Part 14 (1/2)

Chapter XVIII ABOUT SOME SONG STORIES

BESIDES the metrical romances, we may date another kind of story from this time. I mean the ballads.

Ballad was an old French word spelt balade. It really means a dance-song. For ballads were at first written to be sung to dances--slow, shuffling, balancing dances such as one may still see in out-of-the-way places in Brittany.

These ballads often had a chorus or refrain in which every one joined. But by degrees the refrain was dropped and the dancing too. Now we think of a ballad as a simple story told in verse.

Sometimes it is merry, but more often it is sad.

The ballads were not made for grand folk. They were not made to be sung in courts and halls. They were made for the common people, and sometimes at least they were made by them. They were meant to be sung, and sung out of doors. For in those days the houses of all but the great were very comfortless. They were small and dark and full of smoke. It was little wonder, then, that people lived out of doors as much as they could, and that all their amus.e.m.e.nts were out of doors. And so it comes about that many of the ballads have an out-of-door feeling about them.

A ballad is much shorter than a romance, and therefore much more easily learned and remembered. So many people learned and repeated the ballads, and for three hundred years they were the chief literature of the people. In those days men sang far more and read and thought far less than nowadays. Now, if we read poetry, some of us like to be quietly by ourselves. Then all poetry was made to be read or sung aloud, and that in company.

I do not mean you to think that we have any ballads remaining to us as old as the thirteenth or the beginning of the fourteenth century, which was the time in which Havelok was written. But what I want you to understand is that the ballad-making days went on for hundreds of years. The people for whom the ballads were made could not read and could not write; so it was of little use to write them down, and for a long time they were not written down. ”They were made for singing, an' no for reading,” said an old lady to Sir Walter Scott, who in his day made a collection of ballads. ”They were made for singing an' no for reading; but ye hae broken the charm now, an' they'll never be sung mair.”

And so true is this, that ballads which have never been written down, but which are heard only in out-of-the-way places, sung or said by people who have never learned to read, have really more of the old-time feeling about them than many of those which we find in books.

We cannot say who made the ballads. Nowadays a poet makes a poem, and it is printed with his name upon the t.i.tle-page. The poem belongs to him, and is known by his name. We say, for instance, Gray's Elegy, or Shakespeare's Sonnets. But many people helped to make the ballads. I do not mean that twenty or thirty people sat down together and said, ”Let us make a ballad.”

That would not have been possible. But, perhaps, one man heard a story and put it into verse. Another then heard it and added something to it. Still another and another heard, repeated, added to, or altered it in one way or another. Sometimes the story was made better by the process, sometimes it was spoiled.

But who those men were who made and altered the ballads, we do not know. They were simply ”the people.”

One whole group of ballads tells of the wonderful deeds of Robin Hood. Who Robin Hood was we do not certainly know, nor does it matter much. Legend has made him a man of gentle birth who had lost his lands and money, and who had fled to the woods as an outlaw. Stories gradually gathered round his name as they had gathered round the name of Arthur, and he came to be looked upon as the champion of the people against the Norman tyrants.

Robin was a robber, but a robber as courtly as any knight. His enemies were the rich and great, his friends were the poor and oppressed.

”For I never yet hurt any man That honest is and true; But those that give their minds to live Upon other men's due.

I never hurt the husbandmen That used to till the ground; Nor spill their blood that range the wood To follow hawk or hound.

My chiefest spite to clergy is Who in those days bear a great sway; With friars and monks with their fine sprunks I make my chiefest prey.”

The last time we heard of monks and priests they were the friends of the people, doing their best to teach them and make them happy. Now we find that they are looked upon as enemies. And the monasteries, which at the beginning had been like lamps of light set in a dark country, had themselves become centers of darkness and idleness.

But although Robin fought against the clergy, the friars and monks who did wrong, he did not fight against religion.

”A good manner then had Robin; In land where that he were, Every day ere he would dine, Three ma.s.ses would he hear.

The one in wors.h.i.+p of the Father, And another of the Holy Ghost, The third of Our Dear Lady, That he loved all the most.

Robin loved Our Dear Lady, For doubt of deadly sin, Would he never do company harm That any woman was in.”

And Robin himself tells his followers:--

”But look ye do not husbandman harm That tilleth with his plough.

No more ye shall no good yeoman That walketh by green wood shaw, Nor no knight nor no squire That will be good fellow.

These bishops and these archbishops, Ye shall them beat and bind, The high sheriff of Nottingham, Him hold ye in your mind.”