STORIES OF FAMOUS SONGS.*

THE subject of this book is an attractive one. And it is also a large one. Rather too large, we think, for the space Mr. Fitz-Gerald has given to it. The ideal book about famous songs—the book which, perhaps, this one may suggest the writing of—would omit a good many things Mr. Fitz-Gerald has admitted and make a place for some which he has left out. It would make a point, for instance, in the case of every really famous Bong, and especially of famous songs of which little but the names live in the general memory, of giving the original air and the full words that went to it, as well as the variants and the anecdotes that have clustered round the song. But to do this, even with a hundred songs, would take up a good deal more space than is afforded by the four hundred and eight pages into which Mr. Fitz-Gerald has crowded his remarks upon seven hundred songs and ballads. Let us not be ungrateful, however, for such good things as he has given us, among which one entitled to great praise is the useful index, in which all these songs are alphabetically catalogued. It would he straining a point to say that Mr. Fitz-Gerald's book is a good one. It really does not quite arrive at the dignity of a book, and it can hardly be pronounced to be even a good instance of industrious book- making. Nevertheless, there is profit and pleasure to be got out of it, if we regard it as a kind of lumber-room into which

Storiss of Famous Songs. By G. J. Adair Fitz-Gerald. London: J. C. Biwa% [7s. 6c1.)

a litter of amusing anecdotes and information, very roughly sorted, have been shot in loose heaps as a preliminary to the work of revision, selection, and rejection. Rummaging in a lumber-room is always excellent pastime, particularly when one has a catalogue of the lumber—and such is Mr. Fitz- Gerald's faithful index—to save one from the vain labour of searching for what is not to be found.

In the songs of a people—the melodies and the words that "catch on" and become popular—we get the essence of national character and sentiment. But in the story of some of the songs that have come to represent nations and to symbolise political movements we are brought face to face with a principle of protean adaptability in musical airs which suggests a parody of Pope's epigram about women, to the effect that every song is at heart a turncoat. The easy convertibility of sacred into secular, and secular into sacred music, is a curious fact. Mr. Fitz-Gerald tells na that "in the Vatican Library at Rome there are now eighty volumes of masses constructed upon popular tunes by com- posers of various nations." The Salvation Army, as we all know, "sing their hymns to good old English secular melodies ; " the melody of the solemn death-song, " Pestal,” reappeared in " Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ; "and Mr. Henry Russell, the author of " Cheer ! Boys, Cheer !" has recorded how-

" One summer afternoon when I was playing at the Presbyterian Church, Rochester, I made a discovery. It was that sacred music played quickly makes the best kind of secular music. It was quite by accident that playing the 'Old Hundredth' very fast, I produced the air of Get out o' de Way Old Dan Tucker ; ' this was the first of a good many minstrel songs that I composed, or rather adapted, from hymn tunes played quickly. Among them are 'Lucy Long,' 'Ober de Mountain,' and ' Buffalo Gals.'" There are, however, limits to the adaptability of melodies, and these limits seem to be set to a certain extent by national character. It is impossible to conceive the French nation borrowing the strain of our National Anthem for its public ceremonials; nor can we well imagine a German army marching to the tune of "Yankee Doodle." But it is generally known that "The Marseillaise" was originally written with loyal fervour and patriotic intention by a young officer of the King's Army, though the exact story of the composition of it—one of the best stories told in Mr. Fitz-Gerald's book—ia new to the present writer :— " Rouget de Lisle was greatly esteemed among his friends for his poetical and musical gifts, and was a particular friend of the family of the Baron de Dietrich, a noble Alsatian, then Mayor of Strasburg. 'One night during the winter of 1792 the young officer was seated at the table of this family. The hospitable fare of the baron had been so reduced by the calamities and neces- sities of war that nothing,' says Mdme. Fanny Raymond Ritter, could be provided for dinner that day except garrison bread and a few slices of ham. Dietrich smiled sadly at his friend, and lamenting the poverty of the fare he had to offer, declared he would sacrifice the last remaining bottle of Rhine wine in his cellar, if he thought it would aid de Lisle's poetic invention, and inspire him to compose a patriotic song for the public ceremonies shortly to take place in Strasburg. The ladies approved, and sent for the last bottle of wine of which the house could boast.' After dinner de Lisle sought his room, and though it was bitterly cold, he at once sat down at the piano, and between. reciting and playing and singing eventually composed 'La Marseillaise,' and, thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep with his head on his desk. In the morning he was able to recall every note of the song, immediately wrote it down and carried it to his friend Baron Dietrich. Every one was enchanted with the song,. which aroused the greatest enthusiasm. A few days later it was publicly given in Strasburg, and thence it was conveyed by the multitude to the insurgents of Marseilles, and, of its after- popularity we know. De Lisle's mother was a most devoted Royalist, and asked, What do people mean by associating our name with the revolutionary hymn which those brigands sing ? De Lisle himself, proscribed as a Royalist, when flying for his life in the Jura mountains, heard it as a menace of death, and recognising the well-known air, asked his guide what it was called. It had then been christened the Marseillaise Hymn.'"

The terrible "Carmagnole," typical for evermore of the blood- frenzy of the Terror, had a most innocent origin. It was a tune to which, in medimval days, countrymen and country girls danced in Provence. In 1792 the air was adapted to the words of a patriotic military song :—

"Le canon vient de resonner

Guerriers, soyez prets a marcher.

Citoyens et soldata En volant aux combats, Dans in carmagnole Vive le son, vive le son, Dansons la carmagnole,

Vive le son, Du Canon !" Very soon the Republicans took it up and gave it new words:— Que fant ii an republicain ? Que faut il au republicain ? La liberte du genre humain, La liberte du genre humain, La pioche dans lea cachats, L'ecole dans lea châteaux, Et in pais aux chaumieres.

Dansons la Carmagnole Vive is son du canon

Another version runs :—

"Ord, je suis sans culotte, moi En depit des amis du roi. Vive lee Marseillois, Les Bretons et nos lois !"

And yet another, the famous "Madame Veto avait promis," in which Marie Antoinette and the hated Royal veto were personified under one name:—

" Madame Veto avait promis De faire egorger tout Paris, Mais son coup a manqué Grace a nos canonniers.

Dansons la Carmagnole. Vive le son du canon !"

Before the "Marseillaise" and the " Carmagnole " the national song of France was, oddly enough, 0 Malbrouck e'en va-t-en guerre," to the tune of which English- men of to-day sing "He's a jolly good fellow" and "We won't go Home till Morning." There is much to be read about the origin of "Yankee Doodle " and the" Star-spangled Banner," as also about "Die Wacht am Rhein," and other songs of German patriotism, and a chapter is devoted to the history of "God Save the Queen."

Among scraps of talk and story about songs of less im- portance than these national airs, one gleans with pleasure a delightfully quaint opening stanza of an earlier version of "John Anderson, my Jo" than that which Burns made :— " John Anderson, my jo, cum in as ze gae by, And ze sail get a sheip's heil weel baken in a pye ; Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat, John Anderson, my jo, cum in and ze's get that."

We have little patience with the correspondent who asked Longfellow to explain the obvious allegory of "Excelsior," but we are glad to Bee the letter in which the author justified the title of his poem against critics who thought it should (be " Excelsius." "I would say," Longfellow writes, "that the device on the banner is not to be interpreted 'Ascende superius; but 'Scopus meus excelsior est.' This will make ',evident why I say 'Excelsior,' and not 'Excelsius: " The "For ever, never" refrain of "The Old Clock on the Stairs" seems so entirely the natural language of a ticking timepiece, that it is almost provoking to learn that it was not directly suggested to Longfellow by the voice of a clock. He got the idea from an old French missionary, who said of eternity :—" C'est une pendule dont le balancier dit et redit -sans cease ces deux mots seulement dans le silence des tom. beaux—Tonjours, jamais ! Jamais, tonjours! Et pendant oes effroyables revolutions, an reprouve s'ecrie, Qaelle heure est-il? et la voix d'un autre miserable lui repond, 'L'Eternite !' " One does not quite understand why Mr. Fitz-Gerald has wasted so much space upon a squalid apocryphal story about the writing of a sentimental song called "Ever of Thee," which has passed quite out of fashion. But one likes his account of the composition of "D'ye ken John Peel," and the anecdote of the Abbess of Mossy Mead, or, more correctly, of Mosigkan, who in her youth was the heroine of Beethoven's " Adelaida." Her real name was Annette von Glafey. She was the daughter of a noble house, and maid-of-honour to a Princess. Her lover was the poet Mattheson, a pastor's son, poor and plebeian. The m&;allWance was forbidden by parental authority, and the lady retired into the cloister. But in her old age it happened to her to entertain, at the convent of which she had come to be Abbess, a Royal company. Music was the order of the evening, and the last event of the pro- gramme was the singing of " Adelaida." The Abbess was overcome, and her demeanour recalling the story of her girl- hood to singer and audience, the song was sung again with a direct recognition of the presence of its heroine.

To return for a moment to political songs, we must regret that Mr. Fitz-Gerald did not find room for the words of Lilliburlero," to a description of which he gives a good deal of space. There is really no song more entirely typical of

the qualities that tell in times of political effervescence, and Wharton's boast that, by its means, he drove a Sing out of three kingdoms was hardly an exaggeration. Worthless in point of literature as are its coarse and truculent words, they have the only merit that was indispensable to the purpose of the man who wrote them. They put every soldier in the three kingdoms in possession of the common feeling of the Whig party about the appointment of Tyrconnel to the Vice- Regency of Ireland. A contributor to that very interesting book, Told front the Banks, makes the pathetic remark that the private soldier very seldom knows what is the cause he fights for, but that when he does he fights with much more interest. "Lilliburlero "gave the soldier all the information he wanted in language not more subtle and refined than that which came naturally to him. We are tempted to give the words, for which neither Macaulay nor Mr. Fitz-Gerald could find room ; the reader will then be better able to imagine their effect in combination with the rollicking chorus and the quick-march tune to which the song was set :— " Ho ! broder Teague, dost hear de decree ? Lilliburlero, bullen a la.

Dat we shall have a new deputie, Lilliburlero, bullen a la.

Lero, lero, lilliburlero, lero, lero, bullen a la, Lero, lero, lilliburlero, lero, lero, bullen a Ia.

Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote, And he will cut all de English troate.

Dough, by my shoul, de English do proat, De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what.

But if dispense do come from the Pope, We'll hang Magna Charts and dem in a rope : For de good Talbot is made a lord, And with brave lads is coming aboard : Who all in France have taken a mare That they will have no Protestant heir.

Ara! but why does he stay behind? Ho! by my shoul, 'tis a Protestant wind.

But see, de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, And we shall have commissions gillore.

And he dat will not go to mass, Shall be turned out and look like an ass.

But now de hereticlis all go down, By Creish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own.

Dare was an old prophecy found in a bog, Ireland shall be ruled by an ass and a dog.'

And now die prophecy is come to pass, For Talbot's de dog and Ja—s is de ass."

It is possible (see Dr. Johnson's remarks in Boswell) that these are not the exact words, but they are quite near enough for all practical purposes.

From Wharton's scurrilous ballad to "Mother Goose's Songs" the transition is abrupt. But we cannot take leave of this book without expressing our surprise at learning from it that Mother Goose was not a fabulous song-bird, but a real person. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Foster, and she was born in Massachusetts in 1665. She married Isaac Goose when she was twenty, and the first edition of her nursery rhymes, entitled Songs for the Nursery ; or, Mother Goose's Melodies, was published in 1716.