Chapter VI: Part 6

The old tradition embodied in the preceding story from the Isle of Man, is also current,--with various modifications,--in the north of Germany, in Denmark, and in Sweden. Afzelius, in his interesting account of Swedish popular superstitions, mentions some curious notions on this subject. The country people in Sweden still preserve an old belief that if a person drinks of the contents of a beaker, offered to him by the goblins inhabiting the mountains, he loses all recollection of the past, and must become one of them. Several cups are said to have been purloined from these mysterious beings by persons who stealthily avoided partaking of the proffered liquor. Some are still shown in churches, to which they were presented by the purloiners; and it is asserted that these oddly-shaped vessels were formerly used in the Communion Service.

The goblins in Sweden have their principal meetings at midnight before Christmas, and their amusements consist chiefly in music and dancing. They generally assemble in those isolated spots among the mountains where are found large stones resting on pillars, around which they delight to dance. It is considered decidedly dangerous to encounter them at their pastimes on Christmas Eve.

Many years ago,--some say it was so far back as in the year 1490,--a farmer's wife in Sweden, whose name was Cissela Ulftand, distinctly heard, on Christmas Eve, the wild music of the goblins who had assembled not far from her house. The farm in which the good woman lived is called Ljungby, and the group of curiously-placed stones around which the goblins had congregated is well known to many people; indeed, almost everyone in Sweden knows the Magle-Stone.

Well, when Mistress Ulftand heard the music, she spoke to one of her farm-servants, a strong and daring young fellow, and induced him to saddle a horse and to ride in the direction of the Magle-Stone, that he might learn something about the mysterious people, and tell her afterwards all he had seen. The lad rather liked the adventure; he lost no time in mounting his horse, and was soon galloping towards the scene of the music and rejoicing. In approaching the Magle-Stone, he somewhat slackened his speed; however, he drew quite near to the dancers.

After he had been gazing a little while at the strange party, a handsome damsel came up to him and handed him a drinking-horn and a pipe, with the request that he would first drink the health of the King and then blow the pipe. The lad accepted both, the drinking-horn and the pipe; but, as soon as he had them in his hands, he poured out the contents of the horn, and spurring his horse he gallopped off over hedges and ditches straight homewards. The whole company of goblins followed him in the wildest uproar, threatening and imploring him to restore to them their property; but the fellow proved too quick for them, and succeeded in safely reaching the farm, where he delivered up the trophies of his daring enterprise to his mistress. The goblins now promised all manner of good luck to the farmer's wife and her family, if she would return to them the two articles; but she kept them, and they are still preserved in Ljungby as a testimony to the truth of this wonderful narrative.

The drinking-horn is of a metallic composition, the nature of which has not been exactly ascertained; its ornaments are, however, of brass. The pipe is made of the bone of a horse. Moreover, the possession of these relics, we are told, has been the cause of a series of disasters to the owners of the farm. The lad who brought them to the house died three days after the daring enterprise, and the day following, the horse suddenly fell down and expired. The farm-house has twice burnt down, and the descendants of the farmer's wife have experienced all kinds of misfortunes, which to enumerate would be not less laborious than painful. It is only surprising that they should still keep the unlucky horn and pipe.

THE GOLDEN HARVEST.

This is a genuine Dutch story. A long time may have elapsed since the hero of the event recorded was gathered to his fathers. Howbeit, his name lives, and his deeds will perhaps be longer retained by the people in pleasant remembrance than the deeds of some heroes who have made more noise in the world.

An old village crowder, whose name was Kartof, and who lived in Niederbrakel, happened once, late in the night, to traverse a little wood on his way home from Opbrakel, where he had been playing at a dance during the wake. He had his pockets full of coppers, and felt altogether mighty comfortable and jolly; for the young folks in Opbrakel had treated him well, and the liquor was genuine Old Hollands. But, there is nothing complete in this world, as the saying is, and as old Kartof was presently to experience to his dismay, when he put his hand into his pocket for his match-box. Had he not just filled his old clay pipe in the pleasant expectation, amounting to a certainty, that he should indulge in a comfortable smoke all the way home? And did he not feel, with a certain pride, that he deserved a good smoke after all his exertions with the fiddlestick? But what use was it to rummage his pockets for the match-box! It certainly was not there, and must have been lost or left behind somewhere.

"The deuce!" muttered old Kartof, "If I had only a bit of fire now to light my pipe, I should not care for anything else in the world, I am sure!"

Scarcely had he said these words, when he espied a light gleaming through the bushes. He went towards it, but it was much further off than it at first appeared to him; indeed, he had to go more than a hundred yards into the brush-wood before he came up to it. He now saw that it was a large fagot burning, around which a party of men and women, joined hand in hand, were dancing in a circle. "How odd!" thought old Kartof; but being a man accustomed to genteel society, he was at no loss how to address them politely; so, taking off his hat, he said:--

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Excuse me. I hope I am not intruding too much if I ask the favour of your permission to help myself to a little fire to light my pipe."

He had not even quite finished his speech, when several of the dancers stepped forward and handed him glowing embers in abundance. Now, when approaching him they perceived that he carried a violin under his arm, they importuned him to play for them to dance, intimating that he should be well rewarded for his services. "Why not?" said old Kartof: "It is only about midnight, and I can sleep to-morrow in the day-time; it will not be the first time that I have gone to bed in the morning."

While talking in this way, he tuned his instrument; and soon he struck up his best tunes, one after the other. But, though he played ever so much, he could never play enough, the dancers were so insatiable! Whenever his arm sank down from sheer fatigue, they threw a golden ducat into the sound-hole of his violin, which pleased him immensely, and always animated him to renew his exertions, especially also as they did not neglect to refresh him occasionally with a remarkably fine-flavoured Schiedam, from a bottle so oddly-shaped that he had never seen anything like it, so funny it was. He could not help smiling whenever he looked at the bottle.

Gradually his violin became heavier--of course, that was from the golden ducats which the dancers continually threw into it. But also his arm became heavier, and at last old Kartof felt altogether too heavy, sank softly down, and fell asleep.

How long he lay in this state no one knows, nor is ever likely to know. But, thus much is certain, when old Kartof awoke the day was already far advanced, and the sun shone brightly upon his face. He rubbed his eyes and looked about, doubtful whether he was a man of property or whether he had only dreamt of golden ducats. There was the violin lying in the grass near his feet. He hastily took it up;--it felt as light as usual. He shook it;--no rattling of ducats. He held it before his face and peeped into the sound holes;--to be sure, there was something in it, yellow and glittering like gold. He shook it out on the grass;--what should it be?--a score or two of decayed yellow birch-leaves.

Disappointed, old Kartof rose to his feet to look around whether he could not find the place where the fire had been.

Yes, there it was! Some embers were still glimmering in the ashes. This appeared to him more odd than anything else he had experienced. But old Kartof, after all, took the matter quietly enough. He lighted his pipe, and taking up his violin set out on his way home, resolving as he went never to go to that confounded place again after twelve o'clock at midnight.[78]

GIPSIES.

There prevails in popular traditions much mystery respecting gipsies. No wonder that this should be the case, since these strange vagabonds are in most countries so very different from the inhabitants in their appearance and habits; and their occupations are often so well calculated to appeal to the imagination of superstitious people, that a gipsy is regarded by them almost as a sorcerer. His better-half not unfrequently pretends to be a soothsayer, and he is often a musician. However different the gipsy hordes which rove about in European countries may be from each other in some respects, they are all fond of music, magic, and mysterious pursuits. Among the gipsy bands in Hungary and Transylvania talented instrumental performers are by no means rare; and in Russia, the gipsy singers of Moscow enjoy a wide reputation for their musical accomplishments. It is told,--not as a myth but as a fact,--that when the celebrated Italian singer Signora Catalani heard in Moscow the most accomplished of the gipsy singing-girls of that town, she was so highly delighted with the performance that she took from her shoulders a splendid Cashmere shawl which the Pope had presented to her in admiration of her own talent, and embracing the dear gipsy girl, she insisted on her accepting the shawl, saying that it was intended for the matchless cantatrice which she now found she could not longer regard herself.

There is a wildness in the gipsy musical performances, which admirably expresses the characteristic features of these vagrants. Indeed theirs is just the sort of music which people ought to make who encamp in the open air, feed upon hedgehogs and whatever they can lay hand on, and profess to be adepts in sorcery and prophecy.

The following event is told by the peasants in the Netherlands as having occurred in Herzeele. A troop of gipsies had arrived in a valley near that place. They stretched a tight rope, on which they danced, springing sometimes into the air so high that all who saw it were greatly astonished. A little boy among the spectators cried: "Oh, if I could but do that!"--

"Nothing is easier," said an old gipsy who stood near him: "Here is a powder; when you have swallowed it, you will be able to dance as well as any of us."

The boy took the powder and swallowed it. In a moment his feet became so light that he found it impossible to keep them on the ground. The slightest movement which he made raised him into the air. He danced upon the ears of the growing corn, on the tops of the trees,--yea, even on the weather-cock of the church-tower. The people of the village thought this suspicious, and shook their heads, especially when they furthermore observed a disinclination in the boy to attend church. They, therefore, consulted with the parson about the boy. The parson sent for him, and got him all right on his legs again by means of exorcism; but it was a hard struggle to banish the potent effects of the gipsy's powder.[79]

The gipsies were formerly supposed to be descendants of the ancient Egyptians. The German peasants call them Taters,[80] a name indicating an Asiatic origin; and it has been ascertained that they migrated from Western India. The roving Nautch-people in Hindustan are similarly musical and mysterious.

THE NAUTCH-PEOPLE.

The Nautch-people in Hindustan are not only singers and dancers who exhibit their skill before those who care to admire and to reward them; but they possess also dangerous charms.

In a popular story of the Hindus, called 'Chandra's Vengeance' we are told of a youth who, on hearing the music of the Nautch-people at a great distance, is irresistibly compelled to traverse the jungle in search of them. When, after twelve days' anxious endeavour to reach them, he discovers their encampment, Moulee, the daughter of the chief Nautch-woman, approaches him singing and dancing, and throws to him the garland of flowers which she wears on her head. He feels spell-bound, and the Nautch-people offer him a drink which, as soon as he has tasted it, makes him totally forget his family and his dear home. So he remains with the Nautch-people, and wanders with them about the country as one of the company.

Again, in a Hindu story called 'Panch-Phul Ranee,' a Rajah, or King, is enchanted by the Nautch-people, so that he finds his happiness in roving with them from place to place, and in beating the drum for the dancers. His enchantment is accomplished in this way: He had set out on a journey, leaving his wife and infant son behind. One day he happened to fall in with a gang of Nautch-people, singing and dancing. He was a remarkably handsome man, and the Nautch-people, on seeing him approach, said to each other "How well he would look beating the drum for the dancers!" The Rajah was hungry and told them that he required some food; whereupon one of the women offered him a little rice, upon which her companions threw a certain powder. He ate it, and the effect was that it made him forget his wife, child, rank, journey, and whatever had happened to him in all his life. He willingly remained with the Nautch-people, and wandered about with them, beating the drum at their performances, full eighteen years. His son, the prince, being now grown up, could no longer be detained from setting out in the world in search of his beloved father. After many fruitless attempts the prince discovered his father among the Nautch people,--a wild, ragged-looking man whose business it was to beat the drum. The joyful prince summoned the wisest doctors in the kingdom to restore the Rajah to his former consciousness; but their exertions did not at first prove at all successful. In vain did they assure the old drummer that he was a Rajah, and that he ought to remember his former greatness and splendour. The old man always answered that he remembered nothing but how to beat the drum; and, to prove his assertion, he treated them on the spot with a tap and roll on his tom-tom. He really believed that he had beaten it all his life.

However, through the unabated exertions of the doctors, a slight remembrance came gradually over him; and by-and-by his former mental power returned. He now recollected that he had a wife and a son. He also recognized his old friends and servants. Having reseated himself on the throne, he governed as if nothing had ever occurred to interrupt his reign.[81]

THE MONK OF AFFLIGHEM.

The aim of the present series of popular stories demands that some notice should now be taken of such musical legends as breathe a thorough Christian spirit. Several of these are, as might be expected, very beautiful; but they are familiar to most readers. One or two which are less well known may, however, find a place here.

The legend of the Monk of Afflighem bears some resemblance to the beautiful tradition of the Seven Sleepers. If it fails to interest the reader, the cause must be assigned to the simple manner in which it is told rather than to the subject itself.

Towards the end of the eleventh century occurred in the Abbey of Afflighem, in Dendermonde, East Flanders, a most wonderful event, the pious Fulgentius being at that time the Abbot of the monastery.

One day, a monk of very venerable appearance, whom no one remembered to have seen before, knocked at the door of the monastery, announcing himself as one of the brotherhood. The pious Abbot Fulgentius asked him his name, and from what country he had come. Whereupon the monk looked at the Abbot with surprise, and said that he belonged to the house. Being further questioned, he replied that he had only been away for a few hours. He had been singing the Matins, he said, in the morning of the same day in the choir with the other brothers. When, in chanting, they came to the verse of the ninetieth psalm, which says: "For, a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday!" he pondered upon it so deeply that he did not perceive when the singers left the choir, and he remained sitting alone, absorbed by the words. After he had been a while in this state of reflection, he heard heavenly strains of music, and on looking up he saw a little bird which sang with a voice so enchantingly melodious that he arose in ecstasy. The little bird flew to the neighbouring wood, whither he followed it. He had been only a little while in the wood listening to the heavenly song of the bird; and now, in coming back he felt bewildered,--the appearance of the neighbourhood was so changed he scarcely knew it again.

When the pious Abbot Fulgentius heard the monk speak thus, he asked of him the name of the Abbot, and also the name of the King who governed the country. And after the monk had answered him and mentioned the names, it was found to the astonishment of all that these were the names of the Abbot and the King who had lived three hundred years ago. The monk startled, lifted up his eyes, and said: "Now indeed I see that a thousand years are but as one day before the Lord." Whereupon he asked the pious Abbot Fulgentius to administer to him the Holy Sacraments; and having devoutly received them, he expired.[82]

THE PLAGUE IN GOLDBERG.

The inhabitants of Goldberg, a town in Germany, observe an old custom of inaugurating Christmas, which is peculiar to themselves. Having attended divine service, which commences at midnight on Christmas Eve, they assemble at two o'clock to form a procession to the Niederring, a hill situated close to the town. When the procession has arrived at the top of the Niederring, old and young unite in singing the Chorale _Uns ist ein Kindlein heut geboren_ ("For us this day a child is born"). As soon as this impressive act of devotion is concluded, the town band stationed in the tower of the old parish church performs on brass instruments the noble Chorale _Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr_ ("All glory be to God on High"), which in the stillness of the night is heard over the whole town, and even in the neighbouring villages.

The origin of this annual observance dates from the time when the town of Goldberg was visited by a deadly plague called _Der schwarze Tod_ ("The black Death"). According to some accounts the awful visitation occurred in the year 1553; at all events this date appears to have been assigned to it on an old slab embedded in the wall of the parish church of Goldberg; but the inscription has become so much obliterated in the course of time, that no one can make out the year with certainty. Thus much, however, is declared by all to be authentic: The plague spread throughout the town with frightful rapidity. The people died in their houses, in the streets, everywhere, at night, and in the day-time. Some, while at their work, suddenly were stricken and fell down dead. Some died while at their meals; others while at prayers; others in their endeavours to escape the scourge by hastening away from the doomed town. Indeed, it was as if the Angel of Death had stretched out his hand over the place, saying "Ye are all given up to me!"

The plague raged for some weeks, and then quietness reigned in Goldberg. The few survivors had shut themselves up solitarily in their houses, not knowing of each other; for, no one now ventured into the street; neither did anyone open a window, fearing the poisonous air; for the corpses were lying about, and there remained none living to bury the dead.

Such was the condition of Goldberg in the month of December, just before Christmas. On Christmas Eve one of the solitary survivors, deeply impressed with the import of the holy festival, attained the blessing of a firm trust in the wisdom of the inscrutable decrees of Providence. He thought of the happy time of his childhood when his parents lighted up for him the glorious Christmas tree; and this recalled to his mind the simple and impressive Christmas hymn which his mother had taught him to recite on the occasion. Strengthened by devout contemplation, he ventured to open the window. The night was beautiful, and the air wafted to him so pure and delicious that he resolved to leave his prison. At the second hour after midnight he went out of the house, and bent his steps through the desolated streets towards the Niederring. Arrived at the top of the hill he knelt down and sang from the depth of his heart the Christmas hymn.

His voice was heard by another solitary survivor, who perceiving that he was not, as he had supposed, the only person still living in Goldberg, gained courage and likewise from his hiding place repaired to the Niederring, and kneeling down joined the singer with sincere devotion. Soon a third person made his appearance, slowly drawing near like one risen from the grave. Then a fourth, a fifth, until the number of them amounted to twenty-five; and these were all the inhabitants of Goldberg who had escaped the ravages of the Black Death.

[Music:

Uns ist ein Kind-lein heut ge-born, Gott mit
uns! Von ein'r Jung-frau aus-er-korn. Gott mit
uns! Gott mit uns! Wer will seyn wi-der uns!
]

The Christmas Chorale sung in the refreshing mountain air wonderfully invigorated their desponding spirits. They arose and solemnly vowed henceforth to unite in Christian fellowship, with reliance upon the wisdom of the divine ordinances. The next day they buried their dead; and when their vow became known in the neighbourhood, many good people were drawn to Goldberg. The town soon revived, and prospered more than ever.

The inhabitants have not forgotten the visitation which befel their forefathers, but remember it in humiliation; and this is a lasting blessing.[83]

FICTIONS AND FACTS.

Knowledge is, of course, to superstition as light is to darkness; still, some nations endowed with a lively imagination, although they are much advanced in mental development, cling to the superstitions of their forefathers, since the superstitions accord with their poetical conceptions, or are endeared to them by associations which pleasantly engage the imaginative faculties.

Besides, in countries where the inhabitants frequently witness grand and awful natural phenomena, their poetical conceptions are likely to be more or less nourished by these impressive occurrences, however well acquainted they may be with their natural causes.

It is therefore not surprising that many superstitious notions, such as have been recorded in the preceding stories, should be found in civilized nations.

Moreover, in some countries, a more careful research into the old traditions harbouring among the uneducated classes of the people has been made, than in other countries. It would, therefore, be hasty, from the sources at present accessible, to judge of the degree of mental development attained by individual nations. The Germans are not less rational than the English; nevertheless, a far greater number of Fairy Tales have been collected in Germany than in England.

An enquiry into the musical traditions of the different European races is likely to increase in interest the more we turn to the mythological conceptions originally derived from Central Asia, and dispersed throughout Europe at a period on which history is silent, but upon which some light has been thrown by recent philological and ethnological researches.

A word remains to be said on the musical myths of modern date. We read in the biographies of our celebrated musicians facts which would almost certainly be regarded as fictions, were they not well authenticated. On the other hand, it would not be difficult to point out modern myths referring to the art of music. Tempting as it might be to cite the most remarkable examples of this kind, and anecdotes relating to musicians in which fiction is strangely mingled with fact, it is unnecessary to notice them here; for, are they not written in our works on the history of the art and science of music?

[67] 'Griechische und Albanische Märchen, gesammelt von J. G. v. Hahn.' Leipzig, 1864; Vol. I., p. 273.

[68] See above, Vol. I., p. 84.

[69]'Old Deccan Days; or Hindu Fairy Legends, current in Southern India.' Collected from oral tradition by M. Frere. London, 1868; p. 25.

[70] 'Popular Tales from the Norse, translated by G. W. Dasent.' Edinburgh, 1859; p. 27.

[71] 'Sagen, Märchen und Lieder der Herzogthümer Schleswig, Holstein und Lauenburg,' von Karl Müllenhoff; Kiel, 1845; p. 336.

[72] 'Aberglaube und Sagen aus dem Herzogthum Oldenburg, herausgegeben von Strackerjan;' Oldenburg, 1867; Vol. I., p. 190.

[73] 'Aberglaube and Sagen aus dem Herzogthum Oldenburg, herausgegeben von Strackerjan;' Oldenburg, 1867; Vol. I., p. 375.

[74] 'Griechische und Albanische Märchen, gesammelt von J. G. v. Hahn;' Leipzig, 1864; Vol. I., p. 222, and Vol. II., p. 240.

[75] 'Wallachische Märchen, herausgegeben von A. Schott;' Stuttgart, 1845, p. 228.

[76] Aix-la-Chapelle.

[77] 'Deutsche Märchen and Sagen, gesammelt von J. W. Wolf.' Leipzig, 1845; p. 472.

[78] 'Niederländische Sagen, herausgegeben von J. W. Wolf;' Leipzig, 1843; p. 466.

[79] 'Niederländische Sagen, herausgegeben von J. W. Wolf;' Leipzig, 1843; p. 648.

[80] _Taters_ is evidently synonymous with _Tartars_.

[81] 'Old Deccan Days; or Hindu Fairy Legends, current in Southern India.' Collected from oral tradition, by M. Frere. London, 1868; pp. 139, 273.

[82] 'Niederländische Sagen, herausgegeben von J. W. Wolf;' Leipzig, 1843. p 230.

[83] 'Deutsche Volksfeste, von F. A. Reimann;' Weimar, 1839; p. 218.

DRAMATIC MUSIC OF UNCIVILIZED RACES.

The first music of a dramatic kind originated probably in the passion of love. Savages, unacquainted with any other dramatic performances, not unfrequently have dances representing courtship, and songs to which these dances are executed. However rude the exhibitions may be, and however inartistic the songs may appear,--which, in fact, generally consist merely of short phrases constantly repeated, and perhaps interspersed with some brutish utterances,--they may nevertheless be regarded as representing the germ from which the opera has gradually been developed. Dancing is not necessarily associated with dramatic music; the dances of nations in a low degree of civilization are, however, often representations of desires or events rather than unmeaning jumps and evolutions.

Even in the popular dances of nations in an advanced state of civilization love is generally the most attractive subject for exhibition by action and music. The Italian national dances,--the _Saltarello_, the _Monferrino_, and several others,--have an unmistakable meaning; or, as Mac Farlane says, "there is a story in them which at times is told in a very broad, significant, and unsophistical way. The story is a sort of primitive courtship, varied by the coyness or coquetry of the female dancer, and animated by the passion and impatience of the wooer."[84] The same may be said of the Spanish Bolero and Fandango.

The excitement of the chase appears to be another cause of the origin of dramatic music. The savage, in pursuing the animals which he requires for his subsistence, experiences successes and disappointments which are to him highly interesting, and the recollection of which he enjoys. He naturally feels proud of results which he could not have achieved without agility and shrewdness, and he delights in showing to his friends how he proceeded in accomplishing his feat. Besides, savages have a strong instinct for imitation, almost like monkeys. Hence their fancy for counterfeiting the habits of certain animals which they chase and with the peculiarities of which they are generally well acquainted.

The aborigines of Australia have a dance in which they imitate the movements of the Kangaroo. The women sing, and produce a rhythmical accompaniment by beating two pieces of wood together; while the men, who represent the Kangaroos, produce sounds peculiar to these animals. The North American Indians have an Eagle Dance, a Bear Dance, and even a Dog Dance. The natives of Kamtschatka have a dance in which they cleverly imitate, not only the attitudes and tricks of the Bear, but also its voice. The peasants in Finland, in the beginning of the present century, still occasionally performed a similar dance, or rather action. The Aleutian Islanders, who have various pantomimic dances executed with masks frightfully ugly, have also a favourite representation in which a sportsman shoots a beautiful bird, and afterwards cries for grief at having killed it; when, suddenly, the beautiful bird revives, changed into a beautiful woman. The sportsman, of course, falls over head and ears in love with her, and thus all ends well.[85] This story is enacted with recitations accompanied by some musical instruments.

Next to love and the chase, it is probably war which elicited the first attempts at dramatic music. To recall to the memory by a lively description with gesticulations, the valiant deeds, clever stratagems, and glorious achievements of the warriors after the battle, must have been always a fascinating entertainment to the victorious combatants. The Dyaks in Borneo, who preserve the heads of their slain enemies suspended near their hearths as ornamental trophies, perform a war-dance in which some of the combatants, gaily decorated, cleverly act a scene by seizing swords and handling them in various expressive ways. The Scalp-Dance of the North American Indians, performed in celebration of a victory, may be described as a kind of histrionic entertainment, which generally takes place at night by torchlight. The singular procedure of the Maori warriors in New Zealand in a certain dance, of projecting all of them their tongues simultaneously at fixed intervals, appears to be a pantomimic expression of defiance or contempt for the enemy.

The Corroborie Dance of the natives of Australia had perhaps also originally reference to warlike exploits, although this does not appear at once evident to European witnesses. Twenty or more men paint their naked dark bodies to represent skeletons, which they accomplish by drawing white lines across the body with pipe-clay, to correspond with the ribs, and broader ones on the arms, legs, and the head. Thus prepared they perform the Corroborie at night before a fire. The spectators, placed at some distance from them, see only the white skeletons, which vanish and re-appear whenever the dancers turn round. The wild and ghastly action of the skeletons is accompanied by vocal effusions and some rhythmical noise which a number of hidden bystanders produce by beating their shields in regular time.

Traces of dramatic music in its most primitive condition may also be discovered in representations of occurrences and scenes like the following:

Wilhelm Steller, in his 'Description of Kamtschatka' (published in the German language in the year 1774), says that the inhabitants of that country possess an astounding talent for imitating the manners and conduct of strangers whom they happen to see. During their long evenings one of their chief amusements consists in acting extempore comedies, in which the habits of any foreigners with whom they have become acquainted, are cleverly mimicked and ridiculed.

The missionary W. Ellis remarks of the Polynesian Islanders that "they had songs which, when recited on public occasions, were accompanied with gestures and actions corresponding to the events and scenes described, and which assumed in this respect a histrionic character. In some cases, and on public occasions, the action represented a kind of pantomime."[86] Other travellers have given more detailed accounts of these performances. During Captain Cook's first voyage round the world, Banks and Solander, who accompanied him, witnessed in one of the Society Islands, in the year 1769, a comedy with music and dancing, performed by the natives, the subject of which was the adroitness of a thief, and his subsequent capture. At Cook's second circumnavigation, during the years 1772-75, he was treated by the Society Islanders with a somewhat similar comic opera called _Teto_ (_i.e._ "The Thief"). G. Forster, who was with Cook, remarks that the dialogue, which of course he was unable to understand, seemed to be closely connected with their actions. One of them kneeled down, and another beat him and plucked him by the beard. Then two others were treated by the torturer in the same unceremonious manner; until one of them seized a stick and gave him a sound thrashing in return. This formed the conclusion of the first act, and the players withdrew. The commencement of the second act was announced by the musicians beating their drums. There were actresses as well as actors engaged in the performance.[87] A more detailed account of the dramatic attempts of the Polynesian Islanders is given by W. Mariner, who, during his sojourn with the natives, had the best opportunity of becoming acquainted with their customs and amusements. His observations, which refer especially to the Tonga Islanders, show that the actors recite sentences which are answered by a chorus of singers. There is a great variety in their movements and groupings. Occasionally they sing slowly, and afterwards quickly for about a quarter of an hour. Sometimes they form a semi-circle, assume a bending position, and sing in a subdued tone of voice a soft air; which is soon again followed by a loud and vehement recitation.[88]

Grotesque dresses and adornments are, of course, an essential attribute in these entertainments. Neither are buffoons wanting. According to B. Seeman, the entertainment called _Kalau Rere_, which he witnessed in the Fiji Islands, "with its high poles, streamers, evergreens, masquerading, trumpet-shells, chants and other wild music, is the nearest approach to dramatic representation the Fijians seem to have made, and it is with them what private theatricals are with us. They are also on other occasions very fond of dressing themselves in fantastic, often very ridiculous costume; and in nearly every large assembly there are buffoons. Court fools, in many instances hunchbacks, are attached to the chief's establishment."[89]

Also the Negroes in Senegambia and Upper Guinea have buffoons, who delight the people with their antics and acting in processions and public festivities. Buffoons are popular even in Mohammedan countries, where dramatic performances are generally considered objectionable. Morier states that in Persia the princes, governors of provinces, etc., as well as the King, have a band of _Looties_, or buffoons, in their pay, who are looked upon as a necessary part of Persian state. They attend at merry-makings and public festivals, and some of them are endowed with great natural wit. This was, for instance, the case with a certain buffoon named Looti Bashee. "His dress, when he came to the ambassador, was composed of a felt hat, the crown of which was made like ours, but with two long ears projecting before, and two behind. Others of his troop were dressed in the same way; all looked grotesque, and I conjectured that nothing could give one a better idea of Satyrs and Bacchanalians, particularly as they were attended by a suite of monkeys headed by a large ape, which were educated to perform all sorts of tricks. They carried copper drums slung under the arm, which they beat with their fingers, making a noise like castanets; others played the tambourine; and when all this was put into motion, with their voices roaring in loud chorus, the scene was unique."[90]

Sir Robert Ker Porter witnessed at Bagdad, in the beginning of the present century, a kind of musical drama performed by men and boys, the latter being dressed like females. "This amusement," he remarks, "is the only one of a theatrical complexion known among the people. It is often called for by the female part of the inhabitants; but I am told that with the men it is now very rare, the Pasha so setting his face against it as to forbid the avowed existence of hirable dancing-boys in his capital."[91] There is a Turkish theatre at Pera in which Turkish plays, adapted from the Italian, are acted by Turkish actors, and Turkish women appear unveiled upon the stage.[92] The women in the hareem, who in their diversions are only permitted to employ slaves of their own sex, occasionally make them act melodramas, the subject of which is generally a love story.

The Indians in Mexico have some characteristic dances in which scenes are pantomimically enacted referring to Montezuma and to the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards.

In most of the entertainments, of which examples have just been given, the music must necessarily partake of a dramatic character. Generally, the tunes are not selected at pleasure, but certain tunes belong to certain representations. The dramatic effect of the music depends, however, chiefly upon its execution, which naturally changes according to the action which it accompanies. Thus, if the actors represent a sentimental or heart-rending scene, their vocal effusions will naturally be in a subdued tone, and the sympathizing musicians will touch their instruments delicately and slowly. If, on the other hand, the actors represent some exciting or heart-stirring scene, they will naturally raise their voices, and the musicians will play louder and faster as a matter of course. In fact, when their pulse beats quicker, the rhythmical flow of their music, however rude and inartistic it may be, becomes more animated unpremeditatedly. Such is the most primitive condition, or the commencement of the development of dramatic music. Let us now examine it in a somewhat more advanced stage of cultivation.

The Javanese, who among the islanders of the Indian Archipelago are renowned for their skill in the dramatic art, generally use fabulous traditions from their own history, or Hindu legends, as subjects for their performances, which are acted exclusively by men. A full band of musicians generally accompanies the drama. The instruments mostly belong to the class called Instruments of Percussion, but several of them are constructed with plates of metal which produce a series of sweet tones, arranged according to the pentatonic scale. Some of the Javanese airs, which have been collected by Europeans, are very expressive, and it might be instructive to musical enquirers, if some really musical European visitor in Java would faithfully commit to notation the orchestral accompaniments of some of the most popular Javanese dramas. Madame Ida Pfeiffer relates that she was treated in the house of a Rajah, at Bandong, with a kind of pantomime in three acts, the third of which represented a combat. "The music that accompanied the combat," she remarks, "was very noisy and discordant; but, on the defeat of the one party, a soft plaintive melody arose at some distance off. The whole performance was really pretty and expressive."[93] Sir Stamford Raffles, and other travellers, give similar descriptions, and have besides much to say about the clever puppet-shows of the Javanese, in which the characters of dramas are represented by puppets, or by their shadows.

The Siamese are fond of theatrical performances. According to Turpin's history of Siam, published in the year 1771, "whenever they burn the body of a minister or great man, a theatre is erected on the side of a river, where the actors appear habited according to their parts; and during three days they never quit the scene from eight in the morning till seven at night." De La Loubère, who visited Siam in the year 1687, says that the subjects of the dramas are "historical, in verse, serious, and sung by several actors who are always present, and who only sing reciprocally. One of them sings the historian's part, and the rest sing those of the personages which the history makes to speak; but they are all men that sing, and no women." About a century ago it appears to have been the custom to employ only men as actors, although there were female dancers. But, at the present day there are actresses, at any rate in the palace of the King, where Sir John Bowring saw them perform on several occasions. In one of these entertainments "the actors were all females, almost all girls. A few matrons, however, took the part of warriors, monkeys, priests; and the three manageresses, or prompteresses, were not only old and ugly, but seemed very spiteful, and on several occasions scolded and slapped the ladies who required correction. One of them had the drama written on black sheets in white letters before her, from which she prompted the singers of the recitative. The story began by the appearance of a monster monkey in a forest, which is visited by a number of ladies of rank, one of whom, after an unsuccessful struggle, the others having managed to escape, the monster monkey contrives to carry off. She is redeemed by the interference of a priest, whose temple is in the forest. Afterwards we are introduced to a sovereign Court, where all the ceremonies are observed which are practised in daily life, the dresses being those ordinarily worn, and most gorgeous they are.... There is a battle, and rewards to the victors, and a crowning of a king's son in recompense for his valour, and offerings to Buddha, and a great feast, etc."[94] The principal performers act, but do not speak. The tale is told in recitative by a body of singers, accompanied by various instruments. The band assisting generally consists of about twenty members who play on wind instruments of the oboe kind, gongs, large castanets above a foot in length, and several sonorous instruments of percussion constructed with slabs of wood, or plates of metal, somewhat similar to those of the Javanese before mentioned.

The Cochin-Chinese are remarkably fond of dramatic entertainments, which are generally of an operatic character commemorating historical events. An English gentleman who witnessed the performance of some of these plays remarks of the actors: "Their singing is good, when the ear has become accustomed to it; and the modulation of voice of the females is really captivating."[95] Sir George Staunton was evidently surprised to find that a kind of historical opera, which he heard in the town of Turon (called by the natives Hansán) contained recitatives, airs, and choruses, which were, he says, "as regular as upon the Italian stage." He adds: "Some of the female performers were by no means despicable singers. They all observed time accurately, not only with their voices, but every joint of their hands and feet was obedient to the regular movement of the instruments."[96] The band consisted of stringed instruments, wind instruments, and instruments of percussion. Sir John Barrow describes the theatre at Turon as "a shed of bamboo." He relates: "In the farther division of the building a party of comedians was engaged in the midst of an historical drama when we entered; but, on our being seated they broke off, and, coming forward, made before us an obeisance of nine genuflexions and prostrations, after which they returned to their labours, keeping up an incessant noise and bustle during our stay. The heat of the day, the thermometer in the shade standing at 81 deg. in the open air, and at least 10 deg. higher in the building, the crowds that thronged to see the strangers, the horrible crash of the gongs, kettle-drums, trumpets, and squalling flutes, were so stunning and oppressive that nothing but the novelty of the scene could possibly have detained us for a moment. The most entertaining, as well as the least noisy part of the theatrical exhibition, was a sort of Interlude, performed by three young women for the amusement, it would seem, of the principal actress, who sat as a spectator in the dress and character of some ancient Queen, whilst an old eunuch, very whimsically dressed, played his antic tricks like a scaramouch or buffoon in a Harlequin entertainment. The dialogue in this part differed entirely from the querulous and nearly monotonous recitation of the Chinese, being light and comic, and occasionally interrupted by cheerful airs which generally concluded with a chorus. These airs, rude and unpolished as they were, appeared to be regular compositions, and were sung in exactly measured time. One in particular attracted our attention, whose slow melancholy movement breathed the kind of plaintiveness so peculiar to the native airs of the Scotch, to which indeed it bore a close resemblance."

Probably the air was founded on the pentatonic scale, which is common in the music of the Chinese and Javanese, and of which traces are to be found in the Scotch popular tunes.

"The voices of the women are shrill and warbling, but some of their cadences were not without melody. The instruments at each pause gave a few short flourishes, till the music gradually increased in loudness by the swelling and deafening gong. Knowing nothing of the language, we were of course as ignorant of the subject as the majority of an English audience is of an Italian opera."[97]

A curious mode of paying the actors, which prevails in Cochin-China, may be mentioned here. An Englishman who was present at a theatrical performance in the town of Kangwarting, relates that the Quong, or governor of the province, bore the expense of the entertainment. The musical drama was performed in a large shed before a great concourse of spectators. "The Quong was there squatted on a raised platform in front of the actors with a small drum before him, supported in a diagonal position, on which he would strike a tap every time any part of the performance pleased him; which also was a signal for his purse-bearer to throw a small string of about twenty cash to the actors. To my taste, this spoiled the effect of the piece; for, every time the cash fell among them there would be a silence, and the next moment a scramble for the money; and it fell so frequently as almost to keep time with the discordant music of the orchestra. The actors were engaged by the day, and in this manner received their payment, the amount of which entirely depended upon the approbation of the Quong and the number of times he encored them by tapping his drum. I could see that many of them paid far more attention to the drum than they did to their performance; though I suppose, the amount thrown to them is equally divided. Sometimes the string on which the cash was tied, unluckily broke, and the money flew in all directions; by which some of the bystanders profited, not being honourable enough to hand it up to the poor actors."[98]

The Burmese have dramas performed by men, and also comedies represented by means of marionettes, or puppets. In the latter entertainments the figures are cleverly managed by persons situated beneath a stage which is hidden by a coarse curtain. The dialogues between these figures are much relished by the common spectators. At any rate, as they are apt to elicit uproarious mirth, they may be supposed to be often irresistibly comic. The real dramatic performances of the Burmese are acted by professional players, generally in the open air. The principal characters of the piece usually consist of a prince, a princess, a humble lover, a slave, and a buffoon. The female characters are represented by boys dressed in female attire. The dresses are handsome and gorgeous. However, the best theatrical performances take place in a building. On these occasions, there are two musical bands, one being placed on each side of the scene. The principal musical instruments of such an orchestra are of the percussion kind, containing a series of sonorous slabs of wood, or plates of metal, and somewhat resembling the Javanese instruments, but being attuned according to a diatonic order of intervals, instead of the pentatonic order. Also a curious contrivance, consisting of a set of drums suspended in a frame, each drum having a fixed tone, is used on these occasions. Moreover, the Burmese orchestra generally contains several wind instruments of the oboe and trumpet kind, as well as cymbals, large castanets of split bamboo, and other instruments of percussion, which serve to heighten the rhythmical effect of the music. The story of the drama is usually taken from ancient Burmese history. Captain Henry Yule, who has given a more detailed account of the Burmese plays than any previous traveller, remarks that when he was at Amarapoora he procured copies of some of the plays which he saw acted, from which it was evident to him that, while the general plan of the drama, comprising the more dignified and solemn part of the dialogue, was written down at considerable length, the humorous portions were left to the extempore wit of the actors. The following scenes are from a drama commemorating an episode from the life of Oodeinna, King of Kauthambi, a country in India. This drama, which was obtained by Captain Henry Yule, is a translation from the Pali, and the whole is in Burmese verse of four syllables.

(The scene opens in the Capital of Kauthambi. The king is seated on his throne, with his courtiers around him.)

_King._--(_Addresses them_) "Great nobles and chiefs!"

_Nobles._--"Phra, (Lord)!"

_King._--"Are my subjects happy and prosperous?"

_Nobles._--"Since Your Majesty's happy reign began, religion has shone forth with splendour; the seasons have been propitious; the earth has been bountiful; the rich and the poor, men and women, have enjoyed peace and prosperity, and the happy years have been to them as water to the lotus."

(_Scene closes._)

_Himalaya Mountains.--Enter a Nát._[99]

_Nát._--"Now I am a Nát! When, and in what body was I before? Ah! looking with a Nát's eyes and understanding, I perceive I was a hermit in these wilds. My companion, Alakappa, is still here. I will seek my friend."

(_Approaches a cave._)

_Hermit._--"Who art thou that comest suddenly to my cell in the garb and appearance of a Nát, with the nine jewels in thy crown?"

_Nát._--"O holy Hermit, of a good lineage, who ever livest in the forest, tell me all thou desirest, so that nought may remain unsaid!"

_Hermit._--"O Nát, who by stupendous merit has reached the exalted abode! I have nothing particular to ask; but numerous elephants come around my cell and do great damage. Be pleased to forbid this for the future."

_Nát._--"O holy Hermit! I will give thee a golden harp, and by the virtue of its sounds, and thy songs accompanying, elephants will come or go as thou commandest."

From this passage it is evident that the Burmese ascribe to music a great power, and the same is also indicated in several other remarks occurring in the drama. It is, however, unnecessary here to give the entire drama, which the reader will find in the interesting book above alluded to.[100] Suffice it to notice the following passages from a subsequent scene.

(_The young Prince Oodeinna enters. The Hermit presents him with the golden harp and teaches him a tune and song. The Prince retires to a tree, ascends it, and plays. The wild elephants of the forest come around him, and are obedient to his voice and harp, etc._--)

Captain Yule remarks that "the comic stage-effects of the characters addressing the orchestra is very frequent," and there are several indications of the kind in the present drama. Take, for instance, the following:--

(_Scene in the solitary wilds of Himalaya_).

_Enter an immense Bird._

BIRD (speaks).--"From the beginning of the world there have been numerous sorts of birds: cranes, ducks, crows, peacocks, and others. I am not of their sort. My power would extinguish them all. My home is amidst vast mountains and pathless forests, and ever and anon I descend from them. I will now go to the country of Kauthambi to seek for food. So now (_to the band_), as I am about to fly, strike up a victorious melody, O leader of the orchestra!"

_The bird commences his flight, and, soaring aloft, says_:--

"This is a beautiful country, and full of golden palaces, and lovely gardens with gorgeous-coloured flowers and shrubs. Nevertheless, I must look out for something to eat. Thus, turning north and turning south, looking up and looking down, I spy outside the King's palace a piece of flesh, red, red as blood. It is mine, sure as the food in a monk's begging-dish; it cannot escape. I will stoop at it, seize it, and fly away; and now that I may easily reach the large tree in my own mountain from this country of Kauthambi, play a soft and simple air, O leader of the orchestra!"