Publications
NORTHEAST
FOLKLORE
Volume VI: 1964
MALECITE AND PASSAMAQUODDY TALES
Contents
|
Introduction |
Stories and the Art of Story-Telling
|
Kluskap Tales from the Malecite
|
Miscellaneous Malecite Tales |
Passamaquoddy Tales |
Bibliography
II. STORIES AND THE ART OF
STORY-TELLING
by E. Tappan Adney
Editor's Note: The following
essay was found among the Adney manuscripts. It was not in final
form. In fact, there were at least two separate typescripts, the
pages of which had become confused (probably by Adney himself) to
the extent that it was not always possible to determine which
version was which or which version Adney meant to be the “final”
one. Obviously some editing was necessary, and where the same
paragraph or section appeared in two different forms I have simply
chosen the best the one I would have chosen had I been Adney.
Nothing has been added to or left out of the substance of the essay,
and all my editorial changes have been indicated by brackets and
italics.
[Among the Indians] there
are two kinds of stories or tales and two manners of relation (if we
may simplify the matter so much). [First, there are] old
tales that have (or had) the content of poems, and, in the
originals, a noticeable rhythm. Such as these have been polished and
brought into [that] rhythmic form that in all primitive
narration has been found as the surest means of remembering [them]
and passing them along verbatim to generation after generation of
story-tellers, professionals we might call them, known by the name
No-dji-tak-win, “Man who makes an occupation of going about
talking.” But the Malecite gives this as the name for singer.
Beyond doubt in the olden time the narrator accompanied verbal
narration with some kind of intoned melody, a recitative with
melodic content greater or less, in the manner of the old bards and
Scandinavian scalds. Melody proper the Indian did not develop far.
And in the old Malecite narration there was gesture—we will not say
dancing. Translation has lost the rhythm of the Indian, and where a
rhythm or `poetic' form of translation is given the true meaning of
the original is lost.
A second kind of story, though it
may relate to the olden time “when men were animals and animals were
men,” may be called anecdotal. A formal cast might be given to the
language when Glus-kap and Mi-kum-wes (ordinary normal
forms) are replaced by Gluskab-e and Mi-kum-wes-u, the
suffixes indicating, in Malecite, that they are no more, are of a
past time. Many of these anecdotal stories have been recorded in
translation by Rand in Micmac, and Leland in his Algonquin
Legends (and later by Mechling for the National Museum of Canada
Malecite Tales). But these stories, though recorded and
admirably “adapted” in the lively spirit of such narration (For
Charles Godfrey Leland had long had experience in the study from
life of European folk-lore before he came upon the virtually unknown
Malecite-Micmac tales), lack something of the originals in both form
of content and manner of telling. I venture to make this statement
on [the] strength of a surprisingly critical opinion given by
my co-worker Peter Paul after [his] careful reading of the
stories in the Algonquin Legends of Leland, many of which he
has heard told. He says of recordings in general, that when the
teller knows that the story is being recorded (even by dictograph it
would be the same) he greatly shortens the tale, though not to the
extent of giving an abstract or summary of its contents. But he
omits a great amount of detail describing the actions of characters
that in life are well known to his Indian hearers. Thus a telling
of, say, half an hour will be spun out to a length perhaps of hours,
for the narrator is not hurried and so devotes his whole mind [to]
one object, that of making every word of the tale entertaining in
the highest degree. A good storyteller will throw such animation
into the relation as to make the enthralled listeners see the whole
picture of a scene before their eyes. He not only goes into details
of actions, when these are of an astonishing character (such as
those concerned with magic) but dwells upon each extraordinary,
unusual or unexpected action.
[To help him gain emphasis, the
good story-teller often introduces two expressions that serve as
prologues to extensive repetitions. Neither can be exactly
translated into English, and neither is apt to occur in recorded
versions of the tales. The first of these] is exclamatory and is
employed when some marvelous action is told about. When Rabbit [needs]
to escape a pursuer, Black-Cat (B'gumpk), he is compelled to
draw upon his medeulin, of which Rabbit possesses a great
store. Rabbit is always getting into trouble but manages by his wits
and magic powers to save himself. For how else could the weakest of
creatures that [even] the little weasel Sig-wes can
kill be able to survive and flourish? For such protection Rabbit
turns himself white in winter so as to make himself invisible on the
winter snow. When escaping from B'gumpk (who is sometimes
called Fisher) he runs as far and as fast as he can; then, knowing
Black-Cat will be right on his trail, [he] turns himself,
say, into a gray-haired old Indian at his bark wigwam, and when
B'gumpk arrives [Rabbit] works further magic upon him
with food and drink that puts him to sleep. And so on in a string of
episodes.
[1] So when the story-teller had told of a remarkable
transformation made by Rabbit, he followed with a repetition: “And
Rabbit actually did—whatever it is,” strongly stressing the
fact that Rabbit actually did such and such astonishing
thing. Again, [in] a tale of Turtle, who was Gluskap's uncle,
Turtle is disposed to take himself a wife, get married, and prove
what a valiant person he is. [Although he is] known to be a
lazy fellow spending his time sunning himself on a log or rock and
unable to move quickly even if he wants to, [Turtle] is given
magic power by his nephew so that, as the tale goes, he leaps into
the air over the poles of the wigwam or pointed camp. “He
actually did jump over the wigwam” or made a good attempt—a most
astonishing thing.
[2]
With this vivid mode of telling, the narrator putting himself wholly
into the tale, no wonder the listeners listened spellbound, all
worked up and excited as the whole scene and its astonishing
incidents were brought before them.
There is another expression, akin
to the last, to which scant justice is done in the usual
translation. It expresses scorn. For example, “Just imagine
how the announcement of Turtle's intention to get married would
strike the rest of the villagers who well know Turtle and his lazy
habits and not prepossessing appearance! Just imagine Turtle
getting married! The very idea of such a thing! The very
idea of a man like Turtle thinking any girl would be willing to
marry an object like him!” This expression, unlike the first, is
still in common use. It can be given various translations into terms
in everyday English conversation.
Once the imagination is brought
into play, detail and elaboration [offer] endless
possibilities [for] holding the rapt attention of the
listeners [like] children listening to the unfolding of the
marvelous in a really well told fairy tale. In narration it is only
by employment of specific terms and judicious selection of minute
details that [the story] becomes graphic, that a vivid
picture is presented to the mind's eye. Stevenson understood this;
so do our best short story writers.
When a story done in this fashion
of highest artistry is abridged and its details rendered in general
terms, its literary value is so greatly reduced that one can almost
say the life is done out of it. In these recordings of the
Indian tales—valuable though they be in their way—as judged by the
Indian who has heard them told with absence of the slightest
self-consciousness, we have lost the high artistry, the fine
literary touch, of the Indian. We might judge him as prosaic and
dull and lacking even of a sense of humor (which he possesses in
high degree but conceals from the stranger) from these folk-tales as
they have come to be recorded.
Of the old No-dji-tak-win
there are none left. Of the old real narrators on the River, the
last one died ten years ago (about 1934) except one at Makanakwak,
who is stone deaf! With the hints we have given, however, the manner
of the true relation (by a naturally gifted story-teller) of the
recorded stories can be imagined, somewhat, by the intelligent
reader.
Woodstock, New Brunswick
December 19, 1944
Footnotes
[1] For
versions of this particular tale, see Leland, 213-222; Speck VIII,
102-103. It is, of course, a very common European episode. Motif
D671 Transformation flight.
[2] See
Kluskap and His Uncle Turtle.
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Folklore
