THE study of popular songs is a subject | of the most fruitful interest, exciting, as it does, curious and varied questions: to the psychologist, those arising from the painting of the characters delineated; to the historian, those dependent on traditions and their cycles; and to the poet presenting that primitive cadence, conveyed in their passionate, energetic expression.

All the tribes of the Slavonian race possess numerous popular songs. The Russian people, like the ancient Sclaves, love song and music. Some philologists declare that their collection of popular songs is the largest of any European people. They have songs for love, for war, for festivals, and occasions of family rejoicing. They have preserved an ancient rhythm, as well as ancient instruments: the gussli, with its five strings; the balalaika, which resembles the guitar or the Spanish majo; the gudok, or bass; the cornet, similar to that which, in Switzerland, is employed for the ranz des vaches; the reed, which recalls the idyl of Theocritus, the eclogue of Virgil; the flute and the cuillére, which are played like the castanets.

The popular songs of Russia are remarkable for their plaintive melancholy, for the richness of the images borrowed from nature their superstitious ideas, mingled with the breathings of the tenderest sentiment. Their language abounds in diminutives-terms of endearment-which are full of charm. They have frequent recourse to comparisons, which are generally symbols chosen for their peculiar softness or vigor. In their emotion they address all which surrounds them, giving vent to the sighs of love or sudden gleams of hope. The nightingale and the cuckoo are the compassionate birds which answer to their griefs; the swallow is the bearer of their messages. The rainbow which rises over a dwelling is said to indicate the habitation of a betrothed. The moon hides itself for sorrow at the death of the emperor.

The field over which their enemies have passed becomes overgrown with bitter herbs. Tears which flow in abundance are likened to rivers; those which fall sweetly are compared to the dew. The young warrior is a courageous falcon; the young girl a white swan. The fair bride trembles for her bridegroom when she sees a black crow; and the criminal quails at the murmur of the trees. Everywhere that mysterious law of moral and physical attraction, by which our most shadowy and incongruous thoughts are brought into contact with the outer world of nature, raises their aspirations towards the sky, and leads them to seek sympathy amongst the things and the creatures which environ them.

The first collection of Russian songs dates from 1770 to 1774. It was published at St. Petersburg by Tschulkow, in four octavo volumes. Two years afterwards, a second edition appeared; and Norikow published a third and enlarged one at Moscow in 1780. The Counsellor Lwow made a fresh collection of popular poems in 1790. Again, in 1796, the Counsellor Dmietriew compiled another; which was followed by a fourth from the poet Schukowsky.

The most ancient of these popular poems is devoted to the memory of Igor, prince of Novogorod. It recounts the battles in which he was engaged, towards the middle of the twelfth century, with the Polowzis,* his days of defeat and triumph, his captivity and deliverance. This work is distinguished by the most intense nationality of spirit-it is thoroughly Russian in thought, style, and imagery. It forms a curious historical cycle, embracing at once dim traditions, fabulous incidents, the reign of Wladimir, the wars against the Mongols, and the chief events in the history of Peter the Great.

Here is one of the songs relating to the

* A nomadic people of the plains and steppes

"At Kieff is born a great warrior, the young Volck, the son of Wreslaff.

At his birth the earth trembled; the famous empire of India was shaken; the waves of the blue sea rose in angry strife.

The fish plunged itself into the depths of the waters; the bird shot far away in the air.

The bulls and the stags fly to the mountains; the hare and the fox hide themselves in the thick forests.

The wolves and the bears disappear in the fir woods, the marten and the black sable in the briery shadows.

Volck is but one hour in the world, and already he speaks, and his voice resounds like thunder:

'O my mother,' said he, 'my noble mother, young princess Martha, daughter of Wreslaff,

Swaddle me not in the bands of purple, fold not my limbs in cinctures of silk;

Give me, O my mother, a cuirass of steel; place on my head a helmet of gold;

Place into my hand a club heavy as lead -a club of the weight of three hundred pounds.'"

Another song traces with vigor the hatred of the Russians against the Tartars, and the grief which the invasion of these stern adventurers threw into the heart of poor mothers :

"Upon the high hills gleam many fires, woful fires, Dors, my child.

Around those baleful fires sit the wild Tartars, Dors, my child.

There they sit and part thy father's goods, Dors, my child.

Awake thee, arouse thee, my child: Take the Damascene sword that hangs on the wall;

With that sword strike-strike the Tartars and their sons; smite them, hew them in pieces."

Peter the Great appears, and the people sing with enthusiam of his conquests and exploits: he dies, and from the people is heard this wail over his tomb :

"Our father, our light, wherefore dost thou not lighten us as heretofore?

From even till midnight, from midnight till morn, thou hidest thyself in clouds, thou plungest thyself in the dark shadow.

Upon our holy land of Russia, at Petersburg, that glorious city, in the Church of St. Peter, at the right of the choir, by the coffin of Peter the First, of Peter the Great, a

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He bewails the death of the tsar, of the tsar Peter the First, and sobbing,

Open thee, my mother, damp earth, open thee on every side; away, coffin-lid; fall back, drapery of gold; awake thee, tsar; awake thee, our father; behold thy dear, thy noble, and brave army. Without thee we are as motherless children.'"

From that cycle of popular songs which depict the sentiments of the people in various situations of life, we choose some which require no comment :

THE DEATH OF THE WARRIOR.

"The mist has fallen upon the blue sea, and grief upon the ardent heart; the fog will not roll off the sea, grief will not depart from the heart.

That is not a star which shines upon the distant plain; it is a little funeral pile which smokes. Before the wood-fire is a sheet of silk, and upon that sheet a dying young man is outstretched.

He presses hard a handkerchief over his mortal wound, to stop the current of his burning and impetuous blood. Close by is a fiery courser, who paws the damp earth with his foot, as if he would speak to his master.

Arise,' says he, fair youth, lay thee upon my croup, and I will bear thee to thy native land, to thy father and thy mother, to thy parents and thy little children, and to thy young wife.'

The bold youth sighs, his broad chest heaves, his white hands fall down powerless, his mortal wound re-opens, his blood streams fast, and he says to his horse

Ah, my good courser, my faithful steed, my faithful battle-comrade in the service of the tsar, tell my young wife that I am married to another spouse, that I have taken for dowry the desert plain, that the sharp sword has wedded us, and the barbed arrow joined us on the nuptial couch.""

THE POOR MONK.

"Far from thee, O well-beloved of my heart: far from thee, in the cell of the poor monk, who suffers from a vow which he cannot break. Take from me, O my dearesttake away that hood and that dark mantle. Lay thy white little hand upon my heart, feel how strongly it beats as the blood gushes to every pulsation. Wipe away the bitter tears which fall from my eyes, take pity on my grief. I renounce the pardon of

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The tsar will address himself to me, and he will say, Answer, answer, my child, son of the peasant, with whom hast thou taken up the life of a robber? Hast thou many companions?'

I will answer, Tsar my hope, tsar very Christian, I will show thee all the truth. Of comrades I had four: the first was the dark night, the second was my sharp blade, the third my good horse, and the fourth my well-strung bow. My messengers were the barbed arrows hardened at the fire.'

"A brave young man had roamed about the Ukraine thirty-three years. At length he came to the court of the King of Lithuania. The king had an affection for him; he received him generously, heaped gifts upon him, and the king's daughter could not admire enough the manly beauty of the stranger. The youth sat drinking, and then, in vain glory, these foolish words escaped him, 'Ah, my brethren,' said he, 'one has drunk and played long enough. I have gone long

The companions of the young man were malicious. They went to find the king, and said to him, 'Ah, father, terrible king, thou knowest not what has come to pass; thou canst not guess the truth: thy daughter is the stranger's love.'

The king was put in great wrath, and he cried, with a loud voice, Have I yet any faithful servants? Take that stranger, and throw him into a dark prison. Go into the plain and dig two deep trenches, raise there two lofty beams, put over them an ashen top and a silken cord, and there take the stranger. Let him not pass before the palace, lest my daughter should see him.'

The young man has put his foot upon the first step, and has said, Adieu, my father and my mother!' He has ascended the second, and said, 'Adieu, my relatives and ancestors!' He mounted the third, and cried, Adieu, fair princess, light of my eyes!'

From afar the king's daughter has heard his voice; she ran into her high chamber, she takes her golden keys, and opens her silver casket, takes out two Damascus blades, and plunges them into her snowy bosom.

The young man swings from the gibbet, the young girl lies dead under the steel. Her father comes. Scarcely has he raised his eyes ere he sees his dead daughter. He strikes his hand on the oaken table, and exclaims, Light of my eyes, my dear daughter, wherefore didst thou not tell me that thou lovedst that stranger? I would have loved him too, and saved his life!'

Then he cried again, with a loud voice, 'Have I still faithful servants? Send me two pitiless executioners, and they shall strike the head from those who denounced my child.""

SONG OF WO.

"O my plain! my desert plain, my plain large and free, thou art fair to look upon. Thou art covered with herb and flower; there is but one blemish on thee.

In thy bosom, my dearest plain, are mazy brambles, and upon these thorns there sits a young eagle. He holds between his claws a black crow, and causes his blood to spout on the damp earth.

Under the thorns there lies a brave youth, all covered with wounds and streaming with blood.

These are not swallows who wheel around their nest; it is a young mother who weeps as if a river ran from her eyes; his young

sister weeps as if rills flowed; his young wife weeps as if the fresh dew fell from her eyelids.

The sun will rise on the horizon, and dry up the dew."

There are songs which embody local manners, and certain customs peculiar to the country. A marriage is always accompanied by many elegiac songs, which form a part of the ceremony. Nothing can be more touching than those sorrowful words addressed by the young bride to her parents, in the midst of the joyous preparations for the nuptial festival.

Commonly it is an old woman who prepares and determines the conditions of marriage. She proceeds to the house of the parents whose daughter she comes to ask, kneels before the images which decorate the chamber, makes the sign of the cross, and prays. Then they say to her, "What news?" "Good news," she answers; "you have the bride, and I have the bridegroom." She then praises the youth whom she represents, whilst the parents do the same concerning their daughter. The dame is asked to come back in the evening, and this visit determines the dowry. The young man asks, among other things, a red shirt for himself, and another, as well as some red sleeves, for his mother. All the details of the marriage being fixed, the bridegroom comes, and, after offering a prayer, seats himself at table. The bride offers her intended a glass of beer, her companions singing

"We have helped, maidens, at the feast of our dear friend. It is not the mead we have drunk, it is not the green wine (brandy); these are the tears of our friend. It is not for a hundred roubles, for a thousand roubles, that we have sold that. No; it is for a cup of wine. We have not betrothed her to a prince, to a lord, but to a handsome, manly, fair-haired youth."

The bridegroom advances towards the bride, her companions surrounding her as if for concealment. However, he snatches away the handkerchief which she holds in her hand, and then a song is sung in praise of the father and the mother:

"It was the feast of the virgin's nativity. Thrice the clock struck in the house of the brave peasant; three times his heart beat with joy the first time because a son was born to him, the second time because his son was well reared, the third time because his marriage was happy."

A horse and wagon being procured, the maidens go with it to the village, singing

"In the prairies, the green prairies, the good peasant pastures his strong horses upon the tender herbs. Their feet are bound with silk, their manes are decked with pearls. Why do they not drink the water from the fountain? Why do they not eat the tender herbs? Why do they remain motionless? They have guessed some sorrow; they have foreseen that they must make a long journey."

Whilst this goes on, the bride addresses her family in this fashion :

"O my well-loved father, and you, my venerable mother, what means these preparations? Some guests have come who were not invited nor waited for. They have said that they wish to carry me away. I have felt my knees bend, and my head droop, and my heart to tremble for fear. Wherefore, my father, art thou angry with me? Wherefore hast thou listened to the voice of strangers ?"

The father and mother console her, saying that she could not always remain with themthat it was necessary to marry some day. She then turns towards the other members of the family, and asks pardon for all the sorrow she may have caused them. When her companions return, she sings thus on seeing them

"O my dear friends, you gaily wander through the great street; but as for me, poor girl, my walks are ended. My fair hair will no longer be wreathed as it wont: my robe will not be so pretty. My virgin liberty is no more. My mother's tenderness has abandoned me. The beautiful spring will return; you will go into the green fields, you will gather the flowers, you will wreath crowns for your laughing heads, you will be a gay choir, singing in the great street; and me, poor woman, I shall sing my plaintive song.'

The marriage is celebrated some days after the betrothal. The bride is covered with a white veil which falls to her feet. She wears a large sleeveless vest, and murmurs some plaintive words while her friends arrange her dress.

When the toilet is finished, the bridegroom. and the "best man" enter the room, when the latter says to the father of the bride :Father, bless thy child on the road she is about to make, bless her under the golden crown for the new life she is about to enter."

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Then the bride kneels before her father and mother, saying:

"It is not a white birch which bends itself to the earth; it is me, poor girl, who bends

at your feet. Bless me, bless the life that I am to begin in a strange family."

At the moment of departure for the church, she sighs, weeps, and refuses to set out. All the members of the family join in consoling her, and at last they proceed to the church, and return to the feast, which is generally kept up for three days.

There are some songs equally tender and natural for such occasions as births and baptisms, and for the principal feast-days during the year. Here is one which represents in dolorous language the anguish of a mother, when one of her children is snatched from her to become a soldier.

The poor mother contemplates each of her family in turn, and says:—

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"O my children, my dear children, I love you all alike. Behold my fingers; if one is wounded, I feel it throughout my whole body. Thus, my children, my heart trembles for you all; but thou, my dearest, thou upon whom the lot has fallen, why art thou so unfortunate? Better that thou hadst not been born, that I had not nourished thee in my bosom, better that thou hadst been crushed at the moment of birth. If I had carried thee to the sides of the steep mountains, and there covered thee with the yellow sand, that would not have been so great a grief. But now, poor mother, I will sing like the cuckoo. What sorrows wait thee, O my dearest! Thou art young and strong; thou wilt experience the trials of want; thou wilt suffer cold and hunger; thou wilt call thy father and mother Tartar. When the great feasts come that we love to celebrate, my children will be around me; thou alone, my wellbeloved, wilt not be there! Write to me, but use not the pen nor ink, write thy letter with thy tears, set there the seal of thy great sorrow. Spring will come, and thy companions will go into the green fields, they will be gay and boisterous, and me, poor woman, I will wander about. I will see thy comrades, and I will pour out my hot tears." When the young soldier is ready to set off, they cut his long hair. Then the mother cries:

They have shorn thy beautiful head, and cast thy fair locks on the ground. There is no one gathers those curly locks-I will gather them, me, poor mother; I will fold them in a silken handkerchief. When grief closes up my heart, I will take that handkerchief, I will spread out the fair locks, I will look on them sorrowfully, I will water them with my tears, and my spirit shall perhaps be comforted."

The Russian people are generally very superstitious. Their superstitions mingle with all their family rejoicings and religious practices, in the daily habits of private life, and in all situations of an extraordinary character. They believe in sorcery and witchcraft, in the influence of a legion of supernatural beings, and in the virtue of various talismans and conjurations. The traditional songs often afford a curious revelation of that simple credulity. Here is one, amongst others, which expresses with energy the passion of love, mixed up with one of those superstitious follies :

:

A LOVE CONJURATION.

that

"Over the billows of the Ocean, upon a far-distant island, there is a shelf; upon shelf is stretched out grief, and grief writhes and twists. She throws herself from the shelf into the water, from the water into the fire; and from that fire arises a demon, who cries, Run, run, blow to Mary upon her lips and upon her teeth, blow in her bones and her limbs, in her ardent heart, in her white flesh and black liver, so that that girl shall tease herself every hour of every day, from morn till midnight. That the food which she takes, and the drink, and her sleep, may do no good; that she may cry without ceasing, until I appear to her handsomer than any other, that I may be dearer to her than her father, her mother, and all her family. I close my conjuration under seventy-seven padlocks, I throw the keys into the sea, and he who will be stronger than me, and who will carry away all the sand of the sea, he alone can end the grief which I have invoked.""

THE CONJURATION OF A MOTHER SEPARATED FROM HER CHILD.

"I, poor mother, weep in the high chamber of my house, from the dawn I look afar over the fields, even until the sun goes to rest. There I sit until night, till the damp dew falls; there I sit in grief, until, weary of this torment, I resolve to conjure my cruel sorrow. I into the field; I have taken go the nuptial cup, the taper of betrothal, and the handkerchief of marriage. I have drawn water from the mountain spring, I have gone into the dark forest, and tracing around me a magic circle, I have said aloud these words :

I conjure my dearest child by that nuptial cup, by that fresh water, and by that marriage handkerchief. With that water I lave his fair face, with that handkerchief I wipe