Chapter XX: Choral Games of Spanish Children

"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 the _Buen 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 every _nina_ knows, 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 Toledo
Is a famous school for boys,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chun-chun;
Where all we lads are going
With a most heroic noise,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chun-chun.

"And the parrots on their perches,
They mock us as we go,
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chun-chun.
'I hate my school,' whines Polly,
'For my master beats me so,'
Chundarata, chundarata,
Chundarata, chun-chun."

Another, which came to me in fragments, is sung in playing soldier.

"The Catalans are coming,
Marching two by two.
All who hear the drumming
Tiptoe for a view.
Ay, ay!
Tiptoe for a view.
Red and yellow banners,
Pennies very few.
Ay, ay!
Pennies very few.

"Red and yellow banners!
The Moon comes out to see.
If moons had better manners,
She'd take me on her knee.
Ay, ay!
Take me on her knee.
She peeps through purple shutters,
Would I were tall as she!
Ay, ay!
Would I were tall as she!

"Soldiers need not learn letters,
Nor any schooly thing,
But unless they mind their betters,
In golden chains they'll swing.
Ay, ay!
In golden chains they'll swing.
Or sit in silver fetters,
Presents from the King.
Ay, ay!
Presents from the King."

This ironic touch, so characteristically Spanish, reappears in many of the games, as in _A La Limon_, 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 limon, a la limon!_
All broken is our bright fountain.

2. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
Give orders to have it mended.

1. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
We haven't a bit of money.

2. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
But we have money in plenty.

1. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
What kind of money may yours be?

2. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
Oh, ours is money of eggshells.

1. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
An arch for the lords and ladies.

2. "_A la limon, a la limon!_
Right merrily we pass under."

Another lyric dialogue, whose fun is spent on the lean purses of students and the happy-go-lucky life of Andalusia, must have originated since the overthrow, in 1892, of the leaning tower of Saragossa. The stanzas are sung alternately by two rows of children, advancing toward each other and retreating with a dancing step.

1. "In Saragossa
--Oh, what a pity!--
Has fallen the tower,
Pride of the city.

2. "Fell it by tempest,
Fairies or witches,
The students will raise it,
For students have riches.

1. "Call on the students,
Call louder and louder!
They've only two coppers
To buy them a chowder.

2. "Chowder of students
Is sweeter than honey,
But the gay Andalusians
Have plenty of money.

1. "The gay Andalusians
Have fiddle and ballad,
But only two coppers
To buy them a salad.

2. "In Saragossa
--Oh, what a pity!--
Has fallen the tower,
Pride of the city."

Unchildlike innuendoes pervade that curious game of many variants in which the priest and abbess play a leading part. Two children are chosen for these dignitaries, while the others call out the names of such flowers, fruits, or vegetables as each may decide to personate. "I'm a cabbage." "I'm a jasmine." "I'm a cherry." Then the little sinners kneel in a circle, crying:--

"Through the door, up the stairs,
On the floor, say your prayers!"

and chant some childish gibberish, during which no one must laugh on pain of a forfeit. After this, all sing:--

"The house of the priest it cracked like a cup.
Half fell down and half stood up.
Sir Priest, Sir Priest, now tell us aright,
In whose house did you sleep last night?

_Priest._ With the rose slept I.

_Rose._ Fie, O fie!
I never saw your tonsured head.

_Priest._ Then with whom did you make your bed?

_Rose._ With the Pink.

_Pink._ I should think!
I never saw your petals red.

_Rose._ Then with whom did you make your bed?

_Pink._ With the lily.

_Lily._ Don't be silly!
I never heard your fragrant tread.

_Pink._ Then with whom did you make your bed?

_Lily._ With the priest.

_Priest._ Little beast!
If I went near you, may I fall dead!

_Lily._ Then with whom did you make your bed?

_Priest._ With the abbess, I.

_Abbess._ Oh, you lie!"

But this seems to be the conclusion of the game.

The most of these choral songs, however, are sweet and innocent, concerned with the natural interests of childhood, as this:--

"The shepherdess rose lightly
Laran--laran--larito,
The shepherdess rose lightly
From off her heather seat--O.

"Her goats went leaping homeward,
Laran--laran--larito,
Her goats went leaping homeward
On nimble little feet--O.

"With strong young hands she milked them,
Laran--laran--larito,
With strong young hands she milked them
And made a cheese for treat--O.

"The kitty watched and wondered,
Laran--laran--larito,
The kitty crept and pondered
If it were good to eat--O.

"The kitty sprang upon it,
Laran--laran--larito,
The kitty sprang upon it
And made a wreck complete--O.

"Scat, scat, you naughty kitty!
Laran--laran--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!
Blessed 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!
Blessed souls, I rise once more."

They have a number of bird-games, through which they flit and flutter with an airy grace that wings could hardly better. In one, the children form a circle, with "the little bird Pinta" in the centre. The chorus, dancing lightly around her, sings the first stanza, and Pinta, while passing about the circle to make her choice, sings the rest, with the suggested action. The child chosen becomes Pinta in turn.

_Chorus._ "The little bird Pinta was poising
On a scented green lemon-tree spray.
She picked the leaf and the blossom,
And chanted a roundelay.

_Pinta._ "Song in the land!
While April is yet a newcomer,
O mate of my summer,
Give to me a hand now,
Both hands I seek, O!
Take a Spanish kiss, now,
On the rosy cheek, O!"

Equally pretty and simple is the Andalusian play of "Little White Pigeons." The children form in two rows, which face each other some ten or twelve yards apart. One row sings the first stanza, dancing forward and slipping under the "golden arches" made by the lifted arms of the second row. The second row sings and dances in turn, passing under the "silver arches" to Granada.

1. "Little white pigeons
Are dreaming of Seville,
Sun in the palm tree,
Roses and revel.
Lift up the arches,
Gold as the weather.
Little white pigeons
Come flying together.

2. "Little white pigeons
Dream of Granada,
Glistening snows on
Sierra Nevada.
Lift up the arches,
Silver as fountains.
Little white pigeons
Fly to the mountains."

The Spanish form of "Blindman's Buff" begins with "giving the pebble" to determine who shall be the Blind Hen. A child shuts in one hand the pebble and then presents both little fists to the other children passing in file. Each, while all sing the first stanza given below, softly touches first one of the hands, then the other, and finally slaps the one chosen. If this is empty, she passes on. If it holds the pebble, she must take it and be the one to offer the hands. The child who finally remains with the pebble in her possession, after all have passed, is the Blind Hen. As the game goes on, the children tease the Blind Hen, who, of course, is trying to catch them, by singing the second stanza given below.

1

"Pebble, O pebble!
Where may it be?
Pebble, O pebble!
Come not to me!
Tell me, my mother,
Which hand to choose.
This or the other?
That I refuse,
This hand I choose."

2

"She's lost her thimble,
Little Blind Hen.
Better be nimble!
Try it again!
Who'll bring a taper
For the Blind Hen?
Scamper and caper!
Try it again!
Try it again!"

Other games as well known to American children as "Blindman's Buff" are played by little Spaniards. They understand how to make the "hand-chair" and "drop the button," only their button is usually a ring. "Hide the Handkerchief" carries with it the familiar cries of _hot_ and _cold_, but our "Puss in the Corner" becomes "A Cottage to Rent."

"'Cottage to rent?'
'Try the other side,
You see that this
Is occupied.'"

In religious Seville the dialogue runs:--

"'A candle here?'
'Over there.'
'A candle here?'
'Otherwhere.'

"'Candle, a candle!'
'Loss on loss.'
'Where is light?'
'In the Holy Cross.'"

For all these games, common to childhood the world over, have a rhyming element in the Peninsula, where, indeed, the ordinary intercourse of children often carries verses with it. For instance, our youngsters are content with cries of "Tell-tale!" and "Indian-giver!" but under similar provocation the fierce little nurslings of Catholic Spain will sing:--

"Tell-tale! Tell-tale!
In hell you'll be served right,
All day fed on mouldy bread,
And pounded all the night!"

The other baby-curse is to the same effect:--

"He who gives and takes again,
Long in hell may he remain!
He who gives and takes once more,
May we hear him beat on the Devil's door!"

The Spanish form of tag has a touch of mythological grace. One child, chosen by lot, is the Moon, and must keep within the shadow. The others, Morning-stars, are safe only in the lighted spaces. The game is for the Morning-stars to run into the shadow, daring the Moon, who, if successful in catching one, becomes a Morning-star in turn, and passes out into the light, leaving the one caught to act the part of Moon. As the Morning-stars run in and out of the Moon's domain, they sing over and over the following stanza:--

"O the Moon and the Morning-stars!
O the Moon and the Morning-stars!
Who dares to tread--O
Within the shadow?"

Even in swinging, the little girls who push carry on a musical dialogue with the happy holder of the seat.

"'Say good-day, say good-day
To Miss Fannie Fly-away!
At the door the guests are met,
But the table is not set.
Put the stew upon the fire.
Higher, higher, higher, higher!
Now come down, down, down, down,
Or the dinner will all burn brown.
Soup and bread! soup and bread!
I know a plot of roses red,
Red as any hero's sword,
Or the blood of our Holy Lord.
Where art thou, on the wing?'
'No, I'm sitting in the swing.'
'Who're thy playmates way up there?'
'Swallows skimming through the air.'
'Down, come down! The stew will burn.
Let the rest of us have a turn.'"

In playing "Hide and Seek," the seeker must first sit in a drooping attitude with covered eyes, while the others stand about and threaten to strike him if he peeps:--

"Oil-cruet! Don't do it! _Ras con ras!_
Pepper-pot? Peep not! _Ras con ras!_"

The menacing little fists are then suddenly withdrawn.

"No, no! Not a blow!
But a pinch on the arm will do no harm.
Now let the birdies take alarm!"

And off scamper the hiders to their chosen nooks. When they are safely tucked away, the indispensable Mother, standing by, sings to the seeker that stanza which is his signal for the start:--

"My little birds of the mountain
Forth from the cage are flown.
My little birds of the mountain
Have left me all alone."

Spanish forfeit games are numerous and ingenious. In one of these, called "The Toilet," the players take the names of Mirror, Brush, Comb, Towel, Soap, and other essentials, including Jesus, Devil, and Man Alive, these last for exclamatory purposes. As each is mentioned by the leader of the game, he must rise instantly, on pain of forfeit, no matter how fast the speaker may be rattling on: "_Jesus!_ When will that _devil_ of a _maid_ bring me my _powder_ and _perfumes_?" Characteristic titles of other forfeit games are, "The Key of Rome," "The Fan," "The Fountain," "I Saw my Love Last Night." The sentences vary from such gentle penalties as "The Caress of Cadiz" to the predicament of putting three feet on the wall at once.

The choral verses are often mere nonsense.

"Pipe away! pipe away!
Let us play a little play!
What will we play?
We'll cut our hands away.
Who cut them, who?
Rain from out the blue.
Where is the rain?
Hens drank it up again.
Hens? And where are they?
Gone their eggs to lay.
Who will eat them up?
Friars when they sup.
What do friars do?
Sing 'gori-gori-goo.'"

Watching Spanish children, one may see two little girls, say White Rose and Sweetness, fly out into an open space, where White Rose carefully places the tips of her small shoes in touch with those of Sweetness. Then they clasp hands, fling their little bodies as far back as these conditions permit, and whirl round and round, singing lustily--until they are overcome by giddiness--the following rigmarole, or one of its variants:--

"Titirinela, if you please!
Titirinela, bread and cheese:
'What is your father's worshipful name?'
'Sir Red-pepper, who kisses your hands.'
'And how does he call his beautiful dame?'
'Lady Cinnamon, at your commands.'
Titirinela, toe to toe!
Titirinela, round we go!"

Even in some of their prettiest games the verses have a childish incoherence. Some dozen little girls form a circle, for instance, with the Butterfly in the centre. They lift her dress-skirt by the border, and hold it outspread about her. Another child, on the outside, runs around and around the ring, singing:--

"Who are these chatterers?
Oh, such a number!
Not by day nor by night
Do they let me slumber.
They're daughters of the Moorish king,
Who search the garden-close
For lovely Lady Ana,
The sweetest thing that grows.
She's opening the jasmine
And shutting up the rose."

Then the children suddenly lift their hands, which are holding Butterfly's frock, so as to envelop her head in the folds. The little singer outside continues:--

"Butterfly, butterfly,
Dressed in rose-petals!
Is it on candle-flame
Butterfly settles?
How many shirts
Have you woven of rain?
Weave me another
Ere I call you again."

These songs are repeated seven times. Then comes another stanza:--

"Now that Lady Ana
Walks in garden sweet,
Gathering the roses
Whose dew is on her feet,
Butterfly, butterfly,
Can you catch us? Try it, try!"

With this the circle breaks and scatters, while Butterfly, blinded as she is by the folds of her own skirt wrapped about her head, does her best to overtake some one, who shall then become her successor.

Many of the games are simplicity itself. Often the play is merely a circle dance, sometimes ending in a sudden kneeling or sitting on the ground, One of the songs accompanying this dance runs:--

"Potatoes and salt must little folks eat,
While the grown-up people dine
Off lemons and chestnuts and oranges sweet,
With cocoanut milk for wine.
On the ground do we take our seat,
We're at your feet, we're at your feet."

Sometimes a line of children will form across the street and run, hand in hand, down its length, singing:--

"We have closed the street
And no one may pass,
Only my grandpa
Leading his ass
Laden with oranges
Fresh from the trees.
Tilin! Tilin!
Down on our knees!
Tilin! Tilin! Tilin! Tilin!
The holy bell of San Agustin!"

A play for four weans, training them early to the "eternal Spanish contradiction," consists in holding a handkerchief by its four corners, while one of them sings:--

"Pull and slacken!
I've lost my treasure store.
Pull and slacken!
I'm going to earn some more.
_Slacken!_"

And at this, the other three children must _pull_, on pain of forfeit, whereas if the word is _pull_, their business is to _slacken_.

They have a grasshopper game, where they jump about with their hands clasped under their knees, singing:--

"Grasshopper sent me an invitation
To come and share his occupation.
Grasshopper dear, how could I say no?
Grasshopper, grasshopper, here I go!"

In much the same fashion they play "Turkey," gobbling as they hop.

I never found them "playing house" precisely after the manner of our own little girls, but there are many variants for the dialogue and songs in their game of "Washerwoman." The Mother says: "Mariquilla, I'm going out to the river to wash. While I am gone, you must sweep and tidy up the house."

"_Bueno, madre._"

But no sooner is the Mother out of sight than naughty Mariquilla begins to frisk for joy, singing:--

"Mother has gone to wash.
Mother'll be gone all day.
Now can Mariquilla
Laugh and dance and play."

But the Mother returns so suddenly that Mariquilla sees her barely in time to begin a vigorous sweeping.

"'What hast been doing, Mary?'
'Sweeping with broom of brier.'
'A friar saw thee playing.'
'He was a lying friar.'
'A holy friar tell a lie!'
'He lied and so do you.'
'Come hither, Mary of my heart,
'And I'll beat thee black and blue.'"

After this lively exercise, the washerwoman goes away again, charging Mariquilla to churn the butter, then to knead the bread, then to set the table, but always with the same disastrous results. The Mother finally condemns her to a dinner of bread and bitters, but Mariquilla makes a point of understanding her to say bread and honey, and shares this sweetness with her sympathetic mates who form the circle. This time the beating is so severe that the children of the ring raise their arms and let Mariquilla dodge freely in and out, while they do all they can to trip and hinder the irate washerwoman in her pursuit.

There is another washing game of more romantic sort, the chorus being:--

"'Bright is the fountain,
When skies are blue.
Who washed my handkerchief?
Tell me true!'
'Three mountain maidens
Of laughing look.
White went their feet
In the running brook.
One threw in roses,
And jasmine one.
One spread thy handkerchief
In the sun.'"

Spanish children "play store," of course, but they are such dramatic little creatures that they need no broken ware for their merchandise. A row of them will squat down in the middle of the street, clasp their hands under the hollow of their knees, and crook out their arms for "handles." Then a customer wanders by, asking, "Who sells honey-jars?" The merchant disrespectfully replies, "That do I, Uncle of the Torn Trousers." The shabby customer answers with Castilian dignity, "If my trousers are torn, my wife will mend them." The merchant then opens negotiations. "Will you buy a little jar of honey?" "What's your price?" The merchant is not exorbitant. "A flea and a louse." The probabilities are, unhappily, that the customer has these commodities about him, and he inclines, though cautiously, toward the bargain.

"Your little honey-jars are good?"

"Very good."

"Do they weigh much?"

"Let's see."

So they pick up an hilarious little honey-jar by its handles and tug it away between them, not letting it touch the ground, to the sidewalk. Here the merchant and customer have designated four spaces as Heaven, Limbo, Purgatory, and Hell, but on a preliminary paving-stone--let truth need no apology!--they have done some artistic spitting, with the result that four different figures in saliva are presented to the little honey-jar. These four figures bear a secret relation to the four spaces on the sidewalk, and the prisoner must make his choice. "This!" he ventures. "Hell!" scream the merchant and customer, and drag him, shrieking and struggling, to his doom. The next, perhaps, will have the luck to hit on Heaven, for every little honey-jar must take his chance in this theological lottery.

Sometimes the market becomes a transformation scene. The children hold up their forefingers for candles, but embarrass the merchant by doubling these up whenever the customer is on the point of buying. Just as the bargain is about to be concluded, the little candles vanish and the children roll themselves into bunches of grapes, some proving sweet and others sour. Again, they make themselves over into pitchers, cushions, and all variety of domestic articles, becoming at last a pack of barking dogs which rush out on the customer, snap at his legs, and drive him off the premises.

Again, it is a chicken-market on which the Uncle of the Torn Trousers chances, where one by one he buys all the hens and chickens, but forgets to buy the rooster, and when, by and by, this lordly fowl, waxing lonely, cock-a-doodle-doos, the hens and chickens come scurrying back to him, more to the profit of the merchant than to the satisfaction of the customer.

In another of the chicken games, the Mother leaves Mariquilla in charge of the brood, with directions, if the wolf comes, to fling him the smallest. But he comes so often that, when the Mother returns, there are no chickens left. Then she and Little Mary go hunting them, hop-hop-hop through Flea Street, bow-wow-wow through Dog Street, and so on without success, until it occurs to them to scatter corn. Thereupon with peep-peep-peep and flip-flap-flutter all the chickens appear, but only to fly at the negligent Mother, who left them to the jaws of the wolf, and assail her with such furious pecks that she must run for her life, the indignant chicks racing in wild pursuit.

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, silks and 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."

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-eyed _ninas_ are 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 marry
A maiden nice.
I may not tarry.
It is not this,
Nor this, nor this.
'Tis only this
Whom I want to marry."

_Ambo, ato_ is 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.

"_Ambo, ato, matarile, rile, rile?
Ambo, ato, 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."

"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 circle breaks, 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 land
Could find a lover to kiss her hand?

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 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 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!_"

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 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 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 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 Ceferino
Went to walk--alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomas.
The least of all, they lost her.
Her father searched--alas!
A street above, a street below,
Street of San Tomas.
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 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 Mambru" begins merrily, and soon saddens to a funereal pace.

"In Madrid was born a maiden--carabi!
Daughter of a general--carabi, huri, hura!"

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_.

Mambru himself is the pathetic hero of Spanish childhood. This Mambru for whom the little ones from Aragon to Andalusia pipe so many simple elegies, the Mambru sung by Trilby, is not the English Marlborough to them, but, be he lord or peasant, one of their very own.

"Mambru 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 son
By peasant dress of Aragon.

"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!"

At the end of this song, as of the following, the little dancers throw themselves on the ground, as if in despair.

"Mambru 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!
'Mambru 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 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 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 Alcala!"

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 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 Alcala!"

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.

"'We've come from France, my lady,
And Portugal afar.
We've heard of your fair daughters,
And very fair they are.'

'Be they fair or no, senores,
It's none of your concern,
For God has given me bread for all,
And given me hands to earn.'

'Then we depart, proud lady,
To find us brides elsewhere.
The daughters of the Moorish king
Our wedding rings shall wear.'

'Come back, my sweet senores!
Bear not so high a crest.
You may take my eldest daughter,
But leave me all the rest.'"

The dialogue is transferred to one of the suitors and to the princess at the farther end of the line, on whose head the handkerchief now rests.

"'Will you come with me, my Onion?'
'Fie! that's a kitchen smell.'
'Will you come with me, my Rosebud?'
'Ay, gardens please me well.'"

In similar fashion all the daughters are coaxed away until only the youngest remains, but she proves obdurate. They may call her Parsley or Pink; it makes no difference. So the suitors resort to bribes, the last proving irresistible.

"'We'll buy you a French missal.'
'I have a book in Latin.'
'In taffeta we'll dress you.'
'My clothes are all of satin.'
'You shall ride upon a donkey.'
'I ride in coaches here.'
'We'll give you golden ear-rings.'
'Farewell, my mother dear.'"

In some of the many variants of this game, the Queen herself, adequate as she may be to earning her own living, is wooed and won at last.

I have not met with fairy-lore among these children's carols. The only fairy known to Spain appears to be a sort of spiritualistic brownie, who tips over tables and rattles chairs in empty rooms by night. The grown-up men who write of him say he frightens women and children. He can haunt a house as effectually as an old-time ghost, and a _Casa del Duende_ may go begging for other tenants. One poor lady, who went to all the trouble of moving to escape from him, was leaning over the balcony of her new home,--so the story goes,--to see the last cartful of furniture drive up, when a tiny man in scarlet waved a feathered cap to her from the very top of the load and called, "Yes, senora, we are all here. We have moved."

So the childish imagination of Spain, shut out from fairyland, makes friends with the saints in such innocent, familiar way as well might please even Ribera's anchorites. The adventurous small boy about to take a high jump pauses to pray:--

"Saint Magdalene,
Don't let me break my thigh!
Oh, Saint Thomas,
Help this birdie fly!"

The little girls express decided preferences for one saint over another.

"Old San Anton,
What has he done?
Put us in the corner every one.

"San Sebastian
Is a nice young man.
He takes us to walk and gives us a fan."

Santa Rita is best at finding lost needles, and San Pantaleon is a humorist.

"San Pantaleon,
Are twenty and one
Children enough for an hour of fun
Slippers of iron
Donkey must try on.
Moors with their pages
Ride in gold stages.
But if you want a
Girdle, Infanta,
Cucurucu,
'Bout-face with you!"

At this one of the children dancing in circle whirls around, remaining in her place, but with back turned to the centre and arms crossed over her breast, although her hands still hold those of her nearest neighbors. The rhyme is sung over and over, until all the little figures have thus turned about and the circle is dancing under laughable difficulties.

But the dearest saint of all is San Sereni. Two of the best-known games are under his peculiar blessing. One of these is of the genuine Kindergarten type, the children dancing in a circle through the first two lines of each stanza, but then loosing hands to imitate, in time to the music, the suggested action.

"San Sereni,
The holy--holy-hearted!
Thus for thee
The shoemakers are cobbling.
Thus, thus, thus!
Thus it pleases us."

Even so it pleases seamstresses to stitch, laundresses to wash, carpenters to saw, silversmiths to tap, ironsmiths to pound, and little folks to dance, all for "San Sereni de la buena, buena vida." In the second game, a gymnastic exercise, whose four movements are indicated in the four stanzas, he is apostrophized as "San Sereni del Monte, San Sereni cortes."

"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Our saint of courtesy,
I, as a good Christian,
Will fall upon my knee.

"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where the strong winds pass,
I, as a good Christian,
Will seat me on the grass.

"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where the white clouds fly,
I, as a good Christian,
Upon the ground will lie.

"San Sereni of the Mountain,
Where earth and heaven meet,
I, as a good Christian,
Will spring upon my feet."

With the legend of St. Katharine and her martyrdom childish fancy has played queer caprices.

"In Cadiz was a wean--ah!
The gentlest ever seen--ah!
Her name was Catalina.
Ay, so!
Her name was Catalina.

"Her father, Moslem cruel,
He made her bring in fuel.
Her mother fed her gruel.
Ay, so!
Her mother fed her gruel.

"They beat her Tuesday, Wednesday,
They beat her Thursday, Friday,
They beat her Saturday, Monday.
Ay, so!
They beat her hardest Sunday.

"Once bade her wicked sire
She make a wheel most dire,
Of scissors, knives, and fire.
Ay, so!
Of scissors, knives, and fire.

"The noble Christian neighbors,
In pity of her labors,
Brought silver swords and sabres.
Ay, so!
Brought silver swords and sabres.

"By noon her task was ended,
And on that wheel all splendid
Her little knee she bended.
Ay, so!
Her little knee she bended.

"Then down a stair of amber
She saw the cherubs clamber:
'Come rest in our blue chamber.'
Ay, so!
She rests in their blue chamber."

Little Spaniards are not too intolerant to make a play-fellow of the Devil. In one of their pet games, the children form in line, with the invaluable Mother in charge. To each child she secretly gives the name of a color. Then an Angel comes in with a flying motion and calls, for instance, "Purple!" But there is no Purple in the company. It is then the Devil's turn, who rushes in, usually armed with a table-fork, and roars for "Green." There is a Green in the line, and she has to follow the Demon, while the Angel tries again. All right-minded spectators hope that the Angel will have the longer array at the last.

The Virgin's well-beloved name comes often into the children's songs.

"For studying my lessons,
So as not to be a dunce,
Papa gave me eight dollars,
That I mean to spend at once.
Four for my dolly's necklace,
Two for a collar fine,
And one to buy a candle
For Our Lady's shrine."

Even the supreme solemnity of the Wafer borne through the kneeling streets cannot abash the trustful gaze of childhood.

"'Where are you going, dear Jesus,
So gallant and so gay?'
'I am going to a dying man
To wash his sins away.
And if I find him sorry
For the evil he has done,
Though his sins are more than the sands of the sea,
I'll pardon every one.'

"'Where are you going, dear Jesus,
So gallant and so gay?'
'I'm coming back from a dying man
Whose sins are washed away.
Because I found him sorry
For the evil he had done,
Though his sins were more than the sands of the sea,
I've pardoned every one.'"

The affairs of State as well as of Church have left their traces on the children's play. As the little ones dance in circle, their piping music tells a confused tale of Spanish history within these latter days.

"In Madrid there is a palace,
As bright as polished shell,
And in it lives a lady
They call Queen Isabel.
Not for count nor duke nor marquis
Her father would she sell,
For not all the gold in Spain could buy
The crown of Isabel.

"One day when she was feasting
Within this palace grand,
A lad of Aragon walked in
And seized her by the hand.
Through street and square he dragged her
To a dreary prison cell,
And all that weary way she wept,
The lady Isabel.

"'For whom art weeping, lady?
What gives thy spirit pain?
If thou weepest for thy brothers,
They will not come again.
If thou weepest for thy father,
He lies 'neath sheet of stone.'
'For these I am not weeping,
But for sorrows of mine own.

"'I want a golden dagger.'
'A golden dagger! Why?'
'To cut this juicy pear in two.
Of thirst I almost die.'
We gave the golden dagger.
She did not use it well.
Ah, no, it was not pears you cut,
My lady Isabel."

These dancing circles keep in memory the assassination of Marshal Prim.

"As he came from the Cortes,
Men whispered to Prim,
'Be wary, be wary,
For life and for limb.'
Then answered the General,
'Come blessing, come bane,
I live or I die
In the service of Spain.'

"In the _Calle del Turco_,
Where the starlight was dim,
Nine cowardly bullets
Gave greeting to Prim.
The best of the Spaniards
Lay smitten and slain,
And the new King he died for
Came weeping to Spain."

This new king, Amadeo, is funnily commemorated in another dancing ditty, "Four Sweethearts."

"Maiden, if they ask thee,
Maiden, if they ask thee,
If thou hast a sweetheart--_ha_, _ha_!
If thou hast a sweetheart,
Answer without blushing,
Answer without blushing,
'Four sweethearts are mine--_ha_, _ha_!
Four sweethearts are mine.

"'The first he is the son of--
The first he is the son of
A confectioner--_ha_, _ha_!
A confectioner.
Sugar-plums he gives me,
Sugar-plums he gives me,
Caramels and creams--_ha_, _ha_!
Caramels and creams.

"'The second is the son of--
The second is the son of
An apothecary--_ha_, _ha_!
An apothecary.
Syrups sweet he gives me,
Syrups sweet he gives me,
For my little cough--_hack_, _hack_!
For my little cough.

"'The third he is the son of--
The third he is the son of
The barber to the court--_ha_, _ha_!
The barber to the court.
Powders rare he gives me,
Powders rare he gives me,
And a yellow wig--_ha_, _ha_!
And a yellow wig.

"'The fourth? Oh, 'tis a secret,
The fourth? Oh, 'tis a secret.
Our new Italian king--_ha_, _ha_!
Our new Italian king.
He gives me silk and satin,
He gives me silk and satin,
Velvet, gold, and gems--_ha_, _ha_!
Velvet, gold, and gems.'"

Strangest of all is the dramatic little dialogue, which one with an ear for children's voices may hear any day in Madrid, telling of the death of Queen Mercedes.

"'Whither away, young King Alfonso?
(Oh, for pity!) Whither away?'
'I go seeking my queen Mercedes,
For I have not seen her since yesterday.'

"'But we have seen your queen Mercedes,
Seen the queen, though her eyes were hid,
While four dukes all gently bore her
Through the streets of sad Madrid.

"'Oh, how her face was calm as heaven!
Oh, how her hands were ivory white!
Oh, how she wore the satin slippers
That you kissed on the bridal night!

"'Dark are the lamps of the lonely palace.
Black are the suits the nobles don.
In letters of gold on the wall 'tis written:
_Her Majesty is dead and gone_.'

"He fainted to hear us, young Alfonso,
Drooped like an eagle with broken wing,
But the cannon thundered: 'Valor, valor!'
And the people shouted: 'Long live the king!'"

Spanish wiseheads say that the children's choral games are already perishing, that the blight of schools and books is passing upon the child-life of the Peninsula, and soon there will be no more time for play. The complaint of the _ninas_ is much to the same effect, yet they wear their rue with a difference:--

"Not even in the _Prado_
Can little maidens play,
Because those staring, teasing boys
Are always in the way.

"They might be romping with us,
For they're only children yet,
But they won't play at anything
Except a cigarette.

"Now let me tell you truly:
If things go on like this,
And midgets care for nothing
But to walk and talk and kiss,

"No plays will cheer the _Prado_
In future times, for then
The little boys of seven
Will all be married men."