Chapter IX: Part 9

Historical tradition confirms our view that the northern art type is of recent introduction among the Kwakiutl. In ancient times the walls of the houses were built of horizontal, overlapping boards that did not admit painting, except on separate planks. Old Indians claim that, until about 1860, the house posts were heavy planks with relief carving or painting,—like those known to us from Fraser River, and that only masks were of the same type as those now in use.

While realistic representations are rare among the northern tribes, they are found quite frequently among the Kwakiutl. They are principally caricatures that are made and exhibited for the purpose of ridiculing a rival. A head used in a ceremonial performance has been referred to before (fig. 156 p. 185).

I have stated that in basketry and matting geometrical ornamentation is used by all the tribes. It is the style of the woman’s art. On decorated mats checker designs are made in black and red on the background of natural color of cedar bark (fig. 302). More elaborate are the patterns which occur on spruce root weaving, particularly on hats. These are made by twining, and ornamental lines are developed by the occasional skipping of two woof strands. By this device lines are produced which appear raised over the surface of the plain weaving. The most frequent designs which are made in this way consist of a series of diamonds and of zig-zag lines. Sometimes these hats are also painted. In these the woven pattern disappears almost completely under the painted design (fig. 303).

On the coast of Alaska we find the highest development of the geometric style.

The patterns used on these baskets consist of angular forms, except on modern placques, and bear names.[116] From the way in which these are used we may infer that they have no symbolic significance. I give here a selection of these. Fig. 304 _a_, _b_, _c_, patterns consisting of zig-zag lines, represent in this order: the woodworm or the woodworm tracks (_a_), lightning (_b_), the butterfly (_c_). The rectangle divided by an oblique line, (_d_), represents tracks of the bear; the dark part of the rectangle may be interpreted as the sole of the foot; the light part of the rectangle as the claws. The design (_e_) is called the arrow; (_f_) the rainbow; (_g_) fire weed; and (_h_) the hood of the raven. Fig. 305 _a_ shows various representations of the isosceles triangle, some of which are identical with the forms occurring in California. All of these are called head of the salmon-berry. The designs _b_, _c_, and _d_, are closely related; (_b_) is generally used on the narrow central band which separates two broad design bands; it is called “tying”. Flying geese are represented in (_c_); tracks of geese in (_d_). The complicated design in (_e_) is called “raven tail”; the relation between this name and the form is not clear; (_f_) shows a number of representations of the wave. Designs (_g_) and (_h_) are from circular placques; (_g_) represents the fern frond; (_h_) the porpoise. In the last named case the relation between form and name is obscure.

[116] G. T. Emmons, The Basketry of the Tlingit, Memoirs American Museum of Natural History. Vol. 3 (1903) pp. 229 et seq.

I have little doubt that the designs are closely related to the blanket patterns previously referred to and to the porcupine quill embroidery of the tribes of the interior. The design fig. 304 _h_, for instance, is found in identical form on the lowest stripe of the Bella Coola blanket on top of Plate XII. The arrangement of patterns in blocks on these blankets is also similar to the arrangement found in this type of basketry. In fact the technique is a kind of embroidery in which the decorative material is wrapped around the woof strand when the basket is being made. The materials used are grasses and fern stems of contrasting color.

The baskets are round, mostly with almost straight walls. The diameter is very nearly equal to the height. On the majority of baskets which are used for berrying and as general receptacles, the patterns are applied in horizontal bands. The rim of the basket is generally undecorated. The rim weave which holds the warp together, is in most cases quite insignificant and does not give a decorative effect. The only specimen of decorative band at the upper rim, with which I am familiar, has no color embroidery but has only a zig-zag decoration made by the process of twilling described before, similar to the pattern fig. 304 _h_. Most baskets are decorated by a broad band parallel to the rim, which consists of two wide stripes separated by a narrow one. These bands are placed at a short distance from the upper rim. (Plate XIV). The distance is often about equal to the width of the central band. The designs on the wide upper and lower bands are generally identical. The central dividing band is in most cases decorated with small elements arranged in zig-zag lines. In a fairly large number of cases, only the two outer bands are embroidered, while the central band remains undecorated. In a few cases the central band is reduced to a single undecorated line of stitches so that the impression is conveyed of a single broad band encircling the whole basket. In open work spoon baskets the central band is placed near the middle of the basket, while the outer bands are moved to the bottom and to the upper border. Although some of the designs are of such a character that they may be used as continuous horizontal bands, there is a marked tendency of dividing up the circumference into a number of panels which are separated by straight vertical lines.

A considerable number of the baskets decorated with three bands have either two or four “droppers”, and in a few cases the design of the “dropper” is repeated over the upper design. The number of repetitions of the design in the bands is quite irregular, some of the large designs are repeated only twice. When there are many repetitions of the design in the upper and lower band their distribution is generally quite independent, that is, the upper and lower design elements are not fitted the one over the other.

Unfortunately there is not enough porcupine embroidery available that will allow us to investigate in detail the relations between the patterns used in this industry and in basketry. The designs here described are akin to the geometrical basketry patterns of other parts of the Pacific slope and to designs occurring in bead embroidery. They are entirely foreign to the painting and carving described in the previous pages.

Tlingit Baskets.]

Northwest Coast culture has exerted its influence over the tribes both of the north and south. The woodwork of the Columbia River region and of northern California has undoubtedly been stimulated by its example. Although the style changes materially, the technique of handling the wood and the relative abundance of wood carving indicates the interrelation of these cultures. Taken in conjunction with other features,—such as the peculiar type of correlation of wealth and rank and the extensive use of standards of value,—the historical relation seems firmly established. The art style of woodwork does not exhibit a close affinity to the North West Coast. We have shown that the older art of the Gulf of Georgia is quite distinct from that of the North West Coast. The further south we go the more meager become the vestiges of the symbolic style here treated.

In the north conditions are somewhat different. Even among the northern Tlingit tribes some types of masks may be observed that are conceptionally different from those found further south. They are characterized by the attachment of small animal figures to the face,—particularly on the forehead and cheeks. This usage is much more frequent among the Eskimo tribes.[117] Their masks tend to be flat and appear like plastic representations of their paintings and etchings: realistic forms of human or imaginary beings or of animals. They have adopted from the North West Coast the attachment of parts of the body to the face, while these parts,—such as hands and feet, retain their realistic character. The attachment of small animal forms to the face is quite frequent here. Its source may perhaps be found in the application of animal heads to carved objects, which is one of the principle features of the decorative art of the Alaskan Eskimo. It is exemplified in the needle cases shown in fig. 119, p. 125. The abundance of masks can hardly be understood unless we assume that the coast people of the south exerted a powerful influence over the Eskimo. The eastern Eskimo, among whom this influence is lacking, have few masks of quite a different type.

[117] Sie E. W. Nelson, The Eskimo about Bering Strait, 18^{th} Ann. Rep. Bur. Am. Ethn. (1899) Plates 95 et seq.; also the Athapascan masks from Anvik in J. W. Chapman, Notes on the Tinneh tribe of Anvik, Congrès International des Americanistes XV^e session, Vol 2, pp. 7 et seq.

The relation of the North West Coast art to that of the adjoining plateaus of the interior deserves special consideration. The contrast between the two is striking. A few of the tribes that have adopted, partially at least, totemic ideas of the coast people, as the Lillooet, have taken over with it a moderate amount of carving. A few that have fallen more fully under the sway of the North West Coast culture, as the Bella Coola, Babine, and a few of the Alaskan tribes near the coast of southern Alaska, have also, to a great extent, adopted the art style of the coast.

As soon as we move farther inland we find an art that, in its essential characteristics, is subject to the Plains art. The style and decoration of the clothing are essentially those of the Plains. Rude pictography is used extensively. There is hardly any attempt to fit the pictographic representation to the decorative field that serves merely as the background on which the representative design is conveniently placed. Most of the geometric patterns that do occur are closely related to eastern forms. A rawhide pouch from the interior of British Columbia (fig. 28, p. 36) may serve as an example. On parfleches and rawhide pouches from Fort Colville and from Columbia River (fig. 306) we find the same designs that are characteristic of eastern paintings on rawhide (see figs. 144-146 pp. 170-172). Analogous forms are found in bone carvings from the Tahltan in Alaska (fig. 307). In the southern parts of the plateaus of British Columbia, simple lines and circles with center are the most common decorative pattern on bone and on wood. Representative sculpture is rare although a few ancient specimens have been found. The archaeological remains prove that at an early time the same art type prevailed in the Delta of Fraser River. The symbolism of the patterns is very weak, but seems analogous to that found in the east.

Decorative art is most highly developed in basketry. The basketry of the Coast tribes is made by twining or weaving, but the highly decorated basketry of the interior is exclusively of the coiled type. Only among the Sahaptin and other tribes to the southeast do we find elaborately decorated twined bags. The twined weaving of the interior of British Columbia is largely undecorated or bears a few lines set off in lighter color. The coiled weaving is decorated by imbrication, a method peculiar to that part of the plateaus extending from the Columbia River to Chilcotin (fig. 308). In this area a number of decorative art styles have developed. These appear most clearly on the burden baskets. The southern baskets are round and flaring, those of southern British Columbia are angular in cross section, those of the north oblong and of irregular form. The southern baskets are decorated all over with designs resembling Californian patterns. Those of the Thompson River have design areas set off against an undecorated background. The designs are made by imbrication and extend over the whole side of the basket, evenly on all sides. The Lillooet baskets are more flaring than those of the Thompson. The coils are wider and the decorative field is arranged in a different manner. The imbrication is confined to the upper two-thirds of the basket while the lower part remains undecorated, except that there are frequently two hangers on the wide sides which may be compared to the hangers on Tlingit baskets, described before. I am doubtful whether there is an historical connection between the two, notwithstanding their striking similarity. The Indians suggest that the hangers may have developed from the earlier use of birch bark baskets. These were often wrapped at the upper part with buckskin the lower portion of which hung down freely in fringes, so that the droppers would represent the fringes. Many of the Lillooet designs are large. (Plate XV).

The Chilcotin type differs from the preceding by the small size of the coil and a distinctive form, the narrow ends being higher than the middle of the long sides. The treatment of the decorative field is similar to that used by the Tlingit. The ornamentation consists of three bands; the upper and the lower ones wide, bearing the same kind of decorative design and the central one narrower and either undecorated or showing a design of a different character. Arrangements of this kind are used so frequently that is seems hardly justifiable to consider them as proof of an historical connection between Tlingit and Chilcotin basketry. We find similar arrangements for instance in the pouches of the Woodland Indians referred to on p. 175, figs. 149, 150.

Imbricated Baskets from British Columbia and Washington.]

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]

[118] See Journal of American Folk-Lore, Vol. 7, p. 50.

“Aya, I am joyful; this is good!
Aya, there is nothing but ice around me, that is good!
Aya, I am joyful; this is good!
My country is nothing but slush, that is good!
Aya, I am joyful; this is good!
Aya, when, indeed, will this end? this is good!
I am tired of watching and waking, this is good!”

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

Ham ham hamaya, He-who-travels-from-one-end-of-the-world-to-the-other
ham ham.
Ham ham hamaya, The-great-cannibal-of-the-north-end-of-the-world,
ham ham.
Ham ham hamaya, He-who-carries-corpses-to-be-his-food,
ham ham.

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

I sawhaw the greaheat sp’rit tra’ling ’bout, ham ham.

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]

[119] Frances Densmore, Teton Sioux Music, Bull. Bur. Amer. Ethnol. 61, Washington, 1918; see, for instance No. 38, p. 162.

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.”

[120] Matilda Coxe Stevenson, The Sia, 11th Annual Report Bureau of Ethnology, Washington, 1894, pp. 54-55.

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.”

[121] Franz Boas, Keresan Texts, Publications of the American Ethnological Society, Vol. 8, p. 17.

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.”

[122] Frank H. Cushing, Zuni Creation Myths, 13th Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, p. 381.

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.

[123] Journal of American Folk-lore, Vol. 7, (1894), p. 45.

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]

[124] W. Bogoras, Publications of Jesup North Pacific Expedition, Vol. VIII, Chukchee Texts, p. 133.

“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.

[125] Franz Boas, Chinook Texts, Bull. Bur. of Ethnol. Washington D. C., (1894), pp. 9 et seq.

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:

“I have given to Hlabakoane, Kumonngoe,[126]
To the herd of our cattle Kumonngoe
I thought our cattle were going to stay in the kraal, Kumonngoe,
And so I gave him my father’s Kumonngoe.”

[126] The girl had a brother named Hlabakoane, to whom she had given a magical food, called Kumonngoe, that belonged to her father and that the girl had been forbidden to touch. E. Jacottet, The Treasury of Basuto Lore, Vol. 1, (1908), p. 114.

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.

[127] James Owen Dorsey, The Thegiha Language, Contributions to North American Ethnology, Vol. VI, (1890), Washington D. C., p. 284.

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

Lii-ku-honua, the man,
Ola-ku-honua, the woman,
Kumo-honua, the man,
Lalo-honua, the woman,

and so on through sixteen pairs.

[128] Fornander Collection of Hawaiian Antiquities and Folk-lore. Mem. Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum, Vol. VI, Honolulu, (1919), p. 365.

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

“When I am a man, then I shall be a hunter, o father! ya ha ha ha.
When I am a man, then I shall be a harpooneer,
o father! ya ha ha ha.
When I am a man, then I shall be a canoe-builder,
o father! ya ha ha ha.
When I am a man, then I shall be a carpenter, o father! ya ha ha ha.
When I am a man, then I shall be an artisan, o father! ya ha ha ha.
That we may not be in want, o father, ya ha ha ha.”

[129] Franz Boas, Ethnology of the Kwakiutl, 35th An. Rep. Bur. Am. Ethn., Washington, 1921, p. 1310.

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

Oh, I am drowning, help me!
Oh, now the waters reach my great ankles.
Oh, I am drowning, help me!
Oh, now the waters reach my great knees.

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

[130] W. Thalbitzer, The Ammassalik Eskimo, Meddelelser om Grønland, Vol. XL, p. 211. Compare before p. 309, for a similar formula from Cumberland Sound.

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

Spear his forehead
Spear his chest
Spear his liver
Spear his heart, etc.

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:

Now you will witness, Northerners,[131] the dance of Many-on-Fire,
the Daughter of Giver-of-Presents,
Now you will witness, Great Kwakiutl,[131] the dance of Many-on-Fire,
the Daughter of Giver-of-Presents,
Now you will witness, Rich Side,[131] the dance of Many-on-Fire,
the Daughter of Giver-of-Presents,

[131] These are names of tribes, Columbia Contributions to Anthropology, III, p. 140.

or:

“I have come Northerners; I have come Great Kwakiutl,
I have come Rich Side.”[132]

[132] Ibid., p. 142.

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:

Aw, ha ya ha ya hä
ha ya he ya ä
he ya ha ya ä
A, ha ya ha ya hä
aw, ha ya he ya hä
he ya ha ya hei
ya hä
hä hä wo wo wo.

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]

Mai hamama.
Haimama hamamai hamamamai.
Hamama hamamayamai
Haimama hamamai hamamamai.

[133] The Social Organization and the Secret Societies of the Kwakiutl Indians; Rep. U. S. National Mus. for 1895, Washington, 1897, p. 703.

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.

[134] Song Recitative in Paiute Mythology, Journal American Folk-lore, Vol. 23, pp. 455 et seq.

[135] F. Boas, Bull. A. M. N. H. Vol. 15, pp. 335, 340, tune in Sixth Annual Report Bureau of Ethnology, p. 655, no. 13.

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]

[136] Contributions to the Ethnology of the Kwakiutl, Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology, Vol. 3, p. 194, line 25.