Peasant Utopias and Dreamlands: Medieval Hopes to Big Rock Candy Mountain

JF Ptak Science Books LLC  476

The concept of terrestrial, not-Heaven-bound, un-restricted non-religious happiness for working folks not viewed as an abomination by Christian churches is a relatively new idea.   Fun for the rabbleous masses, stuff happening to the far west of the east-entrenched Eden* (as in the Steinbeck novel), was generally a no-go so far as institutions such as the Catholic church was concerned.  Medieval geography of imaginary places where happiness dwells included the Land of Cockaigne and the Isle of the Blest, places that represented both wish fulfillment and resentment at the strictures of asceticism and dearth.

 The peasantry existed in a state of semi-amicable slavery under the  thought- and emotional-control of the aristocracy and the church, living in fear of their immortal souls dancing in the ring of fire for thinking heathenous thoughts, or persecuted by the legal entity for being too immodest.  “Fun” was a very expensive commodity, and was seen by The Church as being too expensive and rare to share.  Fun represented a departure from the routine, an affront to the teachings of scripture, a lessening of the control enjoyed by all ruling classes.  And so Medieval legends such as the Land of Cockaigne, with its promises of unbridled eating and gluttony and sexual liberty and disobedience was a direct charge against the established distribution of power and wealth, and could not be tolerated.  Fun was kept for someone else.

Cockaigne—of Middle French derivation, pays de cocaign,”Land of Plenty”—was an imaginary location and a dream, somewhere that was a total relief to the long grind of the peasant life.  It was a place “where the houses were made of barley sugar and cakes, the streets were paved with pastry, and the shops supplied goods for nothing” according to Specimens of Early English Poets (1790), whose author, George Ellis, reprinted a 13^th century French poem.  In the Land of Cockaigne “roasted pigs wander about with knives in their backs to make carving easy, where grilled geese fly directly into one's mouth, where cooked fish jump out of the water and land at one's feet…The weather is always mild, the wine flows freely, sex is readily available, and all people enjoy eternal youth…” according to Herman Pleij's Dreaming of Cockaigne (2001).  Another source determines that  “you must eat your way through a mountain of porridge to reach the land of Cockaigne

…where the fences are made of sausages, the geese lie ready-grilled on the plates…” 

Atlantis and El Dorado might’ve been fancy sounding places to a lot of poor people, but Cockaigne must’ve sounded better by leaps and bounds—no piles of gold, no great extravagances, just rewards of plenty to eat and drink, and sleep, and some sex.  All of these promises existed so far beyond the pale of the Church that even thinking about a crust’s-worth of such anti-biblical carnage would send you straight to hell.  Which sounds terrifically strange to me now because the actions here, in Cockaigne, are largely passive (though of course hedonistic), and aren’t vengeful, hurtful, spiteful.  It is mainly, well, lazy, full of sleep-inducing foods. Bittersweet dreams like this formed for themselves a basis of pure hate within the church, mainly because it was taken as a threat to the core fundamentals of religions at the time.  It should be said that many of the tellings of this legend do have their fair share of anti-clerical runs, nun-hunting and monk bashings.  Oopsie!

The Land of  Cockaigne is beautifully painted in 1567 by the peasant-dominated mind of Pieter Brueghel the Elder or Bruegel (c.1525 – September 9, 1569) the fabulous  Netherlandish Renaissance painter.  (In many ways he discovered the common/peasant in much the same way as Dickens discovered the working poor of London; of course Brueghel made his discovery 300 years earlier.  He was also in his way a Dickensian for detail:  many of his paintings are terrific mélanges of children’s games and folk tales, often accurately identifying hundreds of objects of interest in a single work)  He incorporates many of these legends in the painting, in addition showing stewed geese flying into open mouths and a house-roof made of meat pies.

The promise of eatable houses and lazy meals and sleeping all day to produce evermore profits are many times bounded by rivers of red and wine wines, of milk, and of honey. 

These are concepts that have existed for hundreds of years in different sorts of peasant paradises, not the least of which is the 20^th century’s contribution of “Big Rock Candy Mountain”, a song composed by Harry McClintock (1882-1957). In many ways this song contains the most simple, most heartbreaking of the simple wishes of the American hobo of the Great Depression era.  The 26 (or so) wants are spectacular in their smallnesses and simpleness (see below for full lyrics of the song):

(1) a land that's fair and bright (2) handouts grow on bushes (3)sleep out every night
(4) boxcars are all empty  (5) the sun shines every day (6) cigarette trees (7) lemonade springs  (8) bluebird sings (9) all the cops have wooden legs (10) bulldogs all have rubber teeth (11) hens lay soft boiled eggs (12) farmer's trees are full of fruit (13) barns are full of hay (14) ain't no snow (15) rain don't fall  (16) the wind don't blow (17) never change your socks (18)little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks (19) brakemen have to tip their hats  (20) railroad bulls are blind (21) lake of stew and of whiskey  (22) jails are made of tin (you can walk right out again as soon as you are in) (23) no short handled shovels,  (24) no axes saws or picks (25) you sleep all day (26) they hung the jerk that invented work.

These wishes are gathered together as follows:

Food: Cigarettes, lemonade, soft boiled eggs, fruit trees, streams of alcohol, land of stew and whiskey

Geography:  land fair and bright, sleep out every night, sunshine, bluebirds, no snow, no rain, no wind.

Social:  handouts grow on bushes, cops have wooden legs, bulldogs have rubber teeth, (railroad) brakemen (who would normally throw hobos from the trains) have to tip their hats to the hobos; railroad bulls (the railroad cops who would be um pro-active and brutal in getting rid of the ‘hobo problem” from the trains);  revolving door jails are made of tin; no axes, saws or picks; and finally, no short-handled shovels. 

Personal:  sleeping all day, sleeping out at night, and not changing your socks.  (Not even a whiff of carnal anything.)

And of course the hanging of the man who invented the whole concept of work.

I think that in all of these simple dreams, the “short-handled shovels” one is the most tremendous, and most heart-breaking.  The short-handled shovel is a backbreaker, made for working in stubborn, small holes or tight places.  If you needed to use a shovel on something, you’d want to use a long-handled one.  Keep in mind that the song didn’t call for no shovels—just a decent one that you could work with humanely. 

The song is beautiful and stands for a wide majority of thought in the U.S. in the troubled 1930’s.  It is also in many ways related to the classic peasant utopias and dreamlands—perhaps it is just like Cockaigne, just removed 500 years.

Big Rock Candy Mountain, by Harry McClintock 

One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burning
Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turning
I'm headin for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains
So come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees
Where the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin
And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in
There ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picks
I'm a goin to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

*Cockaigne was a contradiction of Genesis ii.8, “And the lord god planted a garden eastward, in

Eden

”.  Of course the location that some scholars affixed to this place, to

Eden

, has been perhaps blown to Kingdom Come many times, not the least of which has been during Mr. Bush’s stolen war in

Iraq

.