Sur le Pont d'Avignon
Tout le monde y danse en rond.
Les beaux messieurs font comme ça,
Sur le Pont d'Avignon,
Tout le monde y danse, danse,
Sur le Pont d'Avignon,
Tout le monde y danse en rond.
After the "messieurs" who bow, come the "demoiselles" who curtsey; the workwomen who sew, the carpenters who saw wood, the washerwomen who wash linen, and a host of other folks intent on their different callings. The song is an apt demonstration of what Paul de Saint-Victor called "cet instinct inné de l'imitation qui fait similer à l'enfant les actions viriles"[6]—in which instinct lies the germ of the theatre. The origin of all spectacles was a performance intended to amuse the performers, and it cannot be doubted that the singing-game throws much light on the beginnings of scenic representations.
Rondes frequently deal with love and marriage, and these, from internal evidence, cannot have been composed by or for the young people who now play them. There are in fact some which would be better forgotten by everybody, but the majority are innocent little dramas, of which it may truly be said, Honi soit qui mal y pense. It should be noticed that a distinctly satirical vein runs through many of these games, as in the "Gentleman from Spain,"—played in one form or another all over Europe and the United States,—in which the suitor would first give any money to get his bride, and then any money to get rid of her. Or the Swedish Lek (the name given in Sweden to the singing-game), in which the companions of a young girl put her sentiments to the test of telling her that father, mother, sisters, brothers, are dead—all of which she hears with perfect equanimity—but when they add that her betrothed is also dead, she falls back fainting. Then all her kindred are resuscitated without the effect of reviving her, but when she hears that her lover is alive and well, she springs up and gives chase to her tormentors.
To my mind there is no more remarkable specimen of the singing game than Jenny Jones—through which prosaic title we can discern the tender Jeanne ma joie that formed the base of it. The Scotch still say Jenny Jo, "Jo" being with them a term of endearment (e.g., "John Anderson, my Jo!"). The following variant of the game I took down from word of mouth at Bocking in Essex:—