LITERATURE, MUSIC, AND DANCE.

We shall now turn to a consideration of literature, music and dance. It is a noticeable fact that a rich literary art is much more universally distributed than well developed decorative art. While among tribes like the Bushman and the eastern Eskimo very few manufactured objects of artistic value are found, these same tribes produce an abundance of literary work. Volumes of Eskimo lore have been collected and if it did not require a most intimate knowledge of the people and an endless amount of patience to collect songs and poems, their number would undoubtedly equal that of tales. The collections of Bushman lore are also quite extended. I believe the reason for this difference is not far to seek. Decorative art requires rest and quiet, a stationary abode. There must be opportunity to continue steadily the work which requires the use of tools; or at least there must be a chance to lay it aside and to take it up again. The life of hunters is not favorable to the prosecution of such work. First of all the weapons of the hunter must be kept in order. The supply of provisions is generally so scanty or the possibility of laying by stores for future use is so limited, that the hunter is compelled to spend the greater part of every day in pursuit of the game. Little time remains for domestic work. Furthermore when camp is shifted which is frequently necessary, bulky, half finished work can be carried along with difficulty only. It is, therefore, not surprising that the household goods of the hunter are few in number and easily transported. The property of a Bushman family might be carried in two hands.

Quite different are conditions under which literary work and music develop. It might be imagined that the hunter has just as little time for poetic work, as for the manufacture of decorated articles. This opinion is based on an erroneous conception of the work of the hunter. He is not all the time following strenuously the tracks of the game, but often he resorts to trapping, or he sits still, waiting for the game to appear. The Eskimo, for instance, sits for hours by the breathing-hole of the seal. During such times his fancy is free to wander and many of his songs take shape during these moments. There are other times of enforced idleness in which manual work is impossible but when the people may give free range to their fancy. An instance of this stands out clearly in my mind: An Eskimo youth was carried away in the fall on the drifting ice. After a few days he succeeded in reaching land. During these days of danger and privation he composed a song in which he mocked his own misfortunes and the hardships he had endured, a song which appealed to the fancy of the people and which soon became popular in all the villages.[118]

We must remember that the first condition for the development of artistic handicraft is leisure. No matter how strong the art impulse may be, it cannot find expression so long as man’s time is entirely taken up by procuring the barest necessities of life. The paleolithic hunter who painted on the walls of the caves must have been able to spare sufficient time from the labor of getting his food supply to devote himself to the joy of painting the animals of the chase. We recognize in a study of the art products of each people that the amount they produce is in direct relation to the amount of their leisure. Therefore tribes that procure their main food supply in one season and store it up for the rest of the year and who enjoy, therefore, seasons of leisure, will be found to be most productive in works of art as well as in ceremonial affairs and other manifestations of social life that do not contribute to the mere need of food and shelter.

These conditions are more easily fulfilled for those arts that do not require manual labor than for those based on industrial occupations; hence the wider distribution of literary art.

The two fundamental forms of literature, song and tale, are found universally and must be considered the primary form of literary activity. Poetry without music, that is to say forms of literary expression of fixed rhythmic form, are found only in civilized communities, except perhaps in chanted formulas. In simpler cultural forms the music of language alone does not seem to be felt as an artistic expression, while fixed rhythms that are sung occur everywhere.

We may even recognize that in all parts of the world songs are found in which the words are subordinated to music. As we sing tunes without words, either because the words are not known,—or, more significantly, on a refrain, on vocables consisting of syllables without meaning,—so songs carried along on a meaningless burden are found in all parts of the globe. They are not often recorded because the collection of material of this kind is quite novel, but the data that we have in hand prove that the connection between song and burden is universal. The Eskimo have songs carried along on the syllables amna aya, iya aya, and other similar ones. In some cases there is a certain emotional significance inherent in the burden, as on the Northwest coast of America where the songs refer to different supernatural beings, each having its own characteristic syllables: the cannibal spirit ham ham, the grizzly bear hei hei and so on. According to the usual definition of poetry we should perhaps exclude these songs, but that is impossible because the transition from songs carried along by the burden alone and others that contain significant words is quite gradual. In many cases a single word is introduced at a definite point of the tune and the verses contain each one single word. This may be the name of the supernatural being to which the song refers.

Thus we have in British Columbia

In other songs the significant words are more elaborate. They are phrases fitted to the tunes, often by doing violence to the ordinary forms of the words. The words are controlled by the tunes. I might imitate this in the following way:

Instead of “I saw the great spirit travelling about”. We might have

This process is not quite unfamiliar to us in so far as we use the apostrophe for syllables that in ordinary speech are not slurred, when we expand a long vowel over several tones, when we utilise archaic pronunciations for the sake of the meter, or when wrong accents are introduced. Disregard for the words is found also in borrowed songs which are sung in a language that is not understood and in which the words (which are usually mispronounced) have only the value of a burden that may be connected with a certain emotion determined by the use of the song. All these forms are found everywhere and must therefore be considered the foundations of poetry.

Primitive poetry is primarily lyric, in many cases dithyrambic, and elements which express definite coherent ideas are, in all probability, later developments. Perhaps we may see here an analogy to the growth of language. In the animal world cries are primarily reactions to emotions and only indirectly designative. It seems likely that in human speech the spontaneous emotional cry preceded the designative and so much more the predicative expression, not by any means in the sense that the exclamation accounts for the origin of organized speech, but that it is probably the first form of articulation.

It must not be assumed that the control of the word by music is characteristic of all primitive song. On the contrary, in recitatives which are quite common, the words are often controlling and musical phrases are added or omitted whenever the words require it. Among the Sioux Indians we find often both tendencies; the words adapted to the tunes and the tune, on its part, adjusted to the words.[119]

We might express the results of our considerations in stating that song is older than poetry and that poetry has gradually emancipated itself from music.

The relation between music, words and dance are of a similar character. Primitive literary expression is often, though not by any means always, accompanied by some kind of motor activity; or certain kinds of motions may release articulations that take the form of song or of spoken words. Strong, but controlled emotion finds utterance in movements of the body and in articulation, and emotional speech releases similar movements. This may be inferred from the frequent association of song and dance, of song and games, and of that of gestures and lively speech. Dance has always remained associated with music, but with the emancipation of poetry music has lost its close association with the spoken word.

Primitive artistic prose has two important forms: narrative and oratory. The form of modern prose is largely determined by the fact that it is read, not spoken, while primitive prose is based on the art of oral delivery and is, therefore, more closely related to modern oratory than to the printed literary style. The stylistic difference between the two forms is considerable.

Unfortunately most primitive prose has been recorded in European languages only, and it is impossible to determine the accuracy of the rendering. In most of the records there is an obvious attempt to adapt it to the European literary style. Even when the material is available in the original text we may assume that, at least in the majority of cases, it does not reach the standard of excellence of the art of native narrative. The difficulty of phonetic rendering of foreign languages requires such slowness of dictation that the artistic style necessarily suffers. The number of collectors who possess complete mastery of the languages of the natives is altogether too small. The best approximation to the art of narrative of primitive people is probably found in those cases in which educated natives write down the texts, or in the records taken down by missionaries who in long years of personal, intimate contact with the people have acquired complete control of their language, and who are willing to give us just what they hear.

As an example of the difference in style between the free rendering of a story told in English by an interpreter, and the translation of a native text I give part of the Twin-Hero story of Sia, as told by M. C. Stevenson, and the same story as dictated to me in Laguna. Mrs. Stevenson[120] tells as follows: Upon visiting the plaza the twins found a large gathering and the housetops were crowded with those looking at the dance. The boys who approached the plaza from a narrow street in the village, stood for a time at the entrance. The one remarked, “I guess all the people are looking at us and thinking we are very poor boys; see how they pass back and forth and do not speak to us;” but after a while he said, “We are a little hungry; let us walk around and see where we can find something to eat.” They looked in all the houses facing upon the plaza and saw feasting within, but no one invited them to enter and eat, and though they inspected every house in the village, they were invited into but one. At this house the woman said, “Boys, come in and eat; I guess you are hungry.” After the repast they thanked her, saying, “It was very good.” Then the one said, “You, woman, and you, man,” addressing her husband, “you and all your family are good. We have eaten at your house; we give you many thanks; and now listen to what I have to say. I wish you and all your children to go off a distance to another house; to a house which stands alone; the round house off from the village. All of you stay there for a while.”

The Laguna version is as follows:[121]

Long ago.—Eh.—Long ago in the north in Whitehouse lived the people. At that time they had a war dance. At that time, when they were dancing, Salt-Woman and her grandsons, the Twin-Heroes, were travelling in this direction searching for a town, yes, some place where nobody would make dirt, searching for good water standing on the ground; for that they were searching. At the time they reached Whitehouse the people were having a war dance. They arrived at the east end of the town, and they climbed up the ladder, entered after having climbed down, but nobody said anything to them. Then they climbed up and out again. Again they climbed down into a house on the west and again they entered, climbing downward. Here also nobody invited them in and nobody gave them to eat. Then they climbed up going out and climbed down the ladder. Then the grandmother spoke thus, “Grandchildren, are you hungry?” said she to them. Then the Twin-Heroes spoke, “Yes,” they said to her. Then the grandmother, Salt-Woman, spoke thus, “Now let us go for the last time, climb up the house to the west.” Thus said Salt-Woman. They went westward and climbed up, then they climbed down the ladder and entered. When they had entered the Parrot People were about to eat. They said, “How is everything?”—“It is well,” said the Parrot People. “Sit down,” said the Parrot People. Then they sat down and soon they were satisfied. After a while the one who was the mother of the Parrot People spoke thus, “Give them to eat,” said she. Then they gave them to eat and they dipped out the deer meat with a chamber vessel. Then the one who was the mother spoke thus, “Take this; eat,” said she. Then Salt-Woman put her hand into the soup that had been dipped out and she stirred it with her hand and they ate and they were satisfied. Then the one who was the mother of the Parrot People took it away. She spoke thus, “I wonder why this soup is so different,” said she. Then she tasted it. Then the one who was the mother spoke thus, “Oh my, that soup is very sweet,” said the one who was the mother. Then Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Behold, go on, dip it out and give it to them and eat,” said Salt-Woman. Then she dipped out the soup and passed it about. They sat down there together. Then Salt-Woman took scabs from her body (which was salt) and she put the salt in for them. Then Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Let us continue to stir it,” said Salt-Woman. Then they stirred it and ate. Now Salt-Woman spoke thus, “I tell you this,” said Salt-Woman, “I am Salt-Woman, there is no sickness on my body. Is not this my body pure salt?” said Salt-Woman. “Now I also tell you this,” said Salt-Woman. “How many children have you and how many families of Parrot People live here?” said Salt-Woman. “Now go ahead and come in this direction,” said she, “for I am very grateful because you gave me to eat,” said Salt-Woman. Now the one who was the mother of the Parrot People went to call her relatives. She brought the whole number of them. Then she took them down and Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Are these your relatives, the Parrot People?”—“Yes,” said the one who was the mother. “Indeed,” she said, “Go ahead, take this basket and give it to me,” said Salt-Woman. Then she gave the basket to Salt-Woman and salt came off from her arms and from her feet. Then she picked it up and put it into the basket. “Take this,” said Salt-Woman, “with this you will season what you eat.” Then again she spoke thus, “Enough,” she said, “it is good, thank you. Now we shall climb up and go out from here. You stay here,” said Salt-Woman, “then, when the Twin-Heroes are ready we shall open the door after a while.” Thus spoke Salt-Woman. Then they climbed up and went away and climbed down again. After they had climbed down outside the children came and looked at them for a while. The Twin-Heroes were playing thereabouts with a shuttlecock. Then the children spoke thus, “Boy,” said they, “go ahead, bring me this shuttlecock,” said the children. Then the younger one of the Twin-Heroes spoke thus, “Go ahead,” said he, “stand there to the south under the cotton wood tree.” The children went southward. They arrived there. Then the children spoke thus, “Go ahead,” they said. “Now look out,” said the elder one of the Twin-Heroes, “I throw the shuttlecock southward.” When it arrived at the south where they stood, the shuttlecock fell down between them. Then all were turned into chaparral jays. All flew upward. Then Salt-Woman and her grandchildren went to the south. They arrived in the south. Then the elder one of the Twin-Heroes stood up. He took up his shuttlecock in his turn. The younger one said, “Now, look out, it is my turn. Let me make the shuttlecock fly to the north.”—“Go ahead,” said the elder one. The younger one made the shuttlecock fly northward. In the north it reached the plaza and when the shuttlecock fell down the people were transformed into stones. Then Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Enough,” said she, “Now go ahead to the house of the Parrot People and open the door.”

Another example may not be amiss. Dr. Ruth Benedict recorded the following as part of the creation myth from a Zuni Indian who has a good command of English:

“The Two came to the fourth world. It was dark there; they could see nothing. They met a man; he was naked and his body was covered with green slime, he had a tail, and a horn on his forehead. He took them to his people. The Two said to them, “In the upper world there is no one to worship the sun. He has sent us down to you to take you out to the world above.” They said, “We are willing. In this world we cannot see one another, we step upon one another, we urinate upon one another, we spit upon one another, we throw refuse upon one another. It is nasty here, we do not want to stay. We have been waiting for someone to lead us out. But you must go to the priest of the north; we want to know what he has to say.”

They took them to the priest of the north. He said to them, “What is it that you have come to say?”—“We want you to come out into the upper world.”—“We are willing to go. In this world we cannot see, we step upon one another, we urinate upon one another, we throw refuse upon another, we spit upon one another. It is nasty here, we do not want to stay. We have been waiting for someone to lead us out. But you must go to the priest of the west; we want to know what he has to say.” (This is repeated for the priests of the six directions.)

Cushing[122] has rendered the same incident as follows:

“Anon in the nethermost of the four cave-wombs of the world, the seed of men and the creatures took form and increased; even as within eggs in warm places worms speedily appear, which growing, presently burst their shells and become as may happen, birds, tadpoles, or serpents, so did men and all creatures grow manifoldly and multiply in many kinds. Thus the lowermost womb or cave-world, which was Anosin tehuli (the womb of sooty depth or of growth-germination, because it was the place of first formation and dark as a chimney at night time, foul too, as the internals of the belly) thus did it become overfilled with being. Everywhere were unfinished creatures, crawling like reptiles one over another in filth and black darkness, crowding thickly together and treading each other, one spitting on another or doing other indecency, insomuch that loud became their murmurings and lamentations, until many among them sought to escape, growing wiser and more manlike.”

I think these examples demonstrate that it is not easy to discover from published material the stylistic pattern of primitive narrative. Sometimes the rendering is bald and dry owing to the difficulties of expression that the interpreter cannot overcome; sometimes elaborated in a superimposed literary style that does not belong to the original.

In free prose narrative particular stress is laid upon the completeness of the succession of events. Both Pueblo and Kwakiutl informants criticize tales from this point of view. A Pueblo will say, “You cannot say, ‘he entered the house,’ for he must first climb up the ladder, then down into the house. He must greet those present properly and receive the proper courteous reply.” None of these steps may be omitted. This is illustrated by the example of the Laguna tale referred to before (see p. 305). The Kwakiutl cannot say, “Then he spoke,” but they would say “Then he arose, spoke and said.” They do not allow a person to arrive at a place without first letting him start and travel. An epic diffusiveness, an insistence on details is characteristic of most free primitive narrative.

Besides these free elements, primitive prose contains passages of fixed form which are, to a great extent, the source of its attractiveness to the hearer. Quite often these passages consist of conversation between the actors and in these, deviations from the fixed formula, are not permitted. In other cases they are of rhythmic form and must be considered poetry, chants or songs rather than prose.

In almost all reliable collections the fixed, formal parts are of considerable importance. In a few cases, as among the Wailaki of California, the connective text disappears almost completely.

In contrast to the fullness of the free narrative these formal parts are apt to be so brief that they are obscure unless the significance of the story is known to the hearers. Examples of these are the brief tales of the Eskimo. In Cumberland Sound I recorded the following example:[123] a tale of a woman and the Spirit of the Singing-House.

“Where is its owner? Where is its master? Has the singing-house an owner? Has the singing-house a master? It has no owner.”—“Here he is, there he is.”—“Where are his feet? Where are the calves of his legs? Where are his knees? Where are his thighs?”—“Here they are, there they are.”—“Where is his stomach?”—“Here it is, there it is.”—“Where is his chest? Where is his arm? Where is his neck? Where is his head?”—“Here it is, there it is.” He had no hair.

This means that the woman felt for the supernatural owner of the singing-house. He is supposed to have bandy legs, no hair and no occipital bone. To touch his soft head is immediate death.

The same observation may be made in formulas of the Chukchee.[124]

“I call Raven. My abdomen I make into a bay. The bay is frozen. Icebound rubbish is there. All this rubbish is frozen in the ice of the bay. It is the disease of my stomach. Oh, you my stomach, you are full of pain. I make you into a frozen bay, into an old ice floe, into a bad ice floe.

“Oh, Oh! I call to Raven. You Raven travel around from very remote times. I want your assistance. What are you going to do with this bay that is frozen? Mischievous people made it freeze; you have a strong beak, what are you going to do?”

Sometimes these parts of tales are in an archaic form, or in a foreign language, so that they may be quite unintelligible. Their impressiveness rests on the form and the general emotional trend of the passages in which they occur.

When such passages are discourse they are probably the best material for the study of literary style.

From these remarks let us turn to a few general characteristics of literary style, first of all to a consideration of rhythm and repetition.

The investigation of primitive narrative as well as of poetry proves that repetition, particularly rhythmic repetition, is one of its fundamental, esthetic traits.

It is not easy to form a just opinion regarding the rhythmic character of formal prose; in part because the rhythmic sense of primitive people is much more highly developed than our own. The simplification of the rhythm of modern folk song, and of poetry intended to appeal to popular taste, has dulled our feeling for rhythmic form. I have referred to this question before when discussing the complexity of rhythm in decorative art. It requires careful study to understand the structure of primitive rhythm, more so in prose than in song, because in this case the help of the melodic pattern is lacking.

Rhythmic repetition of contents and form is found commonly in primitive narrative. For example, the tales of the Chinook Indians are often so constructed that five brothers, one after another, have the same adventure. The four elder ones perish while the youngest one emerges safe and successful. The tale is repeated verbatim for all the brothers, and its length, which to our ear and to our taste is intolerable, probably gives pleasure by the repeated form.[125] Conditions are quite similar in European fairy tales relating to the fates of three brothers, two of whom perish or fail in their tasks, while the youngest one succeeds. Similar repetitions are found in the German tale of Redridinghood, in the widely spread European story of the rooster who goes to bury his mate, or in the story of the three bears. In Oriental tales the incidents of the tale are sometimes repeated verbatim being retold by one of the heroes.

A few additional examples taken from the narratives of foreign people will illustrate the general occurrence of the tendency to repetition. In the Basuto tale called Kumonngoe a man leads his daughter into the wilderness where she is to be devoured by a cannibal. On the way he meets three animals and the son of a chief. In each case the same conversation ensues. “Where are you leading your daughter?”—“Ask herself, she is grown up.” She replies:

In an Omaha tale[127] of a Snake-Man it is related that a man flees from a serpent. Three helpers in succession give him moccasins which, on the following morning return of their own accord to their owners, and every time the same conversation is repeated. When the serpent goes in pursuit it asks every animal for information in exactly the same words. In a tradition of the Kwakiutl of Vancouver Island the same formula is repeated forty times together with the description of the same ceremonial. In the tales of the Pueblo Indians the same incident is repeated four times as happening to four sisters; the yellow, red, blue, and white girls. In a Siberian tale of the Hare we hear that a hunter hides under the branches of a fallen willow tree. One hare after another appears in order to browse, espies the hunter and runs away. In a Papua tale from New Guinea the birds come one after another and try to peck open the stomach of a drowned person so as to let run out the water that he has swallowed. Still more markedly appears this type of repetition in a tale from New Ireland. The birds try to throw the casuary off from the branch of a tree on which he is perched. In order to accomplish this, one after another alights on the same branch next to the casuary but nearer the trunk. Thus he is compelled to move out farther and farther until finally he drops down.

Much more striking are the rhythmic repetitions in songs. Polynesian genealogies offer an excellent example. Thus we find in Hawaii the following song:[128]

and so on through sixteen pairs.

Or in a cradlesong of the Kwakiutl Indians:[129]

In the Eskimo song of the raven and the geese, the raven sings:[130]

and so on through all the parts of the body, up to the eyes.

Quite remarkable is the analogy between this song and the following Australian war song:

Rhythmic variations of a similar type develop also in oratory when a number of persons are addressed in the same formal way: As an example may serve the following address in a Kwakiutl speech:

or:

The repetitions discussed so far are rhythmic in form, varied in contents. They may be compared to an orderly succession of decorative motives that agree in the plan of the unit, but vary in details. In poetry rhythmic repetitions of identical formal units are frequent. These occur in all songs without words, consisting of vocables only. An example of this is a Kwakiutl canoe song in which every syllable is sung with one stroke of the paddles:

They are also found in introductions to many songs in which the tune is carried by vocables as an introduction to the words of the song:[133]

Rhythm is not confined to the larger units, but is applied as an artistic device in the detailed structure. In exhortative speech some tribes develop a rhythmic form by adding a strongly accented syllable to each word. The Kwakiutl use the strongly accented ending ai for this purpose and I may imitate the impression of their speech by saying, Welcome-ai! brothers-ai! at my feast-ai! Here the time for each word group ending in ai is approximately equal, or the words leading up to the ending ai are at least pronounced with great rapidity when they contain a longer phrase.

In the recital of myths rhythmic structure is sometimes attained by the addition of meaningless syllables that transform the recital into a chant. Thus the Fox Indians will add in the recital of the Culture Hero legend, the syllables nootchee, nootchee. A. L. Kroeber and Leslie Spier tell us that the myths of Southern California are chanted. Edward Sapir has observed the Song recitative in Paiute mythology, each animal speaking according to a definite rhythm and tune to which the text is adjusted.[134] I have recorded an Eskimo tale from Cumberland Sound in which the travels of the hero are recorded in a chant with interspersed melodic phrases.[135] In wails the repetition of the formal cry of moaning at short intervals and the rapid, even pronunciation of the recital creates rhythmic structure.

Much stricter than in prose is the rhythmic structure of song. It is often assumed that regularity of musical rhythm, which is found in most primitive music, is due to the multiplicity of motor actions connected with the music, particularly to the close relation between music and dance. It is true that primitive song is often accompanied by movements of the body,—a swinging of the whole trunk, movements of head, feet, and arms; hand clapping and stamping; but it is an error to assume that for these the same synchronism prevails to which we are accustomed. With us the stamping and clapping of hands coincides with the accent of the song. Some tribes innervate so that the innervation for the articulation and for the movement of hands or feet coincide. This habit has the effect of letting the clapping, drumming, or stamping follow the accent of the song. It is also not a rare occurrence that the rhythmic pattern of body movements and of song are not homologous, but that they are interrelated in different ways or sometimes even seem to be quite independent. Negro music as well as that of Northwest America offers many examples of this kind.

Although the problem involved in the structure of primitive poetry is better understood now than it was a few years ago, and although many energetic efforts are being made to obtain adequate collections, the material for the study of this subject is still quite insufficient. Travellers are rarely trained in the art of recording songs and are apt to give us only the simplest forms that offer the least difficulties, or to summarize their observations in descriptions that are altogether too often misleading. Exact observations show that rhythmic complexity is quite common. Regular rhythms consist of from two to seven parts, and much longer groupings occur without recognizable regularity of rhythmic structure. Their repetition in a series of verses proves that they are fixed units.

On account of the physiologically determined emotional quality of rhythm it enters into all kinds of activities that are in any way related to emotional life. Its exciting effect manifests itself in religious songs and dances. Its compelling control may be observed in war songs; its soothing effect appears in melodies; its esthetic value is seen in song and decorative art. The origin of rhythm must not be looked for in religious and social activities but the effect of rhythm is akin to the emotional states connected with them and, therefore, arouses them and is aroused by them.

I believe the great variety of forms in which rhythmic repetition of the same or similar elements is used, in prose and in poetry as a rhythm of time, in decorative art as a rhythm of space,—shows that Bücher’s theory according to which all rhythm is derived from the movements accompanying work cannot be maintained, certainly not in its totality. Wundt derives the rhythm of the songs used in ceremonies from the dance, that of the working song from the movements required in the performance of work,—a theory practically identical with that proposed by Bücher, since the movements of the dance are quite homologous to those of work. There is no doubt that the feeling for rhythm is strengthened by dance and the movements required in the execution of work, not only in the common work of groups, of individuals who must try to keep time, but also in industrial work, such as basketry or pottery that require in their execution regularly repeated movements. The repetitions in prose narrative as well as the rhythms of decorative art, so far as they are not required by the technique, are proof of the inadequacy of the purely technical explanation. The pleasure given by regular repetition in embroidery, painting, and the stringing of beads cannot be explained as due to technically determined, regular movements, and there is no indication that would suggest that this kind of rhythm developed later than the one determined by motor habits.

It is a precarious undertaking to discuss the characteristics of primitive poetic forms, partly because so little reliable material is available, but partly also on account of the impossibility of obtaining a fair insight into the meaning and value of literary expression without an intimate knowledge of the language and culture in which they have come into being. For this reason I shall base the following remarks principally upon observations of the Kwakiutl tribe, a tribe with whose language and culture I am familiar. It would be unjustifiable to generalize and to claim that the traits that I am going to discuss are characteristic of all primitive literature. On the contrary, as our knowledge of primitive literature expands, individuality of style will certainly be found to prevail. Still it seems likely that features which are analogous to our own literary devices may disclose general tendencies.

Emphasis of salient points is used extensively in Kwakiutl prose and song. Stress is most frequently given by repetition. I give a few examples culled from speeches: “Indeed, indeed, true are the words of the song, of my song, sung for you, tribe.”[136]

“He is a kind chief who is kind, speaking kindly to those who have him for a chief.”[137]

“Now is finished the song of my chief. Finished is the great one.”[138]

“Now you will give the name Great-Inviter to Inviter who has come out of her room, her who has been made a princess, her who is all over a princess on account of this that has been done by this chief who has her for a princess.”[139]

In songs repetitions are much more frequent than in speech. I give a few examples:

“Wa, out of the way! Waw haw hawa, Wa, out of the way! Ah, do not in vain ask for mercy, Waw haw hawa! Ah, do not in vain ask for mercy and raise your hands.”[140]

Another example is the following:

“I am the only great tree in the world, I the chief: I am the only great tree in the world, I the chief.

I am the great chief who vanquishes, Ha, ha, I am the great chief who vanquishes, Ha, ha!”[141]

Emphasis may be obtained by placing the word to be emphasized at the end of one phrase and by beginning the next phrase with the same word.

There are also many emphatic particles. The closing ai referred to before, used in exhortative oratory, belongs to this group. Verbal affixes meaning “really”, “indeed”, and the like are used informal speech to give proper strength to the whole expression. In a wail a woman chants: “Haha, hanane, now really I do this, I remember my real past forefathers and really my great grandfathers and now really I will go on with my family-myth here, telling of this, of my beginning in the beginning of the world, of the chief who come up in this world, haha, hanane; and really this was my ancestor who really was going about spouting.”[142]

In Africa the telling of a story is enlivened by affirmative exclamations of the audience. When the narrator says, “The turtle killed the leopard,” the audience will repeat, clapping their hands, “The leopard, the leopard.”

Emphasis is also given by an accumulation of synonyms. Alternate terms are often used in this manner and in the original they often have an added rhythmical value on account of the homology of their form. Thus the Kwakiutl sings in a laudatory chant: “I greatly fear our chief, oh tribes! I tremble on account of this great means of trying to cause fear, of this great means of trying to cause terror, of this greatest cause of terror.”[143]

“I shall break, I shall let disappear the great Copper, the property of the great foolish one, the great extravagant one, the great surpassing one, the one farthest ahead, the greatest Spirit-of-the-Woods among the chiefs.”[144]

The beginning or the end of a rhythmic unit is often marked by an interjection like the “haha hanane” of the wail previously quoted, or by the repetition of the same word. Both these forms occur often in love songs:

or in a shaman’s song:[146]

Symmetry in the rigid sense of the term does not exist in the arts built on time sequences. A reversion of time sequence is not felt as symmetry in the same way as a reversion of space sequence where every point has its equivalent point. In time sequences we have a feeling for symmetry only for the order of repetition and structural phrases. The following Negro poem will illustrate this:

It seems, however that in primitive recitative poetry and music this form is not as frequent as in modern folk song or in modern poetry.

The effect of poetry and oratory depends in part on the use of metaphor. It is hardly possible to discuss this in a generalized way, because the appreciation of metaphor requires a most intimate knowledge of the language in which it occurs. Apparent absence of metaphor is undoubtedly more likely due to imperfect records than to an actual absence of figures of speech. It is quite striking that it is difficult to find metaphorical expressions in American Indian literature, although it is undoubtedly a feature of their oratory. The whole naming system of most American Indians proves their feeling for figurative speech.

Here also I may be permitted to confine my remarks to the use of metaphor among the Kwakiutl with whose speech forms I am fairly familiar. Metaphorical expressions are used particularly when describing the greatness of a chief or of a warrior. The chief is compared to a mountain; a precipice (from which rolls down wealth overwhelming the tribes); a rock which cannot be climbed; the post of heaven (who supports the world); the only great tree (that raises its crown over the lesser trees of the woods or that rises in lonely height on an island); a loaded canoe at anchor; the one who makes the whole world smoky (from the fire in the house in which he gives feasts); the thick tree; the thick root (of the tribe). It is said that through his great acts he burns up the tribes, a term which is primarily used for the warrior. The people follow him as the young sawbill-ducks follow the mother bird. He makes the people suffer with his short-life maker; he shoves away the tribes. His rival whom he tries to vanquish is called, he with ruffled feathers; the one whom he puts across his back (like a wolf carrying a deer); the one with lolling tongue; the one who loses his tail (like the salmon); the spider woman; old dog; mouldy face; dry face; broken piece of copper.

Greatness of a chief is called the weight of his name; when he marries a princess he lifts her weight from the floor; his wealth of blankets is a mountain that rises through our heavens; in the feast surrounded by his tribe, he stands on his fortress. Wealth that he acquires is a salmon that he catches.

When following ancient customs the people walk the road laid out for them by their ancestors.

The warrior or a person of ill temper is called “hellebore”. The warrior is also called “the double-headed serpent of the world”.

Metaphorical terms are an important element in the speeches accompanying public purchases, particularly the purchase of valuable “coppers”. Many of these terms are accompanied by symbolic actions. The first part of the payment in the purchase of a copper is called the pillow or mattress on which the copper is to rest or the harpoon line by which it is hauled in. The purchase itself is called “shoving” that means pushing the value of the purchase under the name of the purchaser who is thus raised in rank. At the end of the transaction the seller gives to the purchaser a certain number of blankets (which are the standard of value) as a “belt” to hold up the blankets (in which the purchase price is reckoned); as boxes in which to store these blankets; and finally he gives an amount as a dress for his dancer (that is his female relative who dances for him on festive occasions).

When a person gives a great feast for his rival he extinguishes the fire of his rival’s house; his feast steps up to the fire in the middle of the house. If he surpasses his rival in liberality, his feast steps across the fire and reaches the rear of the house where the chief is seated.

Presents for a bride are a packline to carry her property; a mat on which she is to sit; and a mast for her canoe.

I do not mention here the many euphemistic terms for sickness and death, except a few that are used in speeches: the dead chief has gone to take a rest; he has disappeared from this world; he stays away; or he lies down.

Metaphorical figures in songs are not rare. Of the death of a renowned man who was drowned, it is said in his mourning song:

And in another mourning song[149]:

In a feast-song the chief is compared to the salmon[150]:

In another feast-song the rivals are compared to insects[151]:

In still another song he is compared to a tree[152]:

A number of sayings of the Tsimshian present also good cases of the use of metaphor. “A deer though toothless, may accomplish something”; “he is just sleeping on a deerskin” (i. e. not expecting approaching hardships); “it seems you think that Nass River is always calm” (i. e. that you will always be fortunate); “he is just enjoying the water lilies for a short time” (as a bear feeding on water lilies and about to be killed by the hunter who lies in ambush).[153]

Examples of metaphor may be found here and there in songs and speeches. The Osage sing:

The valley and the bend of the river represent the path of life which is pictured as crossing four valleys or as following the course of the river having four bends.[154] This concept also finds expression in the decorative art of the Indians of the Plains.[155]

Another metaphor is used in the following illustration:

Here the slipping off of moccasins means the crushing and killing of the enemy, here personified in the adolescent youth.[156]

In the speech containing the migration legend of the Creek, the head-chief Chekilli said: “The Cussetaws cannot yet leave their red hearts, which are, however, white on one side and red on the other”.[157]

James Mooney records the following formula for success in hunting. obtained from the Cherokee.[158]

Give me the wind. Give me the breeze. Yu! O Great Terrestrial Hunter, I come to the edge of your spittle where you repose. Let your stomach cover itself; let it be covered with leaves. Let it cover itself at a single bend, and may you never be satisfied.

And you, O Ancient Red, may you hover above my breast while I sleep. Now let good (dreams?) develop; let my expressions be propitious. Ha! Now let my little trails be directed, as they lie down in various directions (?). Let the leaves be covered with the clotted blood, and may it never cease to be so. You two shall bury it in your stomachs. Yu.

In this formula the gods of the hunt, fire and water are called upon. The Great Terrestrial Hunter is the river, its spittle the foam; the blood-stained leaves on which the game has been killed are to cover the surface of the water. The hunter asks that all the game may be assembled at one bend of the river which is supposed to long for evermore. In the second part, the Ancient Red is the fire. It hovers over the breast because the hunter rubs his chest with ashes. The blood-stained leaves are thrown into the fire and into the water which is expressed by having them buried in the stomach.

The contents of primitive narrative, poetry and song are as varied as the cultural interests of the singers. It does not seem admissible to measure their literary value by the standards of the emotions that they release in us. We ought to inquire in how far they are an adequate expression of the emotional life of the natives. To primitive man, hunger is something entirely different from what it is to us who ordinarily do not know what the pangs of hunger mean, who do not realize all the implications of starvation. If a people like the Bushmen or the Eskimo sing of their joy after a successful hunt and after a hearty meal, if the Orang Semang of the Malay Peninsula sing of the gathering of fruit and of the successful hunt, the connotation of these songs is no different from that of a harvest song. We are too easily mislead by the concreteness of the picture and assume that the emotional connotation that we require in poetry must be absent. Even among ourselves a graphic passage in a lyric poem does not by any means always release a definite, mental image but appeals rather through the feelings engendered by the descriptive terms. For this reason we must necessarily assume that the emotional setting of the picture is the essential poetic element for the singer, not the objective terms that alone appeal to us because we are not familiar with the emotions of every day native life. We feel only the graphic value of the words. The much-quoted Semang[159] song represents a good example:

This song which deals with plants and animals serving as food, should be compared with another one that is more readily appreciated by us:

If we feel the latter as a more poetic type it is presumably only because we cannot share the feelings aroused in the Orang Semang by the reference to the efforts in gathering fruit and in hunting animals. The effectiveness of poetry does not depend upon the power of expressive description that releases clear mental images, but upon the energy with which words arouse the emotions.

It is misleading to compare primitive poetry that has been recorded by collectors with the literary poetry of our times. The coarse sexual songs or drinking songs that do not form part of our polite literature, are quite on a par with the songs that may be heard in primitive society in the company of lusty young men or excited young women and their prevalence in existing collections is, in all probability, merely due to the inability of the collector to approach the natives in moments of religious devotion, of tender love, or poetic exaltation. In many cases it is quite obvious that some of the songs collected were made to make fun of the collector. It is not admissible to build on the meagre evidence that we possess, a system of development of lyrics in which the coarse forms, the exuberant spirits of every day life are mistaken for the expression of the highest poetic achievement. In all those cases in which fuller collections are available, as in America for instance from the Omaha, Eskimo, Kwakiutl, and from some of the southwestern tribes, there is ample evidence of poetic feeling that moves on higher planes.

Still, poetic susceptibility is not the same everywhere, neither in form nor in intensity. The local culture determines what kind of experiences have a poetic value and the intensity with which they act. I select as an example the difference between the descriptive style found in Polynesia and that of many Indian traditions. In the Fornander collection of Hawaiian tales we read: “They admired the beauty of his appearance. His skin was like to a ripe banana. His eyeballs were like the young buds of a banana. His body was straight and without blemish and he was without an equal.” In the story of Laieikawai it is said: “I am not the mistress of this shore. I come from inland, from the top of the mountain which is clothed in a white garment.” It would be a vain task to search for similar passages in the literature of many Indian tribes. The American Indians differ considerably among themselves in regard to this trait. Tsimshian tales are rich when compared to the barrenness of the descriptive tales of the Plateau tribes.

Poetic descriptions appear more frequently in songs. However even these are not found everywhere. The songs of the Indians of the Southwest suggest that the phenomena of nature have impressed the poet deeply, although it must be remembered that most of his descriptive terms are stereotyped ceremonial expressions.

As an example I give the following song of the Navaho:[160]

Of similar character is the following song of the Apache:[161]

The following song of the Pima has also ceremonial significance:[162]

The following Eskimo song which describes the beauty of nature is well known:[163]

A song, provided it does not contain intelligible words, may be of purely formal esthetic value, which depends upon its melodic and rhythmic character. Even these forms may be attached to more or less different groups of ideas of emotional value. On the other hand the established significance of the song may vary materially when different sets of words are used with it. We observe this in our own culture, when diverse thoughts are expressed in the same metre or when distinct poems are sung according to the same tune,—as, for example, happened in the transfer of folksongs into religious songs. I do not know in how far this may happen in primitive poetry. Among the tribes that I know best there is a decided tendency to associate a certain rhythm with a certain set of songs. Thus the five part rhythm of the Northwest coast of America seems to be closely connected with the religious winter ceremonial; the mourning songs with slow regular beating.

The inherent relation between literary type and culture appears also clearly in narrative.

The motives of action are determined by the mode of life and the chief interests of the people, and the plots give us a picture of these.

In many typical tales of the Chukchee of Siberia the subject of the tale is the tyranny and overmastering arrogance of an athletic hunter or warrior and the attempts of the villagers to free themselves. Among the Eskimo a group of brothers often take the place of the village bully. Among both groups of people who live in small settlements, without any hard and fast political organization, the fear of the strongest person plays an important role, no matter whether his power is founded on bodily strength or on supposed supernatural qualities. The story uses generally a weak, despised boy as savior of the community. Although tales of overbearing chiefs do occur among the Indians they are not by any means a predominant type.

The principal theme of the Indians of British Columbia, whose thoughts are almost entirely taken up by the wish to obtain rank and high position in the community, is the tale of a poor man who attains high position, or of the struggles between two chiefs who try to outdo each other in feats that will increase their social standing. Among the Blackfeet the principal theme is the acquisition of ceremonies, possession and practise of which is a most important element in their life.

All these differences are not entirely those of content but they influence the form of the narrative, because the incidents are tied together in different ways. The same motive recurs over and over again in the tales of primitive people, so that a large mass of material collected from the same tribe is liable to be very monotonous, and after a certain point has been reached only new variants of old themes are obtained.

However, much more fundamental are the differences which are based on the general difference of cultural outlook. The same story told by different tribes may bear an entirely different face. Not only is the setting distinct, the motivation and the main points of the tales are emphasized by different tribes in different ways and take on a local coloring that can be understood only in relation to the whole culture. An example selected from among the tales of the North American Indians will illustrate this point. I chose the story of the star husband, which is told on the prairies, in British Columbia, and on the North Atlantic coast. The prairie tribes tell that two maidens go out to dig roots and camp out. They see two stars and wish to be married to them. The next morning they find themselves in the sky married to the stars. They are forbidden to dig certain large roots, but the young women disobey the orders of their husbands and, through a hole in the ground they see the earth below. By means of a rope they climb down. From here on, the story takes distinctive forms in different geographical areas. In one form the adventures of the women after their return are described, in the other the feats of the child born by one of them. The central view-point of the same story as told by the Indians of British Columbia is completely changed. The girls of a village build a house in which they play and one day they talk about the stars, how happy they must be because they are able to see the whole world. The next morning they awake in the sky, in front of the house of a great chief. The house is beautifully carved and painted. Suddenly a number of men appear who pretend to embrace the girls but kill them by sucking out their brains. Only the chief’s daughter and her younger sister are saved. The elder sister becomes the wife of the chief of the stars. Finally the chief sends them back with the promise to help them whenever they are in need. They find the village deserted and the star chief sends down his house and the masks and whistles belonging to a ceremony which becomes the hereditary property of the woman’s family. The tale ends with the acquisition of the house and the ceremony, matters that are the chief interest in the life of the Indians. In this way the story becomes one of the long series of tales of similar import, although the contents belong to an entirely distinct group.

As a second example I mention the story of Amor and Psyche which has been cast into a new mould by the Pueblo Indians. Here the antelope appears in the form of a maiden. She marries a youth who is forbidden to see the girl. He transgresses this order and, by the light of a candle, looks upon her while she is asleep. Immediately the girl and house disappear and the young man finds himself in the wallow of an antelope.

Equally instructive are the transformations of biblical stories in the mouths of the natives. Dr. Benedict and Dr. Parsons have recorded a nativity story of the Zuni in which Jesus appears as a girl, the daughter of the sun. After the child is born the domestic animals lick it, only the mule refuses to do so and is punished with sterility. The whole story has been given a new aspect. It is made to account for the fertility of animals, and tells how fertility may be increased, a thought uppermost in the minds of the Pueblos.

European fairy tales differ in this respect from those of primitive tribes, for in contents and form they embrace many survivals of past times. It is quite evident that the modern European fairy tale does not reflect the conditions of the State of our times, nor the conditions of our daily life, but that they give us an imaginative picture of rural life in semifeudal times, and that, owing to the contradictions between modern intellectualism and the ancient rural tradition, conflicts of viewpoints occur that may be interpreted as survivals. In the tales of primitive people it is otherwise. A detailed analysis of the traditional tales of a number of Indian tribes shows complete agreement of the conditions of life with those that may be abstracted from the tales. Beliefs and customs in life and in tales are in full accord. This is true not only of old native material but also of imported stories that have been borrowed some time ago. They are quickly adapted to the prevailing mode of life. The analysis of tales from the Northwest coast and from the Pueblos gives the same result. Only during the period of transition to new modes of life, such as are brought about by contact with Europeans, contradictions develop. Thus it happens that in the tales of Laguna, one of the Pueblos of New Mexico, the visitor always enters through the roof of the house, although the modern houses have doors. The headman of the ceremonial organization plays an important role in many tales, although the organization itself has largely disappeared. The tales of the Plains Indians still tell of buffalo hunts although the game has disappeared and the people have become tillers of the soil and laborers.

It would be erroneous to assume that the absence of survivals of an earlier time can be explained as due to the permanence of conditions, to a lack of historical change. Primitive culture is a product of historical development no less than modern civilization. Mode of life, customs, and beliefs of primitive tribes are not stable; but the rate of change, unless disturbances from the outside occur, is slower than among ourselves. What is lacking is the pronounced social stratification of our times that brings it about that the various groups represent, as it were, different periods of development. So far as my knowledge goes we find the cultural, formal background of the art of narrative of primitive people almost entirely determined by its present cultural state. The only exceptions are found in periods of an unusually rapid change or of disintegration. However, in this case also a readjustment occurs. Thus the stories of the modern negroes of Angola reflect the mixed culture of the west African coast. In the cultural background of the narrative, survivals do not play an important role, at least not under normal conditions. The plot may be old and taken from foreign sources, but in its adoption it undergoes radical changes.

These remarks relating to literature do not mean, of course, that in other aspects of life ancient customs and beliefs may not persist over long periods.

We have spoken so far of the structure of the elements of prose tales and songs. Important characteristics are found also in the manner of their composition. In the narratives of some people the episodes are anecdotally short; among others the wish for a more complex structure is felt. Often this is accomplished by the meagre device of concentrating all the anecdotes around one personage.

In many cases the craftiness, strength, voracity or amorousness of the hero gives a more or less definite character to the whole cycle. The Raven tale of Alaska consists entirely of unrelated episodes. The only connecting element, besides the identity of the hero, is the voracity of the Raven; but even this disappears in many cases. Quite similar are the Coyote tales of the Plateaus, the Spider tales of the Sioux, the Rabbit tales of the Algonquin, the Spider tales of the Guinea coast, the Rabbit and Turtle tales of South Africa, and the Fox tales of Europe. There is no inner connection between the specific character of the hero and the contents in the anecdote of the hoodwinked dancers (birds are induced to dance with closed eyes so as to give the hero a chance to wring their necks without being observed); in the tale of the eye juggler (the hero who is induced to throw up his eyes which are then caught in the branches of a tree so that he becomes blind); or in the incident of the bungling host (the hero is invited to partake of magically obtained food and he reciprocates the invitation but is ignominiously defeated in his attempt to repeat the magical procedure).

Sometimes the tales are strung on the slight thread of an Odyssey, of a tale of adventure and travel. To this class belongs the Eskimo tale of a hero who escaped a storm created by magic, and who encountered dangers of the sea which are described in some detail. He reaches a foreign coast and encounters cannibals and other dangerous creatures. Finally he reaches home again. Another case of this kind is a newly developed legend of the Tlingit of Alaska. In the early days of Russian colonization of Alaska the Tlingit attacked the fort at Sitka and the Russian governor, Baranoff, had to flee. After a few years he returned to reestablish the fort. This interval is filled by the Tlingit with a marvellous journey, telling how he goes in search of his son. He encounters fabulous beings that are known from other tales, visits the entrance to the lower world and communicates with the ghosts who give him instructions. Among the Pueblo Indians a large number of incidents are connected in a tale of migration in which the whole tribe participates.

In other cases there is an effort to establish an inner connection between the single elements. Thus the disconnected Raven tale of Alaska has been remodelled in southern British Columbia in such a manner that some of the elements of the tale have been brought into an inner connection: The thunder-bird steals a woman. In order to recover her the raven makes a whale of wood and kills the gum because he needs it to caulk the whale. In another tale the killing of the gum is the introduction to a visit to the sky. The sons of the murdered gum ascend the sky to take revenge.

Other tales are so developed that they form a complex, novelistic plot. The creation legends of the Polynesians are of this character. Even among those tribes that enjoy the brief, etiological anecdote, tales occur that contain the elements of an epic poem. The bare outlines of a family story of the Kwakiutl may serve as an example: The Thunderbird and his wife live in heaven, they descend to our earth and become the ancestors of a family. The Transformer meets them and in a series of contests the two prove to be of equal power. Finally the transformer puts frogs into the stomach of the Thunderbird-ancestor who takes them out again and deposits them on a rock. The sons of one of his friends go and then the frogs enter their stomachs, but they are cured by the Thunderbird-ancestor. In return he receives a magic canoe. The tale goes on to relate the birth, magic growth, and exploits of his four children. His wife is ravished by a spirit and gives birth to a boy who is washed in the slime of a double-headed serpent. Thus his skin becomes stone. The tale continues with a long series of warlike exploits of this son. Finally he woos a princess for one of his brothers. On a visit to her home the son of this princess is made fun of by the children in the village of her father. This results in a war in which the village of her father is destroyed. One of the wives of her father escapes and gives birth to a boy. The second wife of her father is enslaved by Stone-Body, the young man whose skin had been transformed into stone. She gives birth to a boy and by a ruse succeeds in making her escape with her son. The two brothers grow up and, in a series of adventures and exploits, both obtain supernatural power. They meet and travel towards the village of their father, killing and transforming on the way dangerous monsters. Meanwhile Stone-Body has obtained a ceremonial from a southern tribe and goes to Feather-Mountain in the north to obtain bird’s down, needed for this dance. On his way back he meets the ancestors of another tribe and they have a contest of magical powers. In this he is overcome and killed with his whole crew. In the main story this incident is omitted. He goes on and the two brothers, the daughters of the escaped woman overturn his canoe and kill him. On a visit to her father the woman married to Stone-Body’s brother sees the head of Stone-Body and her child reports this after their return. Then her husband’s people set out to take revenge but all are killed by the two brothers, who give a feast in their house and maltreat their guests.

So far we have considered only the reflection of cultural life in the form of the narrative. Its influence is also expressed in another manner. When the narrative is thoroughly integrated in the life of the people a process occurs quite similar to the one we observed in decorative art. As a geometric form often receives a secondary meaning that is read into it, so the narrative is given an interpretative significance that is quite foreign to the original tale; and as in decorative art the adventitious meaning varies in character according to the culture of the people, thus the style of the interpretation of a tale depends upon the cultural interests of the people telling it and, accordingly, assumes distinctive forms. We have found that art styles are apt to be disseminated over wide areas while the explanatory meaning of art forms shows much greater individuality. Precisely in the same manner, tales are apt to travel over enormous areas but their significance changes according to the various cultural interests of the tribes. As an example I refer to the story of the girl who married a dog, a tale widely spread in North America. It is used to explain the origin of the milky way (Alaska); the origin of the culture hero (British Columbia); the origin of the tribal ancestor (Southern British Columbia); the origin of a constellation (interior of British Columbia); the origin of a red cliff (interior of Alaska); the origin of the Dog Society (Blackfoot); and the reason why dogs are the friends of man (Arapaho).[164]

The view of the historical development of explanatory tales here expressed is analogous to that regarding the relation of symbolism and design. The general type of interpretation of symbolism exists in the tribe and the tale is made to conform to it. In many cases the symbolic or interpretative explanation is a foreign element added on to the design or to the tale in agreement with a stylistic pattern controlling the imagination of the people. This process may lead indirectly also to a conformable stylistic development of other representations, or to attempts to give explanations for the phenomena of nature. Only on the basis of a pre-existing style which has its origin in non-symbolic and non-interpretative sources can the resultant form develop.

It must not be assumed that the literary style of a people is uniform, on the contrary the forms are quite varied. I have pointed out before that unity of style is not found in decorative art either, that many cases may be adduced in which different styles are used in different industries or among different groups of the population. Just so we find in a tribe complex tales that have definite structural cohesion, and brief anecdotes; some told with an evident enjoyment of diffuse detail, others almost reduced to a formula. An example of this are the long stories and the animal fables of the Eskimo. The former treat of events happening in human society, of adventurous travel, of encounters with monsters and supernatural beings, of deeds of shamans. They are novelistic tales. On the other hand many of the animal fables are mere formulas. Similar contrasts are found in the tales and fables of the negroes.

The styles of songs vary also considerably according to the occasion for which they are composed. Among the Kwakiutl we find long songs in which the greatness of the ancestors is described in the form of recitatives. In religious festivals songs are used of rigid rhythmic structure, accompanying dances. In these the same words or syllables are repeated over and over again, except that another appellation for the supernatural being in whose honor they are sung is introduced in each new stanza. Again of a different type are the love songs which are not by any means rare.

It is striking that certain literary forms are found among all the races of the old world while they are unknown in America. Here belongs particularly the proverb. The important position held by the proverb in the literature of Africa, Asia, and also of Europe until quite recent times, is well known. In Africa particularly do we find the proverb in constant use. It is even the basis of court decisions. The importance of the proverb in Europe is illustrated by the way in which Sancho Panza applies it. Equally rich is Asiatic literature in proverbial sayings. On the contrary, hardly any proverbial sayings are known from American Indians. I have referred before to a few metaphorical sayings of the Tsimshian, the only proverbial sayings known to me north of Mexico.[165]

The same conditions are found in regard to the riddle, one of the favorite pass-times of the Old World, which is almost entirely absent in America. Riddles are known from the Yukon River, a region in which Asiatic influences may be discovered in several cultural traits, and also in Labrador. In other parts of the continent careful questioning has failed to reveal their occurrence. It is striking that even in New Mexico and Arizona, where Indians and Spaniards have been living side by side for several centuries and where Indian literature is full of Spanish elements, the riddle, nevertheless, has not been adopted, although the Spaniards of this region are as fond of riddles as those of other parts of the country. Sahagun, however, records a number of riddles from Mexico.[166]

As a third example I mention the peculiar development of the animal tale. Common to mankind the world over is the animal fable by means of which form and habits of animals, or the existence of natural phenomena are explained. The moralising fable, on the other hand, belongs to the Old World.

The distribution of epic poetry is also wide, but nevertheless limited to a fairly definitely circumscribed area, namely Europe and a considerable part of Central Asia. We have mentioned that in America long, connected tribal traditions occur, but up to this time no trace of a composition that might be called a romance or a true epic poem has ever been discovered. Neither can the Polynesian legends telling of the descent and deeds of their chiefs be designated as epic poetry. The distribution of this form can be understood only on the basis of the existence of ancient cultural relations. For this reason Wundt’s analysis of the origin of the epic poem does not seem adequate. It has a meaning only in so far as the inclination existed to express in song tribal history and the deeds of heroes, a pattern that developed locally, but that is not of universal occurrence.

On the ground of the distribution of these types two conclusions may be established: the one that these forms are not necessary steps in the development of literary form, but that they occur only under certain conditions; the other that the forms are not determined by race, but depend upon historical happenings.

If at the time when Europeans first came to the New World the literature of the Americans did not possess the three types of literature which we mentioned, it does not follow that they would have appeared at a later time. We have no reason whatever to assume that American literature was less developed than that of Africa. On the contrary, the art of narrative and poetry are highly developed in many parts of America. We must rather assume that the historical conditions have led to a form different from that of the Old World.

The wide distribution of most of these forms among Europeans, Mongols, Malay, and Negro proves the independence of literary development from racial descent. It shows that it is one of the characteristics of the enormously extended cultural area, which embraces almost the whole of the Old World, and which in other features also appears in distinct contrast to the New World. I mention here only the development of a formal judicial procedure, founded on the taking of evidence, the oath and the ordeal and the absence of this complex in America; and the absence in America of the belief in obsession and of the evil eye which are widely known in the Old World.

The characteristics of poetry lead us to a consideration of the forms of music. The only kind of music that is of universal occurrence is song; and the source of music must therefore be sought here. Universally valid characteristics of song will also be general principles of music. Two elements are common to all song: rhythm and fixed intervals. We have shown before that rhythm must not be conceived on the basis of our modern regularity as a sequence of measures of equal duration and somewhat free subdivision, but its form is much more general. Apparent irregularity must not be misinterpreted as a lack of rhythm, for in each repetition of a song the same order is preserved without change. Precisely as the rhythmic order in primitive decorative art is more complex than our own, so also is the rhythm of music liable to be more complex. Regular measures do occur, but they are not so rigidly confined to 2, 3 or 4 part time, as our own, but 5 and 7 part sequences frequently occur, in fact predominate in some types of music: five part rhythms are common in northwestern America, 7 part rhythms in southern Asia. Alterations of rhythms that seem unfamiliar to us are found, as well as very complex sequences that cannot be reduced to measures at all. We may best describe the rhythm of many types of primitive music as consisting of a regular sequence of musical phrases of irregular structure. Sometimes the phrases expand into long rhythmic units without recognisable subdivision.

A second and all-important element of all music is the use of fixed intervals which may be transposed from one point of the tone series to another and which are always recognized as equivalent. In singing, these intervals are naturally inaccurate, for intonation is uncertain and wavering and depends upon the intensity of emotional excitement. Intervals are liable to increase, as the emotions of the singers are raised to a higher pitch. It is, therefore, difficult if not impossible to say what the singers intend to sing. The musical interval may be compared with the melody of language. Most languages do not use pitch in such a way that it is an important, significant part of articulation. The use of pitch in language is more widely distributed than is generally known. It is not by any means the exclusive feature of Chinese, but it occurs in Africa as well as in America, not to speak of its familiar use in the Scandinavian languages and in ancient Greek. Theoretically it is conceivable that early human speech might have used fixed intervals and musical phrasing of vowels and voiced consonants just as well as different timbre of vowels (that is our a, e, i, o, u, and other vowel values), to express different ideas, but it cannot be proved that such was done. It is much more likely, according to available linguistic evidence that musical tone in language is a secondary development due to the disappearance of formative elements. We must also consider that in languages with tone, glides are of great importance and that these are not typical parts of the melodic sequence, although they occur as endings of phrases. Furthermore the intervals of speech are not fixed and vary considerably according to the position of the word in the phrase. It does not seem likely, therefore, that the melody can be derived directly from speech, as Herbert Spencer tried to do. I rather adhere to the opinion of Stumpf who demands a different origin for the fixed interval. The sustained cry is much more likely to use fixed intervals and stable tones.

Whatever their origin may have been, we must recognize the existence of fixed intervals and their transponability as the fundamental requirements of all music. It is true that in some languages the value of the fixed interval is keenly felt. This is demonstrated by the so-called drum language of West Africa in which the speech melody and rhythm is repeated on drums of definite tones and where these tone sequences are understood.

Further investigation of primitive music requires a study of the intervals themselves. Notwithstanding the great differences of systems we find that all intervals may be interpreted as subdivisions of the octave. To the untrained ear the octave appears very commonly as a single tone; in other words, no distinction is made between a tone and its octave. To a lesser extent this is true of the fifth and even of the fourth. The majority of intervals that have been found must be considered as subdivisions of the octave. However, the subdivision does not always proceed according to harmonic principles as in our music, but by equidistant tones. The development of harmony in modern music has had the effect that we have lost all feeling for equidistance in a harmonic series and that the recent music in which non-harmonic equidistant tones are applied require a difficult break with the pattern of musical form to which we are accustomed. After a long struggle, we have reached a compromise between the two systems, the harmonic and the equidistant, by dividing the octave into twelve equal parts which give a fairly close agreement to the natural harmonic intervals, although the differences are audible to a trained ear. The Javanese divide the octave into seven equidistant steps, the Siamese into five, systems that are in fundamental conflict with those of our music. In short, a great variety of scales exist and serve as foundation for the musical systems of different people. All seem to have in common as foundation the octave.

I will not enter into this intricate subject any further, because a safe method has not yet been found that would enable us to tell definitely what people want to sing among whom there is no theory of music, as it exists among ourselves or the civilized people of Asia, and who have no exactly constructed instruments.

Among musical instruments one type is of universal distribution: the percussion instruments, or perhaps better instruments for producing noises that carry the rhythm of the song. In the simplest cases these are sticks with which boards or other resounding objects are struck. But besides these we find everywhere the use of some kind of a drum: wooden, hollow boxes, hollow cylinders or hoops covered with a drum head of skin. Rattles, and locally other devices for producing noises occur. Not so general, for musical purposes, is the use of wind instruments. Whistles used as calls are perhaps universal, but the flute or pipe is not used everywhere as a musical instrument. Still more restricted is the use of stringed instruments. At the time of the discovery they were entirely unknown in America. Among primitive tribes, including the whole of America, song was accompanied only by rhythmic beating on instruments of percussion. It is interesting to note that the beats did not always coincide with the accent of the song, but had often an independent, though coordinated rhythm (see p. 315). Singing in several parts is also unknown in primitive music. In Africa solo singing and response of a chorus occurs, and a kind of polyphony due to the overlapping of these. Sometimes true singing in parts has been observed in Africa.

Music is always expressionistic and we are apt to associate with a tune and rhythm a definite mood, but these associations vary considerably with local styles. I have referred, in another place, to the feelings associated among ourselves with the major and minor keys. These are not by any means shared by people who have grown up under the influence of another musical style. It is likely that the symbolic meaning of music alone is vaguer than that of song; but it is difficult to reach a definite decision in regard to this question, for there is very little music without song or without association with symbolic or representative actions. The condition is perhaps comparable to that found in the symbolic significance of graphic and plastic arts, the connotations of which are, as we have seen, certain only when a definite relation between form and implied content exist. It is intelligible that a type of tune that is always applied in mourning ceremonies will produce the proper emotional effect, while the same type of tune without such definite setting might have quite a different effect.

The present state of our knowledge of primitive music does not permit us to establish definite musical areas, but enough is known to prove that as all other cultural features, we may recognize a series of musical areas, each characterized by common fundamental traits. The narrow compass of tunes of east Siberian songs, the falling cadence with repetition of motives on a falling series of fundamental tones among the Plains Indians, the antiphony of Negro songs are examples of this kind. The varying systems of tonality, the use of purely instrumental music, the kind of accompaniment of song, are others. It seems quite certain that it will be possible to determine large areas in which, by diffusion, similar types of musical art have developed and in which, by subdivision, local types may be segregated similar in character to those found in decorative art. Even in the modern folk music of Europe a definite character of the folkmusic of each nation may be recognized. Borrowed melodies adapted to local forms illustrate this type of individuality. As an example of such adaptation I give on the next page a German song which has been adopted by the Mexicans. It was probably carried there by the army of Maximilian.

On account of the interrelation between body movements and articulations it seems likely that rhythmic body movements release rhythmic articulations, that is song; and that in this sense, songs that consist of meaningless syllables may have their origin in movement. On the other hand the excitement engendered by song leads to movements that are related to the rhythm of the song, so that in this sense, a dance is conditioned by the song. We mean here by dance, the rhythmic movements of any part of the body, swinging of the arms, movement of the trunk or head, or movements of the legs and feet. The two forms of expression are mutually determined.

We have to remember here the general remarks which we made in the beginning in regard to all art. We saw that without a formal element art does not exist. Technical work without fixed form does not create artistic enjoyment. In the same way violent, expressive movement born of the passion of the moment is not art. Art as an expression of feeling requires form as much as art born of the control of technical processes. If it were not selfevident we might have pointed out also that the passionate cry is neither poetry nor music. It is, therefore, not appropriate to call dance all the violent movements that occur in the lives of primitive people. We must reserve the term to movements of fixed form, although it may be recognized that in the height of excitement dance may turn into a formless tumult of motion, as music may change to formless cries of wildest excitement.

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We observe among all primitive tribes that emotions finding vent in motor activities adopt a definite form. In this sense dance as an art form may be purely formal, that is, devoid of symbolic meaning. Its esthetic effect may be founded on the enjoyment of body movement, often reinforced by that emotional excitement that is released by the dance movement. The more formal the dance, the stronger will be the purely esthetic enjoyment, as against the emotional element.