"Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,She turns to favor and to prettiness."—Shakespeare:Hamlet.
"Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness."
—Shakespeare:Hamlet.
On one of my last afternoons in Madrid, I visited again my early haunts in theBuen Retiro, for a farewell sight of the children there at play. After all, it is one of the prettiest things to be seen in Spain, these graceful, passionate, dramatic little creatures dancing in tireless circles, and piping those songs that everyniñaknows, without being able to tell when or where or from whom she learned them. Only very small boys, as a rule, join the girls in these fairy rings, though occasionally I found a troop of urchins marching to a lusty chorus of their own. One, which I heard in Madrid, but whose parrots are more suggestive of Seville, runs something like this:—
"In the street they call ToledoIs a famous school for boys,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún;Where all we lads are goingWith a most heroic noise,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún."And the parrots on their perches,They mock us as we go,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún.'I hate my school,' whines Polly,'For my master beats me so,'Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún."
"In the street they call ToledoIs a famous school for boys,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún;Where all we lads are goingWith a most heroic noise,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún.
"In the street they call Toledo
Is a famous school for boys,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chún-chún;
Where all we lads are going
With a most heroic noise,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chún-chún.
"And the parrots on their perches,They mock us as we go,Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún.'I hate my school,' whines Polly,'For my master beats me so,'Chundarata, chundarata,Chundarata, chún-chún."
"And the parrots on their perches,
They mock us as we go,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chún-chún.
'I hate my school,' whines Polly,
'For my master beats me so,'
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chún-chún."
Another, which came to me in fragments, is sung in playing soldier.
"The Catalans are coming,Marching two by two.All who hear the drummingTiptoe 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."
"The Catalans are coming,Marching two by two.All who hear the drummingTiptoe for a view.Ay, ay!Tiptoe for a view.Red and yellow banners,Pennies very few.Ay, ay!Pennies very few.
"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!
"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."
"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 inA 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."
1. "A la limón, á la limón!All broken is our bright fountain.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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."
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 coppersTo buy them a chowder.2. "Chowder of studentsIs sweeter than honey,But the gay AndalusiansHave plenty of money.1. "The gay AndalusiansHave fiddle and ballad,But only two coppersTo buy them a salad.2. "In Saragossa—Oh, what a pity!—Has fallen the tower,Pride of the city."
1. "In Saragossa—Oh, what a pity!—Has fallen the tower,Pride of the city.
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.
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 coppersTo buy them a chowder.
1. "Call on the students,
Call louder and louder!
They've only two coppers
To buy them a chowder.
2. "Chowder of studentsIs sweeter than honey,But the gay AndalusiansHave plenty of money.
2. "Chowder of students
Is sweeter than honey,
But the gay Andalusians
Have plenty of money.
1. "The gay AndalusiansHave fiddle and ballad,But only two coppersTo buy them a salad.
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."
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!"
"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?
"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?
"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!"
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 lightlyLarán—larán—larito,The shepherdess rose lightlyFrom off her heather seat—O."Her goats went leaping homeward,Larán—larán—larito,Her goats went leaping homewardOn nimble little feet—O."With strong young hands she milked them,Larán—larán—larito,With strong young hands she milked themAnd made a cheese for treat—O."The kitty watched and wondered,Larán—larán—larito,The kitty crept and ponderedIf it were good to eat—O."The kitty sprang upon it,Larán—larán—larito,The kitty sprang upon itAnd made a wreck complete—O."Scat, scat, you naughty kitty!Larán—larán—larito,Scat, scat, you naughty kitty!Are stolen cheeses sweet—O?"
"The shepherdess rose lightlyLarán—larán—larito,The shepherdess rose lightlyFrom off her heather seat—O.
"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 homewardOn nimble little feet—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 themAnd made a cheese for treat—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 ponderedIf it were good to eat—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 itAnd made a wreck complete—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?"
"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."
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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."
"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 poisingOn 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!"
Chorus."The little bird Pinta was poisingOn a scented green lemon-tree spray.She picked the leaf and the blossom,And chanted a roundelay.
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!"
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 pigeonsAre dreaming of Seville,Sun in the palm tree,Roses and revel.Lift up the arches,Gold as the weather.Little white pigeonsCome flying together.2. "Little white pigeonsDream of Granada,Glistening snows onSierra Nevada.Lift up the arches,Silver as fountains.Little white pigeonsFly to the mountains."
1. "Little white pigeonsAre dreaming of Seville,Sun in the palm tree,Roses and revel.Lift up the arches,Gold as the weather.Little white pigeonsCome flying together.
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 pigeonsDream of Granada,Glistening snows onSierra Nevada.Lift up the arches,Silver as fountains.Little white pigeonsFly to the mountains."
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 taperFor the Blind Hen?Scamper and caper!Try it again!Try it again!"
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."
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 taperFor the Blind Hen?Scamper and caper!Try it again!Try it again!"
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 ofhotandcold, but our "Puss in the Corner" becomes "A Cottage to Rent."
"'Cottage to rent?''Try the other side,You see that thisIs occupied.'"
"'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.'"
"'A candle here?''Over there.''A candle here?''Otherwhere.'
"'A candle here?'
'Over there.'
'A candle here?'
'Otherwhere.'
"'Candle, a candle!''Loss on loss.''Where is light?''In the Holy Cross.'"
"'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!"
"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!"
"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 runinto 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—OWithin the shadow?"
"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-dayTo 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.'"
"'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!"
"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!"
"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 mountainForth from the cage are flown.My little birds of the mountainHave left me all alone."
"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 thatdevilof amaidbring me mypowderandperfumes?" 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 Caressof 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.'"
"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!"
"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!"
From the Tower of Gold Down the GuadalquivírFrom the Tower of Gold Down the Guadalquivír
From the Tower of Gold Down the Guadalquivír
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 nightDo they let me slumber.They're daughters of the Moorish king,Who search the garden-closeFor lovely Lady Ana,The sweetest thing that grows.She's opening the jasmineAnd shutting up the rose."
"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-flameButterfly settles?How many shirtsHave you woven of rain?Weave me anotherEre I call you again."
"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 AnaWalks in garden sweet,Gathering the rosesWhose dew is on her feet,Butterfly, butterfly,Can you catch us? Try it, try!"
"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 dineOff 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."
"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 streetAnd no one may pass,Only my grandpaLeading his assLaden with orangesFresh from the trees.Tilín! Tilín!Down on our knees!Tilín! Tilín! Tilín! Tilín!The holy bell of San Agustín!"
"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!"
"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 mustpull, on pain of forfeit, whereas if the word ispull, their business is toslacken.
They have a grasshopper game, where they jump about with their hands clasped under their knees, singing:—
"Grasshopper sent me an invitationTo come and share his occupation.Grasshopper dear, how could I say no?Grasshopper, grasshopper, here I go!"
"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 MariquillaLaugh and dance and play."
"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.'"
"'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 maidensOf laughing look.White went their feetIn the running brook.One threw in roses,And jasmine one.One spread thy handkerchiefIn the sun.'"
"'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.
There is a market-garden game, where one acts as gardener, others as vegetables, and others as customers. Others, still, come creeping up as thieves, but are opposed by a barking dog, which they kill. The gardener summons them before the judge. A trial is held, with much fluent Spanish argument pro and con, and the prisoners are condemned to execution for the murder of the dog. But at the last thrilling moment, when they have confessed their sins to the priests, and been torn from the embraces of their weeping friends, the dog trots cheerfully in, so very much alive that all the criminals are pardoned in a general dance of joy.
The little girls have a favorite shopping game. In this the children are seated, shoulder to shoulder, in two rows that face each other. Every child takes the name of some cloth, silksand satins being preferred. The leader of the game runs around the two rows, singing:—
"Up the counter, down the counter!How can I buy enough?Down the counter, up the counter!I choose this velvet stuff."
"Up the counter, down the counter!
How can I buy enough?
Down the counter, up the counter!
I choose this velvet stuff."
Little Velvet immediately jumps to her feet and follows the leader, who continues choosing and calling, choosing and calling, until the stock is exhausted and she can go home with all her purchases most conveniently trooping at her heels.
But the plays dearest to the black-eyedniñasare love plays, of which they have a countless number. Most of these consist of the dancing, singing circle, with a child in the centre who chooses a mate. Some are as simple as this:—
"Milk and rice!I want to marryA maiden nice.I may not tarry.It is not this,Nor this, nor this.'Tis only thisWhom I want to marry."
"Milk and rice!
I want to marry
A maiden nice.
I may not tarry.
It is not this,
Nor this, nor this.
'Tis only this
Whom I want to marry."
Cadiz from the SeaCadiz from the Sea
Cadiz from the Sea
Ambó, atóis hardly more elaborate. When in the exchange of question and answer, the child would choose her page and touches one of the circle, the mercenary mites dance on faster than ever, until she offers whatever gift she has, a flower, apple, or any trifle at hand. Then the page runs in and kneels before her. The circle dances about the two, singing the refrain, until the first child slips out and joins them,leaving the second in the centre to begin the game over again.
"Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, rile?Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, ron?1."What do you want, matarile, rile, rile?What do you want, matarile, rile, ron?2."I want a page, matarile, rile, rile.I want a page, matarile, rile, ron.1."Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, rile.Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, ron.2."I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, rile.I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, ron.1."What will you give him, matarile, rile, rile?What will you give him, matarile, rile, ron?2."I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, rile.I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, ron.1."He answers yes, matarile, rile, rile.He answers yes, matarile, rile, ron."
"Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, rile?Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, ron?
"Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, rile?
Ambó, ató, matarile, rile, ron?
1."What do you want, matarile, rile, rile?What do you want, matarile, rile, ron?
1."What do you want, matarile, rile, rile?
What do you want, matarile, rile, ron?
2."I want a page, matarile, rile, rile.I want a page, matarile, rile, ron.
2."I want a page, matarile, rile, rile.
I want a page, matarile, rile, ron.
1."Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, rile.Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, ron.
1."Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, rile.
Choose whom you will, matarile, rile, ron.
2."I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, rile.I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, ron.
2."I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, rile.
I choose Pedro, matarile, rile, ron.
1."What will you give him, matarile, rile, rile?What will you give him, matarile, rile, ron?
1."What will you give him, matarile, rile, rile?
What will you give him, matarile, rile, ron?
2."I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, rile.I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, ron.
2."I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, rile.
I'll give him an orange, matarile, rile, ron.
1."He answers yes, matarile, rile, rile.He answers yes, matarile, rile, ron."
1."He answers yes, matarile, rile, rile.
He answers yes, matarile, rile, ron."
"The Charcoal Woman" requires an odd number of players. The circle dances about a little girl who stands all forlorn in the centre. The chorus sings the first stanza, the child sings the second, which has reference to the fact that Spanish charcoal is often made from laurel wood, and the chorus, in a comforting tone, the third. Then, while the child runs about and about the circle as if seeking, the chorus angrily sings the fourth stanza, accusing her of ambition, and the little charcoal woman retorts with the fifth, making her choice as she sings the last four words. At this the circlebreaks, the children quickly choosing mates and dancing by pairs. The one who is left without a partner takes her place in the centre as the next Charcoal Woman.
1.Chorus."Who would say that the charcoal woman,Sooty, sooty charcoal woman,In all the city and all the landCould find a lover to kiss her hand?2.Charcoal Woman."The little widow of good Count LaurelHas no one left her for kiss or quarrel.I want a sweetheart and find me none.Charcoal women must bide alone.3.Chorus."Poor little widow, so sweet thou art,If there's no other to claim thy heart,Take thy pick of us who standReady to kiss thy sooty hand.4.Chorus."The charcoal woman, the charcoal woman,Proud little black little charcoal woman,Goes seeking up and seeking downTo find the Count of Cabratown.5.Charcoal Woman."I would not marry the Count of Cabra.Never will marry the Count of Cabra.Count of Cabra! Oh, deary me!I'll not have him,—if you're not he!"
1.Chorus."Who would say that the charcoal woman,Sooty, sooty charcoal woman,In all the city and all the landCould find a lover to kiss her hand?
1.
Chorus."Who would say that the charcoal woman,
Sooty, sooty charcoal woman,
In all the city and all the land
Could find a lover to kiss her hand?
2.Charcoal Woman."The little widow of good Count LaurelHas no one left her for kiss or quarrel.I want a sweetheart and find me none.Charcoal women must bide alone.
2.
Charcoal Woman.
"The little widow of good Count Laurel
Has no one left her for kiss or quarrel.
I want a sweetheart and find me none.
Charcoal women must bide alone.
3.Chorus."Poor little widow, so sweet thou art,If there's no other to claim thy heart,Take thy pick of us who standReady to kiss thy sooty hand.
3.
Chorus."Poor little widow, so sweet thou art,
If there's no other to claim thy heart,
Take thy pick of us who stand
Ready to kiss thy sooty hand.
4.Chorus."The charcoal woman, the charcoal woman,Proud little black little charcoal woman,Goes seeking up and seeking downTo find the Count of Cabratown.
4.
Chorus."The charcoal woman, the charcoal woman,
Proud little black little charcoal woman,
Goes seeking up and seeking down
To find the Count of Cabratown.
5.Charcoal Woman."I would not marry the Count of Cabra.Never will marry the Count of Cabra.Count of Cabra! Oh, deary me!I'll not have him,—if you're not he!"
5.
Charcoal Woman.
"I would not marry the Count of Cabra.
Never will marry the Count of Cabra.
Count of Cabra! Oh, deary me!
I'll not have him,—if you're not he!"
Just such coquettish touches of Spanish spirit and maiden pride appear in many of the songs, as, for instance, in one of their counting-out carols, "The Garden."
"The garden of our house it isThe funniest garden yet,For when it rains and rains and rains,The garden it is wet.And now we bow,Skip back and then advance,For who know how to make a bowKnow how to dance.AB—C—AB—CDE—FG—HI—J.If your worship does not love me,Then a better body may.AB—C—AB—C,KL—MN—OP—Q.If you think you do not love me,I am sure I don't love you."
"The garden of our house it is
The funniest garden yet,
For when it rains and rains and rains,
The garden it is wet.
And now we bow,
Skip back and then advance,
For who know how to make a bow
Know how to dance.
AB—C—AB—C
DE—FG—HI—J.
If your worship does not love me,
Then a better body may.
AB—C—AB—C,
KL—MN—OP—Q.
If you think you do not love me,
I am sure I don't love you."
Sometimes these dancing midgets lisp a song of worldly wisdom:—
"If any cadetWith thee would go,Daughter, instantlyAnswer no.For how can cadet,This side of Heaven,Keep a wifeOn his dollars seven?"If any lieutenantAsks a caress,Daughter, instantlyAnswer yes.For the lieutenantWho kisses thy handMay come to beA general grand."
"If any cadetWith thee would go,Daughter, instantlyAnswer no.For how can cadet,This side of Heaven,Keep a wifeOn his dollars seven?
"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 lieutenantAsks a caress,Daughter, instantlyAnswer yes.For the lieutenantWho kisses thy handMay come to beA general grand."
"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 CeferinoWent to walk—alas!A street above, a street below,Street of San Tomás.The least of all, they lost her.Her father searched—alas!A street above, a street below,Street of San Tomás.And there he found her talkingWith a cavalier, who said,'Come home with me, my darling,'Tis you that I would wed.'"Oh, have you seen the pear treeUpon 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 maidenWho trusts a stranger's fibs.She'd better take a cudgelAnd break his ugly ribs.'"
"The daughters of CeferinoWent to walk—alas!A street above, a street below,Street of San Tomás.The least of all, they lost her.Her father searched—alas!A street above, a street below,Street of San Tomás.And there he found her talkingWith a cavalier, who said,'Come home with me, my darling,'Tis you that I would wed.'
"The daughters of Ceferino
Went to walk—alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomás.
The least of all, they lost her.
Her father searched—alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomás.
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 treeUpon 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 maidenWho trusts a stranger's fibs.She'd better take a cudgelAnd break his ugly ribs.'"
"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 Mambrú" begins merrily, and soon saddens to a funereal pace.
"In Madrid was born a maiden—carabí!Daughter of a general—carabí, hurí, hurá!"
"In Madrid was born a maiden—carabí!
Daughter of a general—carabí, hurí, hurá!"
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.
Mambrú himself is the pathetic hero of Spanish childhood. This Mambrú for whom the little ones from Aragon to Andalusia pipe so many simple elegies, the Mambrú sung by Trilby, is not the English Marlborough to them, but, be he lord or peasant, one of their very own.
"Mambrú 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 sonBy peasant dress of Aragon."You'd know him for my husband dearBy broidered kerchief on his spear."The one I broider now is wet.Oh, may I see him wear it yet!"
"Mambrú is gone to serve the king,And comes no more by fall or spring.
"Mambrú 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?
"We've looked until our eyes are dim.
Will no one give us word of him?
"You'd know him for his mother's sonBy peasant dress of Aragon.
"You'd know him for his mother's son
By peasant dress of Aragon.
"You'd know him for my husband dearBy broidered kerchief on his spear.
"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!"
"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.
"Mambrú 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!'Mambrú 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."
"Mambrú went forth to battle.Long live Love!I listen still for his coming feet.The rose on the rose bush blossoms sweet.
"Mambrú 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.
"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.
"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!'Mambrú lies cold this many a morn.'Ay, for a rose bush sharp with thorn!
"'Woe is me for my tidings!'
Long live Love!
'Mambrú 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 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 behindOne little daughter dear.Rose and Pink.Shall the first one or the lastBe 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 Alcalá!"
"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 Alcalá!"
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 choiceBy 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 Alcalá!"
"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 Alcalá!"
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.