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The Great Island
verses, sticking strictly to the theme set by his opponent. Thus Vergil’s
shepherds –
Damon: The wolf is the ruin of the sheepfold, rairohowers of the ripened crops,
winds of the trees, and Amaryllis’s temper of me.
Menalcas: Water is the pleasure of springing crops; wild strawberry of the
young kids, supple willow of the mother goats, and only Amyntas of me.
And so on. Now Theocritus’s Idylls and Vergil’s Eclogues are highly
sophisticated compositions written for a cultured, even a jaded audience
to whom real folk music would very probably have appeared barbarous.
It is therefore dangerous to jump to the conclusion that the artificial
shepherds’ contests in the pastoral poems are similar in this or
that particular to the verses actually sung by Sicilian (or other)
shepherds. The most that can be said is this: there is some genuine folk
song contest which lies behind the Idylls of Theocritus. And since there
is no evidence to be had, we might as well accept these Cretan contests
(and similar contests of the Cypriot bards) as the nearest we are likely
to get to the verse-matches with which those shepherds whiled away
their long days.
In primitive societies inspiration is recognized as a force which sweeps
through the mind, implanting poetry. Barba Pantzelios, in the prologue
to the song of Daskaloyiannis, invoked God and asked for inspiration,
in the same way that ancient poets invoked, and believed in, their
Muse. The instrumentalist, as well as the singer, is entitled to respect as
the recipient of unusual gifts. The lyraris, player of tlie three-stringed
Cretan lyre, is the central figure at many festivals, together with his
partner who plucks vigorously at the lute with a quill. They do quite
well, since anyone who wants a dance will pay them to play it; and
what with electric loudspeakers and amplification, they raise the roof.
One feels that the old legend of how they get their inspiration may be
out of date in the days of these mechanical aids.
Whoever wishes to learn to play the lyre well, it is said, must go at
midnight to a deserted crossroads and there carve a circle on the
ground, with a black-shafted knife. Then he must go inside it and sit
down and play. Soon Nereids will come from all directions to surround
him. They mean him harm. But they cannot enter the charmed circle,
and so they try to entice him out with sweet words and lovely songs. If
he is prudent he will make his heart of stone, and continue to play.
When the Nereids see that all their ruses are failing, ‘Don’t you realize,’
they say, ‘You’re wasting energy playing like that ?’
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