Cradle-Songs & Counter-Stories: Lullabies Through Time

z_okolic_tykocina_plansza_6_w_albumie_costumes_polonais.jpg, large, Board 6 from album ‘Costumes Polonais’, from Tykocin area, 1855, photo: National Museum in Warsaw

language & literature

heritage

Formerly sung only over a child’s cradle, they were endowed with new meanings upon entering literature. Let’s unearth the roots of Polish lullabies and see how they have matured and what stories they tell.

People wouldn’t place it by the window, pass each other items over it, move it to a different place or throw it away when it stopped being useful. And, most importantly, it was forbidden to rock an empty cradle for fear of bringing an illness, or even death, upon a child. Slavic peoples ascribed magic properties to the cradle as well as to the melodies hummed while rocking a child. A lullaby, then, was a kind of hypnosis, a spell meant to make the infant fall into the arms of Morpheus:

O, sway, o, sway

linden wood cradle,

let my little babe

grow up within you.

[trans. AP]

On Christmas Day, members of Christian religious orders – male and female alike – would cradle a figurine of Jesus, singing carols-lullabies. These were meant not only to express a love for God but also to mark a symbolic return to the time of childhood. The most famous one, ‘Lulajże, Jezuniu’ (Rock-a-bye, Baby Jesus), is just such a combination of a male Christmas carol and a female lullaby. (We’ll return to the subject of male-female rivalry later on.)

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

Picture display

standardowy (864px desktop)

Napoleon’s cradle, Ajaccio, Corsica, post-1906, photo: Polona National Library

Picture image

kolyska_polona.jpg

Lullabies originated from movement. In his book Wielka zabawa (Great Play), devoted to children’s folklore, Jerzy Cieślikowski discusses the rocking of the cradle as a ‘protective, rhythmic motion, characterised by fluctuating cadence, a slowing down of pace and a soothing quality’. The original form of a lullaby, then, would be a rhythmic, monotonous chant with unidentifiable lyrics resembling infant babble, universal and culturally non-specific. The most important thing was the melody, a repetitive sequence of sounds. And although as time passed lyrics were added to these folk lullabies – since that’s what they ought to be called – rhythm nonetheless remained one of the primary features of the genre. And here a question arises: a music genre, or a literary genre?

The answer is surprisingly simple: the lullaby established itself cosily within both of these art forms. It evolved as a distinctive musical genre as early as the Middle Ages. Academic studies list the following characteristic features:

a triple metre, melodics with a relatively narrow ambitus (the span of an interval between the lowest and the highest sound of the melody) within the phrase, predominance of the major second interval, avoidance of all skips, a monotonous repetition of rhythmic, melodic or melorhythmic patterns, an arched composition of phrases and a descending tendency of the entire melody.

[‘Właściwości muzyczne kolęd polskich XVI-XVIII w.’ (Musical Properties of Polish Carols in the 16th–18th Centuries) by Wojciech Marchwica, trans. AP]

The metamorphosis of lullabies from a functional into an artistic genre happened slightly later. Citing the Encyklopedia muzyki (Encyclopaedia of Music), Beata Stefaniak informs us that the new standard was introduced in the Romantic era by Frédéric Chopin. His Berceuse [lullaby] in D-flat major, op. 57, based on a four-bar theme complemented by a range of a dozen or so variations, was widely deemed a lyrical masterpiece.

It was in the Romantic period that literature started to draw inspiration from the lullaby as a local, country song associated with carefree childhood and, more broadly, with one’s homeland. The pieces originally composed for children were recognised for their great potential. Typical lullabies became more than just soothing songs, as they were enriched with an educational layer and expression of patriotic values. Instead of putting one to sleep, they would awaken and rouse. In the following century, the 20th, poetic texts emerged in which melody and singing lost some of their importance in favour of the subject matter, ranging from social to erotic. Nonetheless, these literary works are still categorised as lullabies. How can they be recognised?

A four-bar lullaby

Picture display

standardowy (864px desktop)

Illustration for her book ‘A Four-Bar Lullaby’ by Iwona Chmielewska, photo: © Iwona Chmielewska & Wolno Publishing House, 2019

Picture image

kolysanka_na_cztery_0.jpg

First of all, rhythm. It originally accompanied the motion of the cradle. In literature, it’s represented by (exact) rhymes, regular stresses, enumerations and, most of all, repetitions (parallelisms of composition, meaning, vocabulary or syntax). A fragment from Iwona Chmielewska’s picture book Kołysanka na cztery (A Four-Bar Lullaby) brilliantly exemplifies the principle of rhythmicity:

How many corners on a cushion?

As many corners as a blanket.

How many corners on a book?

As many corners as a cushion.

We tuck in your little blanket,

we put away your little book.

Close your eyes – one and two.

Close your ears – three and four.

[trans. AP]

This literary lullaby, unusual because it is adorned with eloquent imagery, additionally includes the ritual of counting down before falling asleep. The sequence of ‘one, two, three, four’ complements every action described, sounds fade out, the act of reading that’s concluded by closing the book implies the next step: sleep.

Second, onomatopoeias. The words should be selected in such a way that they imitate, at least to some degree, the sounds of nature and those emitted by objects. Another substitute for musicality in the poetic lullaby is glossolalia, that is, sequences of sounds imitating the words of a particular language but devoid of any meaning. Echolalia, in turn, at later stages of human development considered a symptom of intellectual impairment, refers to the repetition of overheard words or fragments of sentences. Although as a literary form the lullaby loses its original connection to song and isn’t necessarily meant to be read aloud, it nevertheless retains certain properties of a melic poem whose structure is subordinated to the rhythmicity of language. The melodiousness is further reinforced [in Polish] by appropriately selected fricatives, semivowels, palatal and palatalised sounds:

Luli, luli,

Niemowlątko.

Luli, luli,

Śpij, słoniątko.

(Rock-a-bye,

My little infant,

Rock-a-bye

Sleep, little elephant.)

[a lullaby from the ‘luli, luli…’ (rock-a-bye…) anthology, selected by Jolanta Kowalczykówna, trans. AP]

In the example above, the repetition of the ‘l’ sound makes for the melodious lilt of the lines. The same effect was employed by Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński:

Rock-a-bye my little son,

sleep in your rose cradle –

I shall rock you gently,

close your little eyes.

[trans. AP]

… and we shall quote Kołysanka pisarzy (Writers’ Lullaby) no further than this fragment, because further on, the poet reveals his satirical side, referring to the political situation of his country and to people of letters being the lapdogs of the authorities.

Thumbnail — Woman standing by cradle with baby in her arms, 1900, photo: Polona National Library

Third, expressive language. Diminutives and hypocoristics express warmth towards a person, creature or object, though one must pay heed to the irony that occasionally lurks behind them. One characteristic element of the folk lullaby borrowed by authors of poetic lullabies was colloquial language. Additionally, emotions are expressed through short phrases (usually simple sentences) and uncomplicated imagery, which concretises the message. Poetic lullabies often feature animalisation or anthropomorphism, as in the following lulling melody known as early as the 19th century:

From the ash pan a spark

blinks at little Wojtuś.

Come, you’ll hear a fairy tale,

it’ll be a long one…

[trans. AP]

… or as in a poem by Józef Czechowicz, in which:

A little clay horse

has climbed a flower pot,

to nap peacefully ’til dawn.

My little boy,

you, too, nestle

against your pillow…

[trans. AP]

Fourth is apostrophe. Considering the magical properties of the lullaby, a direct address to the listener plays a key role. The words are usually directed at a child (in literary lullabies for adults, the addressee can be pretty much anyone), uttered (or sung) in a whispered voice (undertone), and they serve a hortative function, urging the listener to sleep. The art of putting to sleep is, of course, anything but easy, as the authors of folk cradle-songs demonstrated, resorting to innocent blackmail, even threats:

Sleep, my baby, sleep,

I’ll give you apples three,

And if those don’t help,

Then we’ll try the stick.

[trans. AP]

Go to sleep, you nasty brat

Picture display

standardowy (864px desktop)

Mother rocking child, post-1906, photo: Polona National Library

Picture image

kolysanka_polona.jpg

Now that we’ve established the basic purpose of the lullaby and identified its addressee, it’s time to take a somewhat closer look at the person formulating this peculiar kind of utterance. In her academic essay tellingly titled ‘Spór nad Kołyską’ (A Dispute Over the Cradle), Beata Stefaniak cites one musicologist’s assertion that the speaker in a lullaby is primarily a woman: ‘a mother, a nurse, a wet nurse, a granny, a sister, an aunt, etc.; only rarely was the lullaby sung by a man’. And although some claim that the literary lullaby is actually a man’s domain – in Poland, Stanisław Grochowski and Zbigniew Morsztyn were already composing those in the 17th century – the ritual of singing over a cradle was pioneered by women.

In fact, the lullaby was one of the few forms – and earlier often the only form – of literary expression available to women. Through lullabies, they would tell the stories of their harsh plight, their joys and sorrows, worries and hopes. Popular in the folk variety of the genre was the following couplet – humorous at first glance, though bitter at the core:

O, go to sleep, you nasty brat,

that I found while sowing grain.

Besides putting to sleep, the lullaby served a much more important function, a pedagogic one. It was a tool of socialisation. From the very cradle, mothers would instill in children the values that were supposed to guide them in their lives, teaching them about their rights and duties. Short narrative rhymes, often resembling fairy tales, would act as something akin to a code of behaviour, a collection of advice and admonitions, a lesson in history and social relations.

Picture display

standardowy (864px desktop)

Illustration from ‘Lullaby for Grandma’ (할머니를 위한 자장가) by Iwona Chmielewska, Korea, 2019, photo: BIR Publishers press materials

Picture image

kolysanka_dla_babci_9.jpg

This is indeed the case with Kołysanka dla babci (Lullaby for Grandma), a contemporary picture book by Iwona Chmielewska, so far unpublished in Poland (it was released in Korea in 2020). The author shares the story of her own grandmother, a textile worker in Łódź, who spent her childhood working in a factory. Rather than a lullaby in verse, it’s more a fictionalised one, but it includes many features of the genre, such as repetitions, onomatopoeia, direct address to the listener (a significant reversal occurs here: it’s the granddaughter who writes the lullaby for her grandmother) and gently constructed narration, soothing despite the seriousness of the message conveyed:

Sleep, little Hulda, you’ll work plenty yet in your life. Let the pine tree of which your bed was made and the meadow smelling of hay used to stuff your mattress both rustle for you. And the flowering fields of flax from which your mattress was sewn. Let the geese gaggle softly outside – it’s their down that fills your pillow. And let the sheep bleat in the meadow – it’s their wool that made your quilt. It’s warm now, more and more warm and sleepy…

Goodnight? Good morning!

Over the centuries, the lullaby has undergone metamorphoses in its form and content alike. When the lullaby enters literature, the addressee of these folk songs, hitherto a child, suddenly grows up. The speaker is no longer a solicitous mother but a woman, or a man, longing for love. The lullaby, then, starts to bear a closer resemblance to an erotic poem (interestingly, both of these genres have been marginalised throughout the history of literature). Emotions conveyed through rhythmic phrases with repetition and rhymes can attain a subtler shape:

Your eyes are silent as ever, your eyes are silent as ever
as you embrace me so –
calm stars rain down from heaven, kind stars rain down from heaven

and somewhere snow dies on snow…

[‘Berceuse’ by Maria Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska, trans. Barbara Bogoczek and Tony Howard]

Then there are lullaby-poems enfolded in a similarly oneiric aura but overall much more dynamic:

Amidst the fear of nighttime love songs,

In the nightingale’s silver lamentation,

Only one sound is still lacking:

The quiet moan of lips that touch.

[‘Semiramidy Wonne Ogrody…’ (Fragrant Gardens of Semiramis…) by Antoni Słonimski, trans. AP]

Picture display

standardowy (864px desktop)

‘A Spanking Is Coming’ by Seweryn Bieszczad, 1885, photo: National Museum in Warsaw

Picture image

bedzie_lanie.jpg

In studying the development of the genre, Stefaniak argues that, while women refer to their own experiences and touch upon social issues, men focus on everyday, commonplace details, fleeting moments connected to loss – meaning not necessarily death but rather their bygone childhood, the idealised realm of carefree abandon. This myth blossomed fully in the Romantic period, when the lullaby became a repository not so much of childhood memories as of one’s homeland. The patriotic lullaby metamorphosed into invocation poetry, essentially becoming a rousing song. The fabulist Stanisław Jachowicz was a master of the latter, as well as the author of a ditty every child knows that starts with the words ‘Pan kotek był chory i leżał w łóżeczku…’ (Master Kitty was sick and lay down in his bed…). Whatever fell asleep in classic lullabies (mostly nature) came alive in his works: the night turned into morning, the monotonous rhythm faded away in vigorous activity.

Anti-soporific effects are also a feature of poems that are composed to resemble a lullaby but that take loneliness, suffering and death as their subject matter. In the Romantic era, they were referred to as ‘songs of decaying trees’; they tend to be known today as the ‘non-lullaby’ or ‘black lullaby’. Employing this latter term, Dariusz Pawelec analyses a post-Romantic poem by Adam Zagajewski (the poet himself uses the term in one of his poems from the volume Pragnienie [Longing]). In terms of form, everything corresponds to the classic lullaby: a variation on the sleep motif, parallelisms, enumerations, repetitions, seemingly suppressed emotions, sound devices endowing the poem with an appropriate resonance… However, all these elements come together to produce the opposite effect. Zagajewski negates and recodes the determining features of the genre, introducing anxiety instead of a soothing quality, creating a catastrophic mood. Pawelec writes:

Even the etymology of the [Polish] title word, ‘Lullaby’ [kołysanka], indicates a pendulum’s movement – rocking, being off-balance, lack of stability, being in-between – drawing attention to the ‘dark places’ of Zagajewski’s poetry.

And the repeatedly recurring refrain: ‘No sleep…’:

No sleep, not tonight. The window blazes.
Over the city, fireworks soar and explode.
No sleep: too much has gone on.
Rows of books stand vigil above you.

[…]
Your inflamed eyelids will rebel,
your fiery eyes sting,
your heart swell with remembrance.

[…]
Pale nights row noiselessly into the sky,
their oars silk stockings delicately rustling.

[…]
[…] Light, more light
gathers in the room. No sleep, not tonight.

[‘Lullaby’ by Adam Zagajewski, trans. Renata Gorczynski, Benjamin Ivry and C. K. Williams]

SOURCES

Translated from Polish by Anna Potoczny

Language English

lullaby

motherhood

folklore