the same occurrence merely obtained from hearsay; and the evidence of the witness deserves all the greater attention if he shows himself to be an intelligent and keen observer. The subjoined report of the German Baron Reibnitz may therefore interest the reader. It was communicated by the Baron to the Philosophical Society in Görlitz, Silesia. As Görlitz possesses a Philosophical Society, there must be clever fellows in the town. Be this as it may, the document is authentic, and has been faithfully translated from the German.
"The popular tradition of the Wild Huntsman, current in many places, prevails also still at the present day in my village of Zilmsdorf. From my earliest years I had been acquainted with it, but only from hearsay; and as soon as I had come into possession of my paternal inheritance, I gave the most stringent orders, especially to the nightwatch, to inform me immediately, at any hour of the night, should this event come to pass.
"About thirty years ago, towards eleven o'clock on a clear night in the month of May, I heard a knocking at my window:—
"'Gracious Baron!' cried my nightwatch, 'The Wild Huntsman! In the upper wood of Teuplitz!'
"I directly gave orders to arouse Stäglich, my gamekeeper, who at that time—I being then a bachelor—was groom, gamekeeper, house-steward, in short all in all to me, and was moreover just of my own age, and certainly an excellent forester.
"'Go, fetch the horses! Make haste! Don't stop to saddle—only the horse-cloth; the Wild Huntsman is in the forest; we will welcome him!'
"This was the very thing for Stäglich. In less than tenminutes we were mounted, well-armed, and were flying over meadows and ploughed fields towards the sounds of hunting-horns and the crying of hounds. Scarcely had we reached the heath when the noise ceased. We remained quiet. On a sudden we heard close by us a yelping much like that of a badger-dog when it has recovered the lost scent. Rapidly the yelping of dogs, large and small, with the sounds of horns, increased; and now commenced a truly furious chase, which moved towards the middle of the forest, where other hunting-horns besides were winding awfully. We spurred our horses and rushed forwards, but an impenetrable thicket compelled us to change our course, and to turn into a part of the forest where there was but little underwood, but where, notwithstanding the beautiful starlight night, it was so pitch dark that we really could not see the wood for the trees, as the saying is. The horses—which, as is well-known, are at night more nervous than men—shied several times.
"On a sudden the Wild Hunt appeared to come directly towards us, with a clamour so terrible that, as soon as we reached the summit of the hill where the highest forest trees stand, we called out to each other: 'Now at them!'
"Like a whirlwind it rushed past us, with awful music of voices and instruments, at a distance of scarcely forty paces. The horses snorted and shied, and that of my gamekeeper reared and fell backwards.
"'Heaven be merciful to us, and protect us!' we both cried. I hastened to his assistance, but he was already rising. Soon he was again at my side. Our horses nervously pressed close to each other. The Wild Hunt appeared to be over, when, after a little while, we heard it commencing anew a great distance off, in the open fields. Without waste of time we hastened in that direction, and soon reached the fields.
"The stars shone brightly and cheerfully. Now the Wild Hunt passed before us; but as we approached, it gradually went off in a curved line, with sounding of horns, crying of hounds, and clattering of horses. Soon it was far away on the distant heath.
"We rode home, where the nightwatch anxiously awaited us. He had already begun to doubt whether we should ever come back. It was past one o'clock."[18]
The calls of birds are perhaps more frequently considered as good presages than as unlucky ones. Among the Slavonic nations, especially the Poles and Lithuanians, the hooting of the owl predicts misery and death. Also in Germany, if the little screech-owl makes its appearance in a village during a moonlight night, and settling on a farm-building emits its melancholy notes, some people are sure to hint that there will be ere long a death in the family of the householder. Moreover, a similar superstition prevails in Hindustan.[19]
The croaking of a raven is considered in Russia and Servia as foreboding the shedding of blood.[20]The ancient tradition of the singing of the dying swan is familiar to everyone. Although our common swan does not produce sounds which might account for this tradition, it is a well-known fact that the wild swan (cygnus ferus), also called the whistling swan, when on the wing emits a shrill tone, which, however harsh it may sound if heard near, produces a pleasant effect when, emanating from a large flock high in the air, it is heard in a variety of pitches of sound, increasing or diminishing in loudness according to the movements of the birds and to the current of the wind. With the idea of the song of the dying swan appears to be connected the Scandinavian tradition of the Valkyrjas, who were maidens in armour with wings of swans. During abattle the Valkyrjas approached floating through the air, and hovering over the scene of carnage, they indicated who were to fall in the fight.[21]
The cuckoo is regarded by the Russians and by most other Slavonic nations as a bird of sadness. According to a Servian tradition the cuckoo (calledkukawiza) was a girl who wept so continually for her deceased brother that she was transformed into a bird, which in two melancholy tones sends its unabating complaint through the air. A Servian girl who has lost her brother (lover?) never hears the cuckoo without shedding tears. Moreover, in Servia the cuckoo is considered as a prophetic bird, especially by theheyduk, or robber, who augurs from its earlier or later singing.[22]
Among the Germanic races the notes of the cuckoo, when in the spring it first makes itself heard, are generally considered as a good omen. It is still, as from Teutonic mythology it appears to have been in ancient time, a belief among the peasantry in Germany that if anybody counts the number of times this bird repeats its call, he may ascertain from it how many years he has still to live, or how many years will elapse before an event comes to pass which he has reason to expect. There is an old story told of a person who, having led a rather wicked life, in order to atone for it resolved to become a monk for the rest of his life. It happened that, just as he was entering the monastery, he heard the cuckoo crying its name the first time in the spring. He anxiously counted the number of calls; and finding them to amount to twenty-two repetitions, he at once changed his mind. "If I have to live twenty-two years longer," he argued with himself, "I may as well enjoy twenty years longer the pleasures of this world, and then I shall have two whole years left to denounce its vanities in a monastery." So he at once returned to the world.
The country-lasses in Sweden count the cuckoo's call to ascertain how many years they have still to remain unmarried;but they generally shut their ears and run away when they have heard it a few times. Should a girl hear it oftener than ten times, she will declare rather vexedly that she is not superstitious, and that she has not the least faith in the cuckoo's call.
"Why! he makes music with his mouth!" exclaimed a native of Burmah when he observed an American missionary whistling; and the missionary noted down the words in his journal, with the reflection: "It is remarkable that the Burmese are entirely ignorant of whistling."[23]But may not the simple-minded Asiatic only have been astonished in observing what he thought unbecoming in a gentleman who had come to Burmah to teach a new religion?
The Arabs generally disapprove of whistling, called by themel sifr. Some maintain that the whistler's mouth is not to be purified for forty days; while others are of opinion that Satan touching a man's person causes him to produce the offensive sound.[24]
The natives of the Tonga Islands, Polynesia, consider it wrong to whistle, as being disrespectful to their gods.[25]
In European countries people are met with who object to whistling on a certain day of the week, or at certain times of the day. The villagers in some districts of North Germany have the saying, that if one whistles in the evening it makes the angels weep. The villagers in Iceland say that even if one swings about him a stick, whip, wand, or aught that makes a whistling sound, he scares from him the Holy Ghost; while other Icelanders, who consider themselves free from superstitions, cautiously give the advice: "Do it not; for who knoweth what is in the air?"[26]
There seem to have been, however, in all ages light-hearted persons who, defying the superstitious views of their compatriots, have whistled to their heart's content, or for the amusement of those who set at nought popular prejudices.
Joseph Strutt, in his 'Sports and Pastimes of the People of England' records the astonishing performance of a whistler who, assuming the name of Rossignol, exhibited at the end of the last century his talent on the stage of Covent Garden Theatre. Again, an amusing account is given in the 'Spectator' (Vol. VIII., No. 570) of a skilful whistler, who was the host of the tavern especially patronised by Addison and Steele; and the writer concludes his description of the host's surprising talent by recommending his readers to repair to the tavern and to order a bottle of wine for the sake of the whistling.
The Russians in the Ukraine tell a queer story about a whistling robber of old, who must have been a person of fabulously large dimensions, for he used to sit, we are told, on nine oak trees at once. His name is still known; but it would be an infliction upon the reader to put before him a name almost entirely made up of consonants, and only pronounceable by a Russian. This celebrated robber had, however, also a nickname signifying "Nightingale," which was given to him on account of his extraordinary whistling powers. Whenever a traveller happened to enter the forest in which the robber Nightingale had his domicile, it was pity for him if he had neglected to make his will; for the robber Nightingale whistled so impressively that the poor traveller must needs faint away, and then the wretched whistler stepped forward and killed him outright. But, at last, a great hero, who was besides a holy man, and whose name was Ilja Murometz, repaired to the forest to subdue the robber Nightingale. Having hit him with an arrow, and taken him prisoner, he bound him to the saddle of his horse and escorted him to Kiev to the court of the Grand-Prince Vladimir. Even there the fettered whistler proved most dangerous. For when the Grand-Prince, merely from curiosity, and perhaps to see whether his courtiers had told him the truth, commanded the robber to whistle before him—the Grand-Princess and all the royal children being present—the man at once commenced whistling in a manner so overpowering that soon Vladimir with his whole family would inevitably have been dead, had not some brave courtiers, perceiving the danger, got up and shut the whistler's mouth.
Moreover, some enlightened Russians say that the story must not be taken literally. At the time of the introduction of Christianity into Russia there lived near Kiev, they say, a pagan high-priest who was so distinguished an orator that he actually succeeded in drawing many to his side to check the spread of Christianity. This man, whose powers of persuasion were so great that his adherents called him Nightingale, was at last vanquished by his Christian antagonist Murometz. The bones of Murometz, we are further informed, have never decayed, and are still annually exhibited in Kiev to be venerated by an assemblage of pious believers.[27]
Lyre Decoration